The author with the Botetourt County bird discussed in this story. Botetourt was second only to Bedford in the fall kill last year. Photo by Bruce Ingram.

A special joy of many turkey hunters is to introduce someone to the fall pastime. So, it was on Sunday evening last Nov. 5, I brought my new son-in-law, David Reynolds of Daleville, on a roosting expedition. Reynolds, who had married my daughter, Sarah, a few months earlier, had expressed an interest in something that I am passionate about -- hunting turkeys in the fall.

We arrived at a Botetourt County farm about an hour before fly-up time and headed directly for a mountain flat where the local birds had been roosting. However, as the minutes ticked down to sunset, no turkeys meandered onto the shelf. One of the marvelous aspects about being in the woods, though, is just because a targeted species does not appear, that doesn't mean the forest isn't a fascinating place.

We watched as squirrels gathered acorns, pileated woodpeckers hammered out turf, and even witnessed a black bear wandering down the mountain. Finally, darkness fell, and I told David that we would check one last potential roost site and then call it an evening.

My son-in-law was leading the way through the grove when he shouted that he had just heard wings flapping in the darkness. I bellowed back for him to start running and yelling, and together we tore through the woods, making as much noise as possible. Ebony forms exploded into flight off their roosts, and I whooped again, this time exclaiming, "Nice job!"

The next morning, David had to work, so he couldn't accompany me on the outing, but I was determined to squeeze in an hour afield before heading for my job as a schoolteacher. As is standard for fall turkey hunting, I returned to the site of the scatter well before sunrise. I cleared away the leaves around the base of a tree, popped in a diaphragm, placed a slate and peg next to my right thigh, and settled back on a seat cushion.

When after autumn flocks, I always like to be the first "bird" to make a call, so I emitted a few sleepy tree yelps. Surprisingly, the response was instantaneous as a roosted turkey answered just 50 yards away -- truly too close. I knew then that I could make no more movements and that the slate call would have to remain unused where it was.

Soon other members of the flock joined in with tree yelps but none more aggressively than the bird nearby. As soon as dawn broke, the turkey flew down and quickly marched around behind me. Why on earth did the creature do that when I was so close?

Once the turkey had ambled to my backside, it took root and began to emit yelp after yelp. For about 10 minutes, this outburst continued until finally I decided to resort to a rather risky gambit. Slowly turning my head around to the other side of the tree, I spotted the turkey's body, but its head was behind a tree that was some 35 yards distant.

I then quickly pivoted the rest of the way around, shouldered my 12 gauge, and clucked to the bird. The turkey's response was to take one step and peer directly toward me. The shotgun roared and a half-hour later at a Botetourt County check station, the hen weighed in at 11.5 pounds. I had enough time to take pictures and stash the bird in our refrigerator (please don't tell my wife) and arrive at school on time.

My good fortune aside, the 2006-07 season was not a satisfying one for the Old Dominion's fall turkey-hunting brigade, which the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries (VDGIF) estimates to be about 63,000. Sportsmen checked in only 4,143 birds, a record low for the modern era and an obvious decline from the 2005-06 harvest of 4,428. Overall, the kill dropped 2 percent west of the Blue Ridge and 9 percent east of the Blue Ridge.

Gary Norman, the VDGIF biologist who is most responsible for managing the state's flock, relates that several causes exist for the downturn.

"Probably the cause was mostly the poor reproduction, in combination with good mast conditions," Norman told me. "Typically, we see a change in harvest rates when mast conditions change between years. Harvests go up when mast conditions decline. They go down when mast conditions improve. When mast conditions are the same between years, then the harvest rates are likely the same.

"This can translate into high harvest rates between years if the conditions are bad in both years. On the contrary, we can see low harvest rates when mast conditions are good between both years. The latter is likely what happened during the past two years."

Norman's remarks bear amplification. For instance, as he notes, the past two autumns, the hard mast crop, which for turkeys primarily refers to white and red oak acorns, has been substantial in many areas of the Commonwealth. Flocks have not had to travel far or enter openings, such as agricultural areas and pastures, in search of food. Thus, the turkeys have been less visible -- and vulnerable -- to hunters.