Two mendo gobblers

I was hunting with a friend a few years back and had quite a morning on a foggy mountaintop in Mendocino county. My friend and I had spent a fruitless day hiking the steep hills in Mendocino county about 10 miles inland. Late in the day we decided to go to one of our favorite listening points on the ranch and see if we heard any gobblers going up to roost. From this vantage point (we call it Plymouth Rock), we could hear about 700 yards down below and if the wind cooparated possibly farther. On this evening, the fog was rolling in quickly but hadnt yet reached the opening below the rock. A lone gobbler was strutting, and I didnt see a hen around. He came out of the woods, and was standing 700 yards from me 10 yards into the clearing.

After watching him for a few minutes with the binoculars, I thought I'd float a call or two his way. I used a MAD calls aluminator and some very screechy sounding hen yelps drifted down the valley. I couldnt quite tell if he gobbled, but he packed up his tail and steadily walked toward me. He didnt go very far before he popped back into strut and continued to head my way. I grabbed my buddy on the other side of the rock and called him over. From this distance the bird couldnt see me since I was wearing camo, and I didnt think he could pick up movement athat far. I watched him for 15 minutes, calling every minute or so. He steadily marched in my direction, as the fog closed in around him. It was a surreal site as the sun went down to watch this gobbler come in and out of view as the fog bank rolled in below me. He finally ended up 150 yards below as it got dark and fog obscured him for good. I expected that he'd rooste in the only stnad of trees around, which was below my position. I called after I thought he was in the tree for sure, and through the fog a lone gobble shook the trees.

At dawn, my friend and I walked a half mile around so we coud set up below the bird. I'd be in the meadow where I initialy saw him, hoping he might sail down and land there. My friend woul dbe 150 yards away at another opening. At dawn, I was sitting against an old fallen oak 15 yards from the small opening. The bird gobbled once off the roost and a few minutes later I heard a loud hiss as the bird sailed down from 500 yards above going as fast as I've ever see a turkey move. He didnt flap at all, just glided 20 yards over my head and landed in the woods behind me. Why didnt he land in the open:? Why would he risk injury heading into the thick woods at that speed? Had he originally intended to land in front of me but spotted me on the way down??

As I pondered these quiestions I heard a loud gobble. The bird was 80 yards out and headed toward me. A 10 foot deep dry creek lay between us. I thought he'd gobble on the other side but wouldnt cross. I saw a read head walk to the far bank and go into strut. Partially obsucred, I was able to pull my call and do one quiet yelp. He tucked his wings in anddisappeared behind some trees. I used the opportunity to shift 45 degrees so I'd be facing him if he came. This gobbler popped out of the woods on my side of the creek and strutted toward my decoy. It was the last day of the season and I resolved to let him strut right in. At 35 yards I had him dead if I wanted to pull the trigger, but I thought I would just sit tight and see what happened. I clicked off the safety and kept my bead on him. At about 30 yards BANG, a shot rings out. Its my friend 150 yards up the draw. I know this turkey is gone so before the shot was even through ringing through the woods I pulled my triger. The bird wend down and lay still in front of me.

I put the bird over my shoulder and walked toward my friend. He had called in 7 or 8 birds with a strutter following them and taken a nice one. When he heard my shot, he thought it was the echo off a big rock face nearby of his shot.

As we took a brutal hike uphill to the truck, we stopped and compared birds. They looked completely different, even though they were shot 150 yards apart at 3000 feet elevation. One looked like a South Texas Rio Grande and the other had the white coloration of an Merriams. In reality, they were probably both hybrids but the difference in appearance was striking.

As we loaded the birds in the truck, a lone bird gobbled behind us. The day before had been devoid of gobbles, and this day seems to be the opposite. We listened to this lone gobbler awhile and headed down the mountain to camp.