As of May 9, the 1999 Wild Turkey season was over. As I look back on the many days afield there could be a story in almost any one of them. Take the last Saturday, at one magical moment I had an adult gobbler 150 yards out, another putting behind me and a very vocal Tom in a ravine about 75 yards to my right. As I turned my attention to the closest gobbling turkey, I was joined by no less than six Jakes as they swarmed my decoy. At least two young gobblers were within 30 feet. I called to the ravine bird, he answered and all six of the youngsters did their best to imitate.

I chose not drop the hammer on a Jake and before this episode ended all hands were safe. The ravine bird fell back, the pasture bird became the host for the six juvenile gobblers and I lost track of the bird that challenged me from the rear. For some reason this season I have had trouble bringing the deal to a close. I gave them all a rest as I retreated to collect my thoughts and plan a new strategy. After a little nap I devised a plan to sneak down the creek bank and pop up near their location.

I was able to make it to the base of cedar tree on the edge of the field and was silent for a time. It is with great effort that I resisted the temptation to call. Finally I gave the world a small series of yelps. I laid down the box call and waited. I was rewarded first with a gobble and then the bright white and red head at about 50 yards. Lady Die is good out to 35 yards and the gap would have to be closed for a clean shot. Lady Die is a choked 12 gauge smoothbore fowler. Its flint ignition is somewhat of an oddity in the turkey hunting fraternity. Arlin Blair of Pine Top Kentucky built it for me two winters ago.

As the gobbler came into full view he began to display. Soon he was joined yet another adult gobbler. Adults can be distinguished from the juvenile by the full tail fan of the adult. Jakes have big turkey tail feathers in the center and baby turkey feathers on each side. These were definitely adult birds. In my mind I knew that if I could sit tight they would look for the sexy hen and move closer. In a moment of weakness I cranked out another series of soft yelps. I could tell immediately that I had made a mistake. Heads came out of strut for a better look and soon feathers were folded up and they moved through the barbed wire fence. I knew this assault was over but it had been quite a thrill.

I met my brother Rick for breakfast and exchanged sad stories. He had coyotes ruin his morning a few days ago. He said no matter which hill he picked the birds were always one or two over. We made arrangements to hunt the last day, together. Rick liked the odds I had told him about and would not turn down a Jake on the last day.

At the break of day we had gobblers in at least three locations and we split to work our own turkeys. Mine was on the very edge of a bluff and I was able to work in close to him in the darkness. He gobbled fiercely as I waited for light. Some where in the midst of his tirade I made small yelps that simulate tree calls of the hen. He answered lustily. Again I attempted the patience that I had preached to Rick over breakfast. As light took away the darkness the bird pitched off the roost. He was still over the steep edge. I primed the piece with 4F powder and was confident that this was my day. The gobbling continued and the bird was close enough to hear him spit and drum almost constantly. For some reason that I could not fathom, my turkey moved to valley instead of topping my bluff. I circled back through the woods and tried to parallel his movements and call from a new position. I found myself near where I expected my brother to be. After no response I moved close enough to hear Rick call. I came in behind him and he motioned to the slope before him. I knew he had something going so I planted next to closest tree. I could barely see the top of his hat. He broke out the slate call and we clucked and purred together. The conversation became heated as we sassed each other with cutting and hard purring. He said later that we had generated some soft gobbles from below.

Since I could not see anything and nothing could see me I dug in my vest for a snack. I had some three-week-old Nutter Butters that had turned to cookie dust by carrying them the whole season. As I picked through the bigger nuggets, I was not prepared for the shotgun blast from the fencerow. I jumped up to watch Rick barrel down the hill in pursuit of a flopping turkey. By the time I got to the action Rick had subdued the beast and we gave each other a brotherly hug. He had sat in the same spot all morning. He said every time he got the urge to move he remembered my patience speech. At least one of was listening.

As Rick headed for the check station I elected to spend the last 2 1/2 hours of the 99 season in pursuit of my Indiana flintlock turkey. I was able to work two more birds but with no luck drawing them in to Lady Die.

As I reflect on this year's exploits, I was grateful for the opportunity to watch the woods change from a barren winter sleep to the first shoots of green. The wild flowers changed almost daily, and as always the Buckeyes were they first tree leaves out. I look around now and the green-up has taken over the forest floor and the bright new green of the leaves are starting to take on the darker forest green of summer. I think fondly of the partners I hunted with and the stories shared whenever two or more gathered and talked turkey.

I had a lot of anticipation for this season partly because of an early successful hunt in Kentucky. A week before the Indiana opener I was invited to hunt in Bracken Co. I left home at 2 AM and we hunted till 2 PM. It was a long day but for the first outing it was fun. That Saturday Bob Hughes and Ed Sellers let me go with them on some public ground in Boone County.

I liked the thought of hunting in Kentucky with a flintlock. It is the land of Kenton and Boone. Hell the county was named after the ultimate frontiersman, Daniel Boone.

Bob and I hiked up a pretty fair hill and discovered a field lay beyond it. Bob owled and got no response. Any time two experienced turkey hunters hunt together, I think there is tendency to try to read the other guy and try to accommodate. Usually neither of you move or plan the same way you would on your own. With a novice, you are the boss and they walk when you walk and sit where to tell them to sit. Bob probably wouldn't admit it but I think he was glad to dump me when I said I had a good feeling about this spot and elected to stay as he moved on.

It was nearly 8 am when I heard the first gobble in my part of the woods. I had called several times earlier with no response from the roost. This bird was on the ground and probably moved in from some distance before his first gobble. I answered to let him know I was interested. From then on I was very stingy with the calling. I would let him beg with 3 or4 gobbles and then I would throw him a bone. Every time he spoke he was closer. My setup was on top of a ridge with a fairly clean top and brushy sides. The only good way in was the small path I had walked in on. He gobbled enough to let me know that he was on that trail. I propped Lady Die on my left knee and trained her bore on the path. Even though I fully expected him to appear in the opening, it still startled me when it happened. As he looked hard for the hen, there was a small stick in front of his eye. I was considering if it would affect the shot, when he stretched out his neck around it for a better look. Lady Die roared and pursuit was not needed. He was at least 3 years old with sharp spurs and 22 pounds.

I let out a squall and celebrated my first flintlock turkey after many years of attempts. I ambled back to the truck with a warm feeling of success. As I waited for my partners, the other hunters and a Kentucky Conservation Officer were impressed with the use of the flintlock smoothbore. We discussed re-introductions efforts and bird numbers. We shared tales from hunts past and I looked forward to the Indiana season at home.