Aplachee Longbeards Member Photos and Stories

Sometimes, it’s better to be lucky than good….

When I was 12, a buddy of mine that I played soccer with took me turkey hunting for the first time with him and his father at Talquin Management Area. Since that time, I have hunted almost exclusively on various public lands, primarily Wildlife Management Areas, so I know firsthand the trials and tribulations associated with too many hunters on too little land: another truck in “your spot”, a hunter cutting off a turkey that is hot for your calls and lookin’ for love, the list is too long and heartbreaking to enumerate.
Already once in the Spring of 2004 had another hunter heard a gobbler that I was working and snuck between the tom and I, only to fire (and as I later learned) miss a bird that I had taken the time to roost the night before. So when a similar scenario took place on the morning of March 27, I was fed up with it all. I had walked to a small field a few hundred yards from where I had roosted turkeys the night before and I stood there to listen for that first tom to sound off. Just before the first bird gobbled, another hunter walked in on the old logging road on the opposite end of the field, paused, looked at me, then continued on into the woods. As the sun was rising quick and I was short on options, I muttered a few choice words to myself, then crossed my fingers and reluctantly set off into the woods in the opposite direction. After all, turkeys will be turkeys, and their only predictable trait is that they can be painfully unpredictable. Twenty minutes later, after a few distant gobbles, I heard the first shot of two, which I found out later from the gentleman at the check station did not prove to be fruitful for the late-arriving hunter. I was beginning to think that I could make a living giving still-target shooting lessons for turkey hunters before each season started.

To say that I was displeased would be a monumental understatement. I double-timed it to my truck, intent on going back to my house to lament my misfortunes. Instead, for some odd reason, I turned my truck towards Joe Budd management area to see if anyone was checking out any birds that morning. I shot the breeze with the guys at the check station for quite some time, admiring a jake taken by a youngster (his first bird) before I decided, inspired by the little hunter, to go back and give it one more chance for the day. By now, it was already 10:00 a.m.

I decided to drive down a road I hadn’t hunted in ten years, as I’d never seen another truck on the road before. At the end of the road, I would receive a promising omen: one hen, heading west along a small ridge. I drove back up the road a short distance and parked. I headed into the woods in a direction similar to the one the hen had taken. I had walked about a quarter mile and crossed a small creek bottom when I decided to try a lonesome hen call. I wasn’t 3 notes in when two gobbles cut me off from less than a hundred yards away over a small rise. I scrambled to find a tree, and had to lay down my vest behind it, as it had decoys sticking out that I had neither the time nor wherewithal to place. I’ve read a million times in magazines not to call unless you are prepared to sit immediately, but like many other hunters, I figured I’d never get caught in this predicament. I got situated, gun on knee, and decided to give a soft yelp, hoping to get a better location on the birds. Again, two loud gobbles interrupted me, this time 75 yards away. Second later, four toms and nine hens crested the small hill, looking for the lost hen they thought they’d heard.

The last to cross the hill was a tom in a half-strut, which was clearly the dominant bird in the flock. Much to my dismay, the birds worked down the small hill towards me, but slightly to my right, and with 26 eyes to spot me, I didn’t dare swing to get in place. I waited, thinking that this was not going to end well. Most of the hens had passed me, and three of the toms lingered behind. By now, they were less than 10 yards from me, and they all three stepped behind a small group of trees. Knowing this was my only chance, I put the bead on the other side of the tree. When the boss tom crossed out to the other side, it would be his final steps.

What I found when he had stopped flopping and I had gathered my composure was a mature tom, perhaps three or four years old, sporting a double beard (9.5 and 7 inches) and 1.25” spurs. Less than 10 minutes after I had parked my truck, I had my first Eastern gobbler. All the hours of scouting and hunting had all seemed almost comical in comparison to the relative quickness of that morning’s second hunt. But after all that had happened to me on public land in the years leading up to this day, I felt as if the turkey hunting gods had finally sent a break my way. Sometimes, it’s better to be lucky than good…

Ryan Hachenberger

Flopping, Not Flying!

We set up for an afternoon hunt about 4:00 in Gadsden County but had doubts if we would hunt long because of all the rain clouds around and thunder we could hear in the distance. Our decoys were set out about 20 yards in front of us and our turkey loungers were pushed back into some thick brush for added concealment. I had strategically placed my "lounger" a few inches from a tree so I could slightly bend my head back and have a good neck rest in case I fell asleep. The rest worked like a charm!

I made a couple of soft yelps and several purrs and then took my nap. An hour later Grady woke me up and told me he had kept watch long enough. No sooner had he said that than off to my right about 100 yards I could see a fan. I started purring and he started doing his figure 8s. This went on for about 45 minutes and then two toms got into a good fight about 50 yards behind us. We couldn’t see them but we sure could hear them. About this time the one that was out there strutting started to make a break for us. He didn't move real fast but he also wasn't going to wait around for those other two to stop fighting. Once he got closer I could see he was a jake but I told Grady if he wanted him to take him. Then the show really started. Grady trying to get a clear shot and that jake trying to get to that hen were pretty comical. I'm not sure who was funnier but they both put on a good show. The jake was scared of those two toms fighting and the closer he got to the hen the more excited he got. The closer the jake got to the hen the more excited Grady got.

Well, it wasn't to be. He never could get a clear shot and the jake finally moved off. All this took about 4 minutes. My heart was still racing and I'm not sure who was more disappointed - Grady because he couldn't get a shot; me because Grady couldn't get a clear shot; or the jake because he found out the hen wasn't the real deal!

After he was about 50 yards away we heard a couple of clucks off to our right and two more jakes materialized. The two toms started up their fighting again and the jakes made a break for the hen. I told Grady to take one of them as soon as he got a clear shot and to try and shoot the biggest one. Well, one disappeared behind some brush and started to work off the other way but the other was coming closer. When he was about 25 yards off I told Grady to take the shot. BOOM!

The jake turned and started to fly off. My euphoria turned to deep depression in seconds when I told Grady I was sorry he missed. He started to tear up and said, "But dad, he's flopping around." "No, son, that is called flying not flopping." "No, daddy, he's flopping not flying."

The bird was long gone and then I hear this flopping noise. Holy cow, there's a turkey wing flopping out there! I was out of that turkey lounger and running those 40 yards faster than a fat man after a pork rib. Low and behold there was one big jake giving his last couple of wing flops.

The whole time I thought the one bird had walked on off Grady had kept him in his sight. From where I was sitting all I could see was bird #2 and him flying off when he shot.

Grady, age 10, closed the deal on his first turkey with a Benelli M2 20 ga shooting 3" #6 Hevi-shot. The bird weighed 17 lbs 9 oz, had a 6 inch beard and 3/4 inch spurs. The rain didn't get us and the way Grady and I see it that was the best bird shot in all of Florida in 2008!

Grady

The Boys First Gobbler

The day before the spring season opened, my son Allen and I got up early and went to a friends place where he had seen turkeys during archery season. Now, I know this does not mean they will still be there, but I was not going to take Allen out to the Forest and try for his first bird on public ground. So, we try to find our way through the woods that are darker than the inside of a cow, and I thought for a while we where lost as last years easter egg, but we finnally get to the edge of the field and stop about 50 yards from the treeline and wait for it to get about quarter till dawn. When I hear the cardinals start up, I let loose on the Barred owl call, first just the "who cooks for you", then a laugh. Nothing. We wait a few, then I do a fly down cackle. Nothing.

I ease off down the road looking for any sign in the sandy roadbed, leaving Allen at the top of the hill. When I'm about 60 yards away, Allen pulls out his box call and does some loud cuts, and I think I hear a Gobble! Quick as I can I get back over to the boy. He's grinning like a mule eating briars,"Did you hear him?" he asks? We're pumped now! We wait a few more, then ease into the woods to the edge of a gentle slope that drops down to the bottom where I think he was. I cut a couple times, and he roars back with a gobble that almost knocks my hat off! Dang, he's already on the ground and only 80 or 90 yards away, and coming fast! We tear off running back towards the field, 'cause it ain't the season yet and I don't want to mess this up for the opening morning.

Well, the boy can't hardly sleep that night, I think he was standing by my bed before I even got the alarm clock shut off the next morning. We head on over to the place and are in the woods and in position well before daybreak. When I think it's about time, I give a soft tree yelp. Then a few minutes later I cup my gloved hands and pat them against my legs while doing a cackle, simulating a hen pitching down off the limb. This is usually good enough to drive a tom bonkers, but this morning, nothing. I wait about 10 minutes and call with a diaphram, nothing. About another 10 goes by, and Allen stiffens! "I see him!" (whispering) I tell him ok, just be real still. We wait a while and ask him what the bird is doing."Strutting, he's strutting". We wait some more. I ask again, same answer. "Is he moving this way?"..."No, he's staying right there, about 75 yards down the hill." So I call softly. Nothing.

Well, this goes on for at least 45 minutes to an hour, and finally, I eeaaasse over so my head is by Allen's, and he whispers directions to what he's been watching all this time. "That's a dang stump!" I say. He says, "Yeah, I thought it might be."! Well , we have wasted a large portion of the morning by now so I pull out an aluminum slate call, new, bought just because I didn't already have one of these, and crank out some VERY loud, high pitched yelps, and he HAMMERS back, OBBBLEOBBLEOBBBLE!!! I like ta choked on the mouth call I had in my cheek. Allen gets his gun up on his knee, (20 Ga. Rem. pump, youth model, full choke) and gets ready.

We don't hear doodly for a long time, but we just wait. Suddenly, on my left and slightly behind, I hear a cluck. I answer with a soft purr, just to let him know I'm still here. I tell Allen to be still, he's coming in. A movement to my left makes me want to snap my head around, but I don't. It's him, walking in towards the decoy with his 9" beard a swingin'. Sitting still is harder then doing chinese 'rithmatic as the gobbler keeps coming. I can tell when he sees the bird out of the corner of his eye, 'cause Allen's shakin like he's gonna have a coniption fit!. Wait, I whisper, wait. When the bird spots the decoy, his whole manner changes. Instead of strolling in quickly, now he's easing in nice and slow, playing it cool. Don't want to run this little lady away, you know. I'm thinking that Allen needs to get his gun on his shoulder and the bead on the birds head and neck, but the tom's so close I can't risk a whisper!

All the sudden, Allen yanks the gun up and freezes. I can't believe it, he HAS to have blown it!! But no.. the gobbler just keeps on towards the decoy, Later, I found out that Allen was thinking, "I've got to get my gun on my shoulder and on that birds head and neck"...And when the bird's head went behind a big tree ( different angle from me) He got his gun up! That boy teaches real easy. Anyway, the tom gets to the decoy and starts tuning this way and that, showing her what a fine bird he really is, and when he pops his head up at my "Putt", I say,"Kill 'im" BBOOOMMMM!!!!!! The bird's flopping, Allen's charging at him like he's on a SWAT team, and I'm about ta die I'm so happy. Allen grabs the bird by the feet and gets the heck beat out of him by wings as the tom goes through his "dead dance", and we start towards the truck.

An intersesting note here; I had just bought my first "for real" turkey hunting vest. On the way back to the truck Allen carried the bird for the first 100 yards or so, but he was only 9 years old and the bird got real heavy, real fast. So I took over and toted that big, heavy rascal the rest of the way over my shoulder. When we got to the truck, after about a half a mile, I flopped the bird on to the tailgate and peeled my vest off. My shoulder was killin me from having that bird slung over my back. Allen asked what the big pocket was for on the back of the vest................ "Well, ......I think it's to put your turkey in while you carry him back to the truck."

Since then I've tried this, and it works real good.

- Keith Starbuck

Keith and Allen Starbuck

The Beaver and The Bird

My first South Dakota Merriam's was quite an experience. We hunted hard all day only to have the birds end up on the "wrong" side of the river each time we got close to one. We ended the day watching 6 toms roost on the far end of a plowed field. At the end of the field was a grove of cottonwoods and the birds had fed across the open ground to the tree line and then flew up. We started our hunt the next morning well before sunrise up by working our way along the river bank trying to get within a 100 yards or so of the roosted birds. Our plan was quickly derailed by an unhappy beaver. The closer we got to the birds to more the beaver would smack the water with his tail. The guide that was with me suggested we not get any closer because he had seen the same thing happen before and the beaver spooked the birds. So, we stopped - 400 yards away from the birds.

We backtracked about 20 yards and worked our way up a small ravine that jutted about 50 yards into the field. It had a few small bushes for cover and once we moved away from the river the beaver left us alone but I didn't have a lot of confidence that we could call the birds that far away. Since it was a wide open field we decided it would be best to use a lone hen decoy placed at the end of the ravine. As the sun started coming up the birds started talking. It wasn't long before all six of them were firing off in unison and would hardly stop. When they took a breath I hit a couple of yelps on the box call and that was all they needed to hear. All six birds hit the ground in a mad rush. I mean, they were running wide open across that plowed field with no signs of slowing down. I don't know what was moving faster those 6 toms or my heart rate.

At about 100 yards one bird started breaking away from the pack and at the rate he was moving would be in range in just a few seconds. At 25 yards he slammed on the breaks and went into full strut. He did one figure eight, dropped his feathers and took two steps forward. When he did, I dropped the hammer on my T/C Encore to fill my tag.

That is the first time I ever experienced birds coming to a call like that from so far away. I was pretty upset with that beaver but once all was said and done I was sure glad he made us stop so far out. Otherwise, I would never have believed you could get one bird, much less six, to run that far to be introduced to a load of Hevi-Shot.

Steve Shafer

A little redneck ingenuity!

I finally pulled the trigger on my first bird this year, a real one, this morning at 7:10 a.m., courtesy of a very gracious Congressman Boyd. He was one of two old birds in the huge cattle field behind the old Boyd Homestead near Asheville. He'd been hunted by me and Nick Wiley on Saturday morning but wouldn't come to my hen decoy and instead chased two jakes around the field for an hour. The congressman had hunted him yesterday and about six previous times and couldn't get him to come to a decoy. He couldn't resist charging that tail in the picture. Homemade deal I thought of last night. Wired the tail to a metal skewer with a fork at the bottom and when I pulled up on the fish line, it popped up and he went from 75 yards to 10 in about 10 seconds. He didn't know what happened after I dropped the fish line. One and a quarter inch spurs, 9 and 1/2 double beard (paintbrush), and weighed a little over 18 lbs.

-John Fuller

John Fuller

I was very lucky to get this bird, but I learned my lesson.

It was second Saturday of the season when I thought I was setup in the perfect spot. The morning started off with me easing in on roosting spot. I had heard one sound off and thought I was within 75-100 yards. Unfortunately, after I made a couple of soft calls two others gobbled back that were on top of me. By daylight these two were on the ground just out of reach, and the third had yet to come off the roast. What seemed like forever, I finally saw the last bird flying from the roost and head straight for me. Feeling like this was a sure thing, he decided he wasn't finished with the trees and landed in a tall oak about 25 yards in front of me. With him being in a great lookout position I decided not to move, call, or hardly breath so I wouldn't give me position away. After the first two birds moved on I tried a few purrs. After calling he would lean around the tree trunk and take a peek. This is one time I wish I had the decoys set up. After about 10 minutes of this and hoping he would jump down, he decided to fly down out of site.

Figuring I had nothing to lose and no decoys to collect I headed to cut him off. I walked in a creek to silence my movements and headed about 150-200 yards towards the area I thought he would be heading. After finding a large tree to setup at I made a yelp with my mouth call and in the distance I heard a gobble. However, this was from the other direction so it had to be another bird. I decided to quickly setup the decoys. As I pulled them out and hadn't even had the time to put the stick in the first one I heard the leaves thrashing. Thinking I just bumped a deer, I looked up to see a large tom with a swinging beard running straight at me. He was closing fast, and my hands were inside a decoy! I was kneeling down and reached back with one hand and rested it on the gun that was leaning against the tree. By now the bird was about 25 yards away and continued to run past me to the creek bank. He was within 10 yards of me as I kept kneeling next to the tree with one hand on the decoy (laying on the ground) and the other on the gun. He let out a couple of clucks and trotted to the other side of me. Then he trotted back past my position, and that's when he noticed me. He didn't know what the heck I was or what he was looking at and slowly started stepping back towards the direction he came from. I let him get about 30 yards out and stood up like I was taking aim at a dove.

I was very lucky to get this bird, but I learned my lesson and next time I'll be ready. This is why I love turkey hunting. You never know how crazy it will be.

-Chris York

Chris York

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