Sometimes I hate a double...
Charlie and all,
Two gobblers in the trees before good light gobbling. Got as close as I dared and gave them my best, and they flew down about 100 yards away. Hens would not let them come to me, as they will do, in fact carried them the other way, as they will always do if possible.
Heard another. It was the same bird I had fooled with four mornings this week. Saw him Wednesday at 10 a.m. Could not get across swamp. Daybreak Thursday set up in his strut zone at 6:08 a.m. Five hours. He never called (very cold). Walked two miles to him Friday, and he shut up when I got there. Got to him this morning in good time, 8 a.m. After thirty minutes of courtship, here he came, big white head and all puffed up.
Went to my right which made it difficult. I aimed carefully at his head. Twenty-five yards and a big 10 gauge. Easy. Knew I had him. Trouble is the sights and rib were on his head, and the right barrel full of number fours was headed to a maple tree ten yards away. Second shot, well he was hauling a__ over the hill so it was wasted into the ground from what I could see.
Had I been using a single-barreled gun, dead bird. Had I thought about what you see down the rib is not what is going to happen if there is a tree off to the side, a dead bird. My second bird is safely in the woods I am guessing, not a single feather could be found.
I don't think he will respond to that call again.
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