Lady turkey hunter scores trophy gobbler

By By Mikes Giles / outdoors writer
April 11, 2003
After a full season of turkey hunting last year, Whitney Adams was hooked, but still looking for that first big gobbler. Adams, of Pelahatchie, currently serves as editor of Mississippi Woods and Waters magazine. During the last three years she has traveled the state and met many other outdoorsmen and women in outdoor shows and banquets. Once you're around a lot of hunters you're likely to get the hunting fever, especially during turkey season. Whitney did.
It only takes a few minutes of being around Adams to realize her love and enthusiasm for both her career and turkey hunting. Most newcomers to the sport of turkey hunting don't really understand what it's all about, or how hard it is to harvest a mature gobbler. However, after a year of being schooled by many wise old gobblers, Adams truly knows what it's all about. Upon hearing about her many turkey hunting misadventures last year, I advised her that I would call her if I could locate a good bird.
While hunting an area for the first time last week, I located a gobbler that was really sounding off. After a short phone call and invitation for Adams to come over, we set our plans for the following Saturday.
Big day arrives
Now it's one thing to call up and harvest a wild turkey by yourself. It's something else all together to call up an old wary gobbler for another person. To put it mildly, you are usually under the gun and put pressure on yourself to do well for the other hunter. Shortly after arriving in Meridian, Adams and I headed for parts unknown except to a select few turkey hunters and wise old gobblers.
As the day began anew, the clouds rolled in and it became overcast; not good for turkeys. However after we listened a few minutes, a crow called nearby and an old tom turkey sounded off. Following his second gobble we headed his way and set up for battle. Thirty minutes went by and we never heard a sound from him. Perhaps we had misjudged his position in the hills and hollows, which is easy to do.
A short hike up a tall ridge gave us a good listening point once again. When we arrived on top we heard a gobble. After another crow sounded the bird gobbled again and we were in business. There was just one problem the old bird was down a steep ravine and across the creek. There was no way we were going to get down there without his seeing us.
We had no choice but to set up and call, or come back another day. Shortly after setting up again the old tom answered my first call. Approximately ten minutes later a second gobbler answered the old tom with a lusty gobble of his own as if to challenge the intruder.
Switching gears
The second gobbler was 250 yards away on another steep ridge. As he continued to gobble continuously it was evident that he was really fired up. Knowing the lay of the land as I did, it was apparent that he wouldn't come across two steep cutover ridges. There was nothing to do but leave the first bird and move within range of the hot tom.
After a 15 minute hike we finally arrived at the crest of the ridge where we promptly set up. Adams was positioned at the base of an old oak tree for safety, comfort and concealment. Before I joined her beside the tree, I walked some 30 yards up the ridge where I let out a series of cuts, cackles and yelps to get the old boy's attention.
Quickly arriving back at the tree, I sent out two series of yelps on my Albert Paul box call. Instantly the gobbler cut me off with a gobble. Five minutes later he belted out another gobble this time he had cut the distance in half. As I purred on the finely tuned box call, he let out yet another gobble some 70 yards out.
Seconds later I detected the telltale sound of drumming and advised Adams to squeeze off the safety. Shortly thereafter a nice bird appeared, heading our way right down the middle of the ridge. Amazingly, another mature gobbler came right behind. As they cleared the brush, they broke into full strut and put on a colorful show.
Weaving back and forth in their spring mating dance, the coal black monarchs looked six feet tall, four feet wide and seemed to be floating on air. Ppppppfffffffftttttddoooommm came the distinctive drumming sound over and over, as they pirouetted and crossed back and forth in figure eights. Because the birds arrived so close together, I was afraid that Whitney would kill both birds if she shot.
Moment of truth
As both gobblers turned in full strut a mere 20 yards in front of us, it was all I could stand. "Shoot!" I whispered. Almost instantly, Adam's Benelli roared and the lead turkey tumbled head over heals. At the sound of the shot, I laid down my box call, shouldered my Remington and squeezed off a shot just as the second turkey stopped momentarily.
After three and a half hours in the woods, our hunt had come to a close quickly, decisively and triumphantly! Adams gobbler was a trophy for sure. The old monarch had an eleven-inch beard, spurs in excess of 1-1/8 inches and a weight of over 20 pounds. What a day this had turned out to be.
Not only had Adams harvested her first trophy, but we had shared a remarkable hunting experience that will live on in memory for many years to come. It just doesn't get any better than that.