Turkey hunting: Get ’em to gobble!
Back in the day, whenever I would present a turkey-hunting seminar, I would eventually arrive at the point where I’d give my audience this tidbit of advice. “The game begins,” I’d tell them, “when that old bird gobbles. Then,” I’d continue, “it’s up to you to figure out where he is. How far away he is. Where you’re going to sit. Where you’re not going to sit. And … ” Well, it went on like that for some time, let me tell you.
It’s true. The game does begin when ‘Ole Tom gobbles; however, for every morning when those cagy birds seem more than happy to gobble on their own and without provocation from anything or anyone, including you, there are countless days when ‘Ole Tom has a case of the lockjaw. He’s tight-lipped, unwilling to gobble on his own. And the woods are silent.
So, you resort to your arsenal of locater calls, the natural sounds that usually incite a bird to riot. You try ‘caw-caw-cawing’ on that crow call. Nothing. Then you ‘who cooks for you … who cooks for y’all’ in your best rendition of a barred owl. Nothing. Thirty minutes go by, and still you hear nothing.
Do you give up? Go home? Not a chance. As is well known, crow and owl sounds are traditional locator calls, both capable of yanking a gobble from even the most reluctant Tom. But there are times when those traditional sounds don’t work. That’s when you resort to something different — something natural and realistic, but a sound that perhaps ‘Ole Tom hasn’t heard every morning or from every camouflage-clad, shotgun-toting predator wandering around.
Me? I’d try one or more of the following should my crow and barred owl sounds fall on deaf avian ears.
Elk bugles
No elk in your neck of the woods? I really don’t think it matters whether a gobbler has ever heard an elk or not; rather, I believe it’s all about the pitch, which, when you’re talking about elk, is typically quite high. High and loud is what you’re looking for when experimenting with elk bugles as locator calls. However, don’t run the bugle too long or you risk drowning out distant gobbles.
Canada goose ‘honks’
This is a sound I’ve had quite a bit of success with over the years, and one that I think doesn’t get the respect or the air-time it deserves. A flute-style goose call might very well work, but most flutes don’t have the higher pitch of a short reed call like Slayer’s Honker Slayer. Short reeds have the volume, too, which can be a crucial element in windy conditions and in wide-open terrain like that found out west. Do you need to be a competitive goose-calling champion to force a turkey to gobble with a short reed goose call? No, but being even semi-skilled certainly helps. So practice!
White-front (specklebelly goose)
The white-front’s two-note yodel — HA … ha! — has everything you’re looking for in terms of getting ‘Ole Tom to sound off. Pitch, volume, distance, realism, uniqueness — it’s all there. A white-front call is relatively easy to blow and, what’s more, I’m willing to bet the birds you’re playing with haven’t heard a specklebelly in the woods. Who knows? It just might be what they’ve been waiting for.
Hawk screams
To me, the hunting scream of a red-tailed hawk can be hit-or-miss when it comes to pulling a gobble from a longbeard. Yes, it has all the ingredients of a great locator call — high pitch, good volume, excellent reach/carry, the ability to cut through the wind, and user-friendliness — but it just seems somewhat inconsistent. However, I always have one afield with me, just in case. Don’t have a dedicated hawk call? Play around with Slayer’s Whistler’s Mother 4-in-1 call after listening to a YouTube short on what red-tails sound like; you’ll be surprised what you can do with it.
Moo-cow!
I’m in Iowa, and I’m late getting into the field. It’s dark, but not for long. I’m setting a decoy 15 steps into an open field when a bird not 150 yards away gobbles. Busted! Or am I? Quickly, I take a knee, turn to face the fenceline that will be my seat and moo like a milk cow. Yeah, I said moo. I mooed as loud as I could, and ‘Ole Tom gobbled back immediately. So I crab-walked back to my hide, mooing all the way as he gobbled. I got set, gun up, and … a bunch of hens dragged in the opposite direction. Ugh! But what I learned that morning is that sometimes, when he sees fit, ‘Ole Tom will indeed gobble at my very best moo. Don’t laugh. You’re intrigued now, aren’t you?
