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Timber! That’s the only word that was running through my mind as I plopped down next to an oversized oak on the third morning of the Missouri turkey season. So often we find ourselves on a field edge these days fighting for a henned up birds attention. This morning felt different though, the wind had died, birds were singing and the gobbling on this long hardwood ridge was intense. It didn’t happen fast at all. Granted, he was plenty vocal but regardless of the vocalizations I threw his way he would not budge. A few soft hen yelps in his vicinity confirmed my suspicion. After an hour long battle I decided to shut up and hope that curiosity would get the best of him.

About 15 minutes had passed from my last set of calls when I finally saw the gob in full strut facing me at 75 yards. To his left I could see a bearded hen scratching and feeding. Slowly the pair inched my way and once again I began to call. Within another 10 minutes he was in full strut next to my King Strut and with the pull of the trigger it was over.

There’s just something about timber hunts that make them so meaningful. I guess its because I grew up learning how to chase em in the woods. This old gobbler was as beautiful as my first and I enjoy hunting them now as much as ever. Thank God for wild turkeys and whitetail deer, I know my life would be empty without them.