Long-range turkeys

A boisterous gobble rips through the woods again, closer this time. Oh yeah. He’s coming in. Another gobble, even closer, shakes my insides. Still out of sight, coming in behind me. Three-toed feet rustle the leaves. So close. My heart pounds hard enough to crack a rib. Adrenaline surges through me, making the shotgun feel as light as a straw in my arms. Finally, a flash of movement in the corner of my eye — a dark eye centred in a red, white, and blue head. That head and neck periscope around a tree trunk, boring into me like a laser from six steps away. One blink, one twitch, and I am busted. I still need to get the gun two feet to my left. Another slow-motion step, and the tom is out from behind the tree in full strut. I still can’t move the gun. He scans all around for the hen he expects to see, then figures out something is not right. His tail and wings fold in, and he turns to leave. I can’t risk a hurried shot at a walking tom’s bobbing head this close because my pattern will be too small. So I give a soft cluck on my mouth call. He stops and goes into strut, fanning his tail. When his head disappears behind his fan, I move the gun over to him, then touch off the shot when he comes out of strut. That is turkey hunting the way I like it. Then, there's the other kind. The long shot On another hunt, I made a 45-yard shot on a tom that I ambushed deer-hunting style as it followed a flock of hens. It would stop to strut behind them, then run to catch up. When it came out of strut, I put the crosshairs on its neck and took the shot. The tom flopped and was dead still before I even walked up to it. It was an ethical kill, but I knew that was my extreme limit with my gun, choke, and load. I hoisted the tom onto my shoulder and tried to congratulate myself on a great shot, but it didn’t feel like true turkey hunting. I missed the “in your face” close-range chess game of calling a wary tom into intimate range. Bowhunters know what I’m talking about. How far is too far? That tom wasn’t too far for