One of the great joys of any hunting experience is to be able to maneuver quietly into the animal’s world without any hint of human intrusion. Such was the case during the final weekend of this turkey season. My son and I were treated to a magnificent morning of Mother Nature’s best turkey talk and activity.

As the first cardinal signaled the beginning of the new day, the boss gobbler sounded off some 200 yards away. We slipped slowly to a small clearing in the woods as the gobbler continued to blast out his presence every 60 seconds. I sat three steps off the clearing, Chris three steps in front of me facing the gobbler. My first soft yelps were greeted by louder yelps from the boss hen in a tree near the gobbler. Within moments hens were yelping to our left and right, and another gobbler sounded off 150 yards to our left. We were in their world now, our imagination running wild with expectation.

Wing beats behind us announced the fly-down of a turkey into the small clearing. A course, short yelp of a first year jake followed. A hen flew across in front of us and landed in the hardwood leaves 30 steps away. The gobbling had stopped for several minutes now and we wished we could see over the ridge 75 yards in front of us.

The sound of wings beating against each other…whop…whop…whop, like a rug being slammed against a tree to remove the dirt, told us that the two mature gobblers were fighting for dominance a mere 75 yards from us. Hens were putting and purring as they watched this ritual of ‘survival of the fittest’ that usually takes place much earlier in the mating season. Chris and I agreed that either the winner or the loser would come to check us out when the fight was finished.

After two or three minutes of non-stop fighting, one of the gobblers announced his victory with a thunderous gobble and immediately began the drumming sound as he began moving in our direction. Hens to our left and another hen coming to the scene from our right answered our yelps. A constant chorus of clucks, purrs and yelps had our eyes moving, looking for the first glimpse of the approaching gobbler. The hen to our right hopped onto a log only 15 steps away, loudly announcing that she was ready to rendezvous with her mate.

Chris’s eyes told me he had the gobbler in sight, and we could hear the constant drumming as this colorful bird stepped into the morning sunlight only 10 steps behind us. His last gobble was loud enough to raise the hair on the back of your neck and the ground around us seemed to vibrate slightly. This three-year-old trophy had nice spurs and an 11-inch beard.  We shared a prayer of thanksgiving for this opportunity to make memories that last a lifetime.