The old gobbler I had come to know as “Big Casino,” didn’t hesitate to close the distance once he got his eyes on my decoy set up. He lowered his plumage to a half strut, stretched his neck out forward and came in at a quick step to flog what he thought was an intruding jake. I lifted my old Winchester into position and slipped off the safety. He must have heard the safety button click off, because he put on the brakes and lifted his head up, and stood there about twelve steps away, and gave me a steady, defiant glare.
My plans for opening morning hadn’t included a hunt for Big Casino. Like most years, I had planned to spend opening morning of Spring gobbler season in a secluded corner of the Richloam WMA. I had birds roosted, blinds in place and shooting lanes cleared in anticipation of opening morning. Then, I learned that two of my grandbabies had T-ball and softball games that Saturday morning. As badly as I wanted to, there was no way I could allow myself any time to hunt there then cover the hour-long drive home to be at the ball field by ten. It was then I decided that if I hunt local I’d still have a couple of hours to hunt and still get to see my grandbabies take the field.
Thursday morning arrived and I headed to a small parcel of land near my home where I’d unsuccessfully hunted the big tom I’d given the nickname Big Casino last Spring. I hunted that bird nine different mornings and had even introduced a few new friends from Kansas to him last season and he outsmarted them as well.
Wouldn’t ya know it though, as soon as I made the turn into the property, there he stood in full strut tending a half-dozen hens. I picked up my binoculars and there was no mistaking him. Big Casino!
From a comfortable distance, I continued to watch him with his harem and one thing I took note of, was that there were no jakes or satellite toms hanging around. That bit of information I contemplated at length over the next couple of days and decided that he must be pretty territorial and has been wing-whipping and spurring any other toms out of his area. He’d never failed to answer my calls, he just would never close the distance, arrogantly gobbling back, expecting any willing hens to come to him for the honor of toting away a bit of his DNA.
I snuck into the old tram road he uses as a strut zone and placed a standing hen decoy flat on the ground in a breeding position and placed a standing jake decoy a step or two behind her as if he were preparing to mount the hen and then slipped off to one side and took a seat beneath an ancient old hickory tree.
When daylight approached I played a string of tree yelps on a glass topped friction call I’d made a few years back and soon after could hear his wing beats as he left his roost. He gobbled once on the ground and I waited a bit before playing him a set of breeding yelps and it wasn’t long before I could see him strutting on that trail just around the bend. A pair of hens arrived to join him and he stepped out a bit further so they could admire his plumage when he caught sight of my decoys. Two minutes later, he accepted my invitation to ride home in my vest pouch and I even made it to the ballpark with an extra fifteen minutes to spare!
If you have anything to share, or perhaps a question or two, feel free to reach out to me at Toby@HernandoSun.com, God bless and good hunting!