Sometimes the plan just all comes together and that is exactly what happened to me as I punched my last tag at 6:15 am Saturday. I had dueled with this gobbler on Tuesday of this week in the rain. That day I had sneaked to within 25 yards of his roosting tree and watched him gobble 5 times before fly-down came. He made an easy target while perched in the tree in the rain but I always choose to battle them fair and square on terra firma. He surprised me by flying down to within 10 yards of the tree I hid behind and he hit the ground running. I really had no good shot. He headed straight to a field 150 yards below his perch and tormented me for the next 4 hours by staying at 60 yards from wherever I called from. Fast forward to this morning when I put my hen and jake dekes at the edge of the field, anticipating that he may use the same travel route as before. True to form, he gobbled at a whippoorwill in the dark and I knew I had a chance of giving him a ride in my truck. He flew down at 5:50 a.m. in response to my putts, clucks and tree yelps on a crystal pot call. Switching to a diaphragm call, I first saw him at 60 yards and he had gone silent. When he stepped behind a tree, I raised my gun and it seemed like forever before I finally saw him emerge from behind the tree and some multifloral rose bushes. At 42 yards I finally got the head shot I was looking for and my season was complete. He sported a 10.25 inch beard, weighed 19.3 lbs. and had 1 1/8 inch spurs on each leg. The plan had come together.
