The 5th buck in line looked to be legal and as Sara got behind the gun, I could tell the last buck was legal.

Just as my eye came down to the scope I could see a tall G2 and G3.

So there I was… standing in the middle of a field while a low-hanging fog blanketed the valley and everything around it.

I slowly started to creep in and finally, his nose landed him on the bird as a rooster came out of the brush straight for me

As he came down his wing tips were just about touching as his orange feet dangled.

I knew we didn’t have time to waste and we started moving as quickly as we could, needing to close half a mile before he summoned a hen.

A gobble put me on my knees as he wasn’t the one that had gobbled at all but was only about 40 yards away just out of sight.

Just as the hoot echoed down the valley he gobbled right where I thought he had gobbled before.

The hammer was already cocked and I knew once I cleared two big oaks I was going to have my chance.

I couldn’t quite make it out but believed I heard drumming just over the hill so I clucked and yelped softly. His gobble shook the ridge top instantaneously.

Sara looked to find him in the scope and he caught the little movement she had made. Locking his eyes and ears on us, Sara and I froze like statues, as did he for what seemed like far too long.

With a plan to leave at 8:45 to go pheasant hunting, I woke up and drank coffee before I made my way to the garage at about 8 knowing I was well ahead of schedule.

In early March, my mind was drawn to the thought of a mid 50-degree morning in the turkey woods. With this thought seeming to linger in my mind, I began making different loads and patterning my flintlock.