Jan. 19. 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
9 1 
SOUTHERN WILD TURKEYS. 
From a Photograph by C. L. Jordan. 
From March until May you should only hunt 
the old gobblers. Then all the endurance, skill 
and patience that can only be learned by prac¬ 
tice are required, and do not answer every 
gobbler or strut you hear, and remember the 
greatest fear you will have is in calling too 
much or in missing the true note of a hen. Only 
call sufficiently to let the gobbler know there is 
a hen in-the direction of the call. When you 
are satisfied he has located the sound, call only 
at intervals of several minutes. Do not get be¬ 
hind a tree or log; sit in front of a tree, using 
your knees as a blind while facing the gobbler 
with the - gun cocked and resting on your knees, 
your hat brim shading the upper part of your 
face and your eyes looking over your gun bar¬ 
rel. If you find him coming, keep still. If you 
are required to change your position, watch as 
he passes a tree and be very sure you do not 
make a mistake and find he has poked his head 
but beyond the body of the tree. You are 
taking chances whenever you move. Do not 
shoot too quick. Let him come in close range 
and aim at his turbaned head. You will find 
it the most exciting sport you ever engaged in, 
and perhaps you will have buck ague. It is 
a glorious feeling, however; very tantalizing, 
but conducive to health and longevity. 
As I sit in my easy chair in my home, with 
the balmy air as soft as an April morning in 
our summer land, my mind goes back to that 
April day when with my fellow townsman, Mr. 
Thos. Walton, my wife and I took the train for 
Livingston, Ala., where we had accepted an in¬ 
vitation from Mr. W. K. Pickens (an old sub¬ 
scriber of Forest and Stream), to visit him in 
April for a turkey hunt. The next morning, 
leaving “Mrs. Pious” to enjoy the hospitality 
and pleasant society of Mrs. Pickens and 
daughter, we drove out to Mr. Pickens’ shoot¬ 
ing box on a farm near the Suquanotchee River. 
We hunted that afternoon and next morning. 
But, alas! the grand forest of pines on the up¬ 
lands adjacent to the Suquanotchee valley were 
being destroyed by lumbermen, who had filled 
the forest with woodchoppers, and with dummy 
engines hauling logs over tramways to the mills, 
and these woodchoppers without a knowledge 
of the art of turkey hunting had infested the 
woods in vain endeavors to kill wild turkeys, 
but had by constant chasing and shooting, as 
well as disturbing their roosting places, driven 
the flocks out of their range, except one noted 
old gobbler, who, with a few hens, defied the 
attempts of unskilled foreigners and negroes 
on the farms to drive him from his favorite 
walks. We found his tracks in the low places, 
but two days were spent in vain. On the even¬ 
ing of the second day Mr. Pickens heard him 
gobble in the bottom just before roosting time. 
Next morning before day we were out on the 
edge of the bottom listening for him. I imitated 
the hoot of the barred owl and was answered 
with a gobble. He was across the Suquanotchee 
and it was necessary to cross to get near him, 
as a fat turkey will walk a mile rather than fly 
across a stream. Mr. Walton brought his 
trained gobbler with him, as the old gobblers 
will often come to fight a strange gobbler invad¬ 
ing their territory when they will not come to 
a hen call. A negro from the farm carried the 
pet gobbler, so Mr. Pickens sent the darkey to 
pilot me to a log that I could cross over to the 
side where the gobbler was. 
After crossing, I sat down in front of a cot¬ 
tonwood tree, and made the negro lie down be¬ 
hind it, cautioning him not to move. I then 
with a thin leaf pressed to my lips imitated the 
cry of a hawk, which he answered with a 
gobble clear and shrill, by which I knew he was 
fine and fat. Th'e gobble of a lean gobbler is 
coarse and flabby, showing his condition to the 
skilled turkey hunter. I located his position 
by his gobble in a tall oak which, with the skill 
of a military engineer he had selected, because 
it was surrounded by a marsh and apparently 
unapproachable, while from his lofty perch 
he overlooked the adjacent hills. I made the 
cluck of a hen, at which he gobbled and soon 
after flew down, and began to gobble and strut 
on the edge of the marsh, to which Mr. Walton’s 
gobbler replied, also another tame gobbler a 
negro had some distance below me. After a 
little I gave the yelp of a hen—at which he 
gobbled. Then I heard a woodchopper on some 
kind of a scraping machine which was more 
like the rasping of a file when the. mill man 
was sharpening his saw. All of which sounds 
the gobbler knew as well as I did. I gave a 
sharp cluck, which he answered with a gobble 
and strut. I knew then he had heard my cluck 
and the call I followed it with, as he quickly 
gobbled several times, recognizing in it the 
true call of a hen. I then remained quiet a 
long time, while he strutted and gobbled, then 
called just loud enough to reach him, like a 
hen that was too timid to call out loud, to 
which he answered. Also, a hen yelped a few 
yards from me going to the gobbler. In a 
little while she passed back by me, and I kept 
perfectly still until I heard her fly across the 
Suquanotchee; but I had caught her note, and 
imitating her voice, I called again, in answer 
to which he strutted. I then ceased calling and 
waited a long time, when I saw him coming 
very cautiously toward me, frequently stopping 
and listening. Then as he. started, dropping his 
wings and strutting, I called very low. for lie 
was nearly in gunshot. Again I called very low. 
and at the sound he closed his wings, dropped 
his tail and started toward me, and would have 
come close, when the fool darkey became so 
excited he had to peep. I knew by the startled 
motion of the gobbler he had seen the negro, 
and I fired. It was a long shot, but my only 
chance. I had faith in my old gun, and at the 
crack cf the gun he rose among the trees. 
One of my feet was alseep, and I was unable 
to rise from my cramped position to get another ’ 
shot when I saw him falling. The negro broke 
after him as lie fell, and grasped his tail, which 
pulled out as the turkey ran, but the delay was 
fatal to the gobbler as it gave me another shot, 
which -took off the top of his head. 
Okolona, Miss. Pious Jeems. 
Hare Hunting in Norway. 
A couple of years ago I had a rather inter¬ 
esting little hunt after the Arctic hare. In the 
latter part of April I found myself at Tromso, a 
li’ttle town the other side the Arctic circle, and 
as I had along my American foxhound bitch,. 
Jessie, the idea struck me to have a hunt after 
the great Arctic hare, which were very plentiful 
on the other side the Sound. First of all I went 
on a- stillhunt for a companion and secured one 
in Lars H. (by the way, a brother of one of the 
men who just now has finished the northeast 
passage), and a more pleasant fellow would be 
difficult to find. He was like all the Tromso 
sportsman, a bird hunter, particularly ptarmigan, 
but was very anxious to get on to the tricks of 
the chase as something entirely new to him. 
Although he had shot polar bear, walrus and 
seal by the hundred, he had never shot a hare 
in front of the hound. 
We- started just as daylight commenced to 
show in the east, and got a man to ferry us 
over the Sound, about 1,000 yards wide. On 
coming ashore we strapped on our skis, as the 
snow was still waist deep, and started toward a 
valley, probably a half-mile wide, with towering 
mountains on each side a thousand yards or 
more in height. 
We had not proceeded far before the first 
hare tracks were found, winding among the 
birches, and within fifteen minutes the deep, 
full-toned bay of Jessie rang out on the morn¬ 
ing air, the echo being repeated again and again 
among the mountains until it sounded like a 
whole pack of dogs. The hare made a bee-line 
for one of the mountains, the snow being too 
deep for him in the valley.’ and up he went to 
the top that was just turning a rosy red from 
OUR TROPHY. 
