A “Hermit” Gobbler Hunt

The author recalls his battle of wits with a gobbler called Backjack

Fall 2023

By Herb McClure

In today’s world of turkey hunting, there’s never any mention about a “hermit gobbler” anymore, which was common when I first started hunting gobblers in the 1950s. Why, is it not noted anymore? I believe it is because in today’s world, our wild gobblers have been exposed to modern civilizations, and they have become changed from gone-by years. Old timers related how common it was to see an older gobbler staying off to himself at all times of the year.

There was just such a gobbler at the Blue Ridge Wildlife Management Area, where I hunted in the mountains of North Georgia. My remembrances about this old gobbler was that he was a loner, and he never would come to my calling. I named this gobbler Blackjack, after a mountain where he lived.

Photo by Jimmy Jacobs.

In 1955, Georgia chose the Blue Ridge to host its first spring gobbler hunt. This WMA was chosen because it had the most sustainable wild turkey population in the state back then. I also started my turkey hunting there in 1956, and in 1958, I killed my first of many other Blue Ridge gobblers hunting there.

On the first morning of a one-week season in 1976, it found me on top of Blackjack Mountain waiting for daylight, and hoping for something to happen. My previous hunt’s there had all been in vain for this Blackjack gobbler. I had learned mountain gobblers preferred very little calling, and I also had learned to do my calling near contours, which will help keep you out of their sight and them from hanging-up out of gun range.

Finally, at one of the calling stops there was a gobble. It sounded like it was on an adjacent ridge. I got up and hurried over to the other ridge. Upon reaching the ridge I very cautiously made my way up to it’s top, crawling on hands and knees just past it’s crest

Taking note of the time, which was 9 a.m., I made some hen yelps, which were followed with a loud raspy gobble below me. The gobbler was down in a basin-type hollow, and he started gobbling at all type of noises happening in the forest. His gobbling kept going on for over an hour. But then, the gobbles were sounding farther and farther away, until I could not hear them anymore. Blackjack never seemed to be interested in my calling, or leaving the hollow to check-out my hen calling. Like in past times, he was reluctant.

After he had left, I too decided to move to a different calling spot, which was across the other side of the hollow. I went lower down towards a creek, on that side.

In the mid-afternoon near 2 p.m., I heard what sounded like a very faint gobble, which was mixed in with some crows harassing something. I could not tell exactly where the crows were, except down the creek.

After another hour, the crows starting up their ruckus again, and I heard an owl hoot. Following the owl hoot there was another gobble heard. Waiting a few minutes, I then called, but did not hear anything turkey-wise in return. I reasoned that the crows must be either harassing the owl, or could it possibly be Blackjack?

Now, after two more hours, a single crow made a caw-caw call, and another gobble erupted, which was clearer. I made a hen’s call. Nothing happened. Five minutes later I called again, and this time a gobble followed. Taking note of the time again and it was now 5 p.m.

“…there were no turkey sounds associated with the crunches.” Photo by Jimmy Jacobs.

My strategy to deal with Blackjack was also changing. Realizing, Blackjack was a hermit, and the fact I never had been able to call him, I believed my best bet would be to not make any more hen calls. So, I decided to stay put, and wait until it becomes dark and slip away. Then, come back before daylight tomorrow, with my Lynch gobble-box and make only gobbles to challenge him.

Three more long hours of waiting, and it was now after 8 p.m. I noticed the sun had already set behind a higher ridge, and it was becoming twilight.

Also, I began to realized something was causing light noise in the leaves. Whatever was making the noise was now sounding like well-spaced steps, but real slow. I felt like I was being stalked! However, there were no turkey sounds associated with the crunches. I wanted to believe it could be Blackjack. Just in case, I had my gun resting off the side of a stump, where I had laid all afternoon. I could only see 20 yards over to the hollow’s contour.

In the fading light, and over next to the contour, I saw the top of a gobbler’s tail becoming fanned-out, also a white-topped head was inching into view. Without even thinking to shoot, the gun made a loud roar, with a long streak of fire seen going out of the barrel. The gobbler leaped backwards and he could be heard flopping down the hill.

Trying to get up after the shot, I fell forward to the ground on numb feet and legs. Having laid so long by the stump, I could not even get up, more less walk on them. So, I crawled as fast as I could over to the contour’s edge, and looked down in the hollow.

There lay Blackjack next to a chestnut log.

Photo by Herb McClure.

Herb McClure is a freelance writer living in Gainesville. Having been blessed with a long life hunting in the turkey woods, It has left him at old age with a desire to share some of his turkey hunting in writings.