I caught movement out of the corner of my left eye. Deer were running through the trees, four of them. If they kept on the same path, they would pass behind us about 25 yards away. Then suddenly, another deer ran across the small dried-up runoff stream 100 yards from us at the same place the first deer had caught my eye, but this one was going at a right angle which would take it in front of us from left to right but on the other side of a screen of small oak trees and thick live oaks. Then in the same place, I spotted smaller bodies and started counting — one, two, three, four, five, six — one of them was puffed up but walking quickly to catch up with the rest of the flock of turkeys which appeared to be following the last deer.

It was the opening morning of the 2000 Spring Turkey season in California and I was sitting next to my brother, just 25 yards from our hen and jake decoys.

We had placed the decoys just down slope from us in an opening which would give any passing turkeys a good view of them.

We were able to catch glimpses of the flock as they moved behind the trees. My brother started working the slate, making those "Where Are You" hen calls.

We knew we had a problem because the cover was preventing the birds from seeing our decoys and we realized they would probably make a semicircle around us and head out across the large, open field.

Continuing to call, we got a response from the gobbler. It was not a very hardy response but it was a response nonetheless.

From the first time I had spotted them, it was only a couple of minutes before they began to move through an open area in the trees about 100 yards from us. Suddenly, the two hens appeared to spot the decoys and with continued calling, we pulled them in like a kite on a string. Down the gentle green slope they came, out into the opening and right up to the decoys. A jake in full strut followed them to the edge of the opening but then hung up at the edge of the trees. After pausing for a few moments he turned away from us and started back up the slope. A few putts on the mouth call and he turned to the side — BOOM! Except for a single wing flap he was down for the count.

We stayed frozen in our position as my brother continued calling, the two hens milled about in confusion not knowing what had happened. The remainder of the flock stayed in the cover. It took about a minute before the two hens worked their way back into the brush to rejoin the flock.

It was now 7:30 a.m.