Bradley Ditch / Mossberg 500® Super Bantam™

 When we got to my grandpa’s property, I loaded the gun, set up my bipod, and we unzipped the tent just enough so that we could see out. Actually, I couldn’t see out very well unless I pushed down on the opening of the tent with the barrel of the gun and sat up straight. The tent was set up with a fairly wide clearing on one side, and a field on the other side. Matt sat on the other side of the clearing and started calling them in as soon as he thought it was light enough out. The first turkey we saw was on the other side of the clearing. He was way too far away. He walked around for a little bit, then walked back into the woods. We kept looking around for another turkey (or the same one) and another turkey (or the same one) snuck up on us. We didn’t know he was there until he was in spitting distance, and he gobbled really loudly. I sat up straight in my seat, but didn’t dare turn around, for any sudden movements would scare him away. I guess he didn’t like the looks of the tent, or maybe he heard me, because he took off. After a little while, we left the tent and walked around until we found a spot by a tree. We set up so that we were looking out across a field where we could just imagine the turkeys walking by. We heard them across the creek, and we turned to our right slightly, so that we would be ready. Matt did an amazing job with that box call. He must have really been telling those Toms what they wanted to hear. Unfortunately, however, they crossed the creek farther down than we had expected, and they came up right behind us. My dad was in a spot where he could slowly turn around, but with my bipod, I couldn’t turn to well without standing up. “They’re right behind you,” My dad whispered. When they looked away, my dad quickly turned me around, and I was set up. It was pretty incredible. There were three huge Toms. I got the hunting adrenaline rush that every hunter loves. Matt was still looking the wrong way, was unaware of how close they were, and gave that one last purr on the box call. They looked right up at my dad, and didn’t like what they were seeing, so they flew back across the creek, and they were gone. It was light by now, and my dad stood up. “Wow,” he said. “That was pretty incredible.” We decided to come back tomorrow. I wasn’t disappointed on that day though, because it’s like Matt said, “It’s not always about killing ‘em.” He was right. The experience was still amazing.

The next day, we used another of my grandpa’s tents, and I was all set up again. I put the safety on and loaded the gun. Matt was, once again, lying down on the ground outside the tent with his camo mask and clothing. This time, we set up a hen decoy, and it worked better than we expected it to. First, the hens came, but you can’t shoot those until fall. The hens just walked around, and we knew that the Toms were sure to follow. Eventually they did follow, and we saw them way out on the other side of the field. They walked toward us a little bit, and began to turn around and go back, but Matt had that amazing call that seemed to say “Where do you think you’re going?” When they were about halfway across the field, because they weren’t fanned out or trying to show off to the hens in any way, so we thought they were just big hens. After they got close enough, there was no mistaking, that it was a group of three jakes. We decided they weren’t the three from yesterday. Before I took the safety off, I whispered to my dad, “What if I line up two of their heads?” “You’ll be a hero,” he replied. I took off the safety, and aimed right where I was told to - the neck and the head. Slowly, I pulled the trigger, not taking my eye off of the target. (I was a little too short to see out of the tent so I had to stand up just a little bit.) When the gun fired, I was pushed slightly back into my chair. One turkey, (about a 12 Lb. jake with a 4.5” beard.) lay dead on the ground. The second turkey took off, and the third turkey ran away about 10 yards, and stopped as if to say “What was that?” It was only after my dad yelled “You got him buddy!” that he ran away. My dad took me out to breakfast at about 7:00 that same morning. When my dad was cleaning my turkey, he said that he didn’t find a single b.b. in the meat. I’m Bradley Ditch, I’m 12 years old, and this spring, I shot my first turkey with my Mossberg 500 Super Bantam!