The birds hit the ground -- and no matter how seductive I sounded, the gobblers seemed satisfied with sticking with the hens. All of a sudden, the entire flock started putting, and some birds rocketed back up to the roost. I assume a predator caused the commotion, although I never saw it. I'd like to thank it, though, because it busted the flock up, sending it in many different directions -- which would soon prove to my benefit.

After a short wait, I started calling again, and got an immediate answer. Several more yelps got the same results, and I readied my gun. The big Rio tom appeared in gun range on an old farm road and saw the decoys. In full strut, he butted up to the jake and smacked it once, pausing to judge its reaction. He certainly got a reaction from me: I pulled the trigger to send a load of No. 6s his way at 11 yards. My 2005 season, only minutes old, was off to a fine start.

Just two days later, I accepted an invitation from a good friend, Eric Johnson, to head east. He had some prime turkey spots that often yielded plenty of action -- and that day was to prove no exception to the trend.

After a nice, long walk into an area in which Eric had done well in the past, we found the birds already gobbling as approached; it sounded as if no fewer than 15 toms were in the general vicinity. Our pace quickened. We got to within 150 yards of the nearest, loudest bird and propped against two trees.

Within a few minutes of shooting time, the big eastern was in full strut in front of Eric, looking for the hen he'd heard. Sensing that something wasn't quite right, the bird folded up, but paused for one last look -- which proved fatal: Eric sent him over backwards at 39 steps. Other birds gobbled at the shot.

We briefly admired Eric's bird and took off after one for me. We called in several jakes along the way but couldn't get any big boys to close the gap. We finally got on the right ground with a group and eased into position.

The quartet of huge gobblers would gobble like crazy at Eric's calls, but wouldn't budge from the ravine they were in; a short stalk got me into position. The birds were still gobbling as I eased over the ridge and saw them standing at less than 20 yards. The closest one lost the race out of there.

Eric and I marveled at our good fortune that morning, as it had truly been a hunt to remember. Play your cards just right this month, and you may find yourself thinking the same thing!