I came to know her as the "Lonesome Hen." Her calls were unique to say the least, sounding more pathetic than raspy. Lucky for me, this old gal kept a pair of boss gobblers courting her right up through the late part of last year's season. Let's just say that if you heard her, you would know exactly what I was talking about!

I was merely one of the 100,000 West Virginia spring gobbler hunters who had enjoyed many exciting and memorable experiences, regardless of whether they brought a bird to the check station. But thanks to that old hen, I would eventually get to do just that along with some 9,929 other fortunate souls last year.

What's more, it looks like a remarkably similar dose of gobbler good fortune is in store for this year's hunts. In fact, as we will see, it's highly likely that with a decent number of rain-free hunting trips, we should tack a few more birds on while tipping the scales to the topside of 10,000 gobblers this time around.

But not so fast, this scratchy old hen had dragged me through the mountains on several unsuccessful bouts before she eventually tantalized those big boys to follow her to the business end of my Mossberg 835 barrel.

For example, there was an opening week jake that couldn't resist getting out ahead of the old girl literally jumping the gun to my chances for an early-season score. He came in silent and got right up on me while I had just stood up thinking the morning hunt was over. I missed him on the flush up-close and personal.

There was a later hunt with plenty of calling excitement from the hen and her long-bearded comrades that turned silent in a flash. Wondering what I may have done wrong, I finally ended the setup and walked in for a closer look. I saw both the Lonesome Hen and a skulking coyote that explained that morning's abrupt silence.

At my sight, both the coyote and hen scattered for parts unknown. A second or two later, one of the gobblers flushed from the safety of its coyote-eluding tree perch but just out of range. On another morning, my setup was too close. A sneak peak over a nearby stump revealed two cherry-red gobbler heads and their scratchy-voiced girlfriend slip, sliding away.

With time running out on the season, all the stars finally lined up just right. Why this raspy old hen was not nesting by then was beyond me. Apparently not being able to resist some female companionship, she would not follow the gobblers away from my calling, much as they wanted her to do so. Like errant playboys, however, they finally broke, coming back to the squawky calling hen.

The late in the season greenery can be a hunting disadvantage, but on this occasion, it both provided me some ground cover and allowed for a bit of movement to make the shot for what seemed like an eternity. Based upon its prescribed spur length, the bird was a dandy 4-year-old and I wondered how many times this Logan County big guy had put the slip on me in prior years.

As I traipsed the mile or so back down the mountain to my pickup truck, the rains began to fall like they had for several other mornings of the season. Rains have, in fact, been dampening both the hunter kills and peak hatching periods for wild turkeys. Steady rains can, in turn, cause chick mortality and reduce those ever important "brood counts."

That in effect has been the story the past several years, as the flocks are doing good but just not bonkers a la the prior reigning record years of 2001 and 1995, when 17,875 and 16,770 gobblers were bagged, respectively. With Mountain State flocks saturated or at carrying capacity statewide, the populations now and hereafter may thus look a lot alike when plotted out over time.