I had one unfilled West Virginia spring gobbler tag and I badly wanted to punch it. The problem was, however, that I had used up all my vacation time from work (as a school teacher I only receive two vacation days a year during the 10 months that school is in session). With the season only having eight days remaining, I had to come up with a plan fast.

The situation was even direr than that, however. I didn't even have any birds located, and the nearest quality place to hunt in Monroe County was a good 50 minutes from school. Therefore, on Thursday evening, I decided to go on a before-school scouting expedition the next morning -- even though to do so I would have to arise at 4 a.m. Friday and quit hunting by 7:10 a.m. I couldn't risk not having a bird lined up for Saturday.

The good news, though, was that I had a Monroe County beef cattle farm and two places in the Potts Creek Wildlife Management Area (WMA), which is part of the George Washington and Jefferson National Forest that I could check out. That optimism turned to gloom when the private land farm and the first public land destination failed to produce signs or sounds of turkeys that May morning. I owl hooted and yelped at the first stop and crow called and yelped at the second spot. My watch read 6:45 a.m. Did I dare take the time to drive to the second national forest spot, especially with the need for me to be on time for first period English?

When the quarry is a spring gobbler, I have a way of making time. So I drove down a back road of Monroe County and at 7:05 pulled off the road for a 10-minute combination hunt/scouting foray in the Potts Creek WMA. Taking a few steps away from the vehicle, I faced the mountain above and cutt hard on a double reed. To my surprise, a tom gobbled some 300 yards away. Did I have time to call him in and kill him in 10 minutes? Or would I be more likely to spook the bird? For several minutes I hesitated and debated what to do.

At 7:10 a.m., I cutt hard again, and this time the gobbler responded from only 200 yards away. It was then that I decided to head for work. I hoped that no one had heard the mouthy longbeard. The next morning, I was at a listening post well before dawn. All I wanted was the gobbler to be on the same ridge as he had been Friday.

I don't employ barred owl calls late in the season, believing that the gobblers become desensitized to their shocking ability by that stage. So I waited for Mr. Monarch himself to greet the rosy-fingered dawn. And a few minutes later, he did from the same spot as the previous morning and 300 yards away.

I immediately ran 50 yards toward him to a flat at the foot of a finger ridge. There, I resolved to make my stand. Pulling on a facemask and slipping the same double reed into my mouth, I let loose a sleepy tree yelp. The old boy erupted into a paroxysm of gobbling. Resisting the urge to respond, I rested a 12-gauge autoloader on my knee.