Growing up in Talladega county that's how I cut my teeth on hunting really. There was a period of life in my teenage years (late 80's) where that's almost all we did. It was harder to kill longbeards in the Fall than in the Spring, they just aren't as receptive to calling. We usually used the ol "bust up" technique, but 95% of what you'd call back up were hens and jakes. I don't remember ever killing a hen (not even by accident), but I confess to killing more than 1 jake/gobbler at a time before. But crap, we were idiot teenaged boys who thought it was cool then.

There's a place on Cheaha Mountain called "Cemetery Mountain" (it's on the Clay county end) and some of you may be familiar with "Union T Church". Back in the late 80's and early 90's that little area was crazy loaded with turkeys and we tried our best to kill all of em! I remember one afternoon after school we parked at the church (we'd pull around behind the building and hide our truck) and there was a dim road that went into the woods back there. We had barely gotten out of sight of the church and heard turkeys scratching right off side of the road where a draw came up. We got low and slipped up there, but couldn't see em, yet there were just "right there!" We decided to rush em and bust em up, so I ran about 5 good long strides and stopped and there were longbeards standing everywhere...no crap, there must have been a dozen!!!! Those fools didn't move, so BANG!!! I killed one and the others started pitching up and running off, and I killed two more ( I know, I know ). Friend shot only once and apparently missed. So my idiot self killed 3 longbeards all at once. Outlaw story extraordinaire, but back in those days at our age that was the stuff of legends. That friend died of an accidental gunshot a couple of years ago, but we must have relived that story a million times over the years.

I was hunting with Doug Camp one morning behind Horse Creek Cemetery (I think I was 14 or 15 years old, and Mr. Camp was already an old man at that time), this was back when he was still with Southland. If any of y'all knew Doug then you may remember he basically went deaf in one ear (and could barely hear out of the other one). In his older years he'd say he couldn't really tell which direction the gobble came from. Anyway, we had roosted birds the day before and were in there waiting before daylight, sitting about 10 yards apart against two white oaks. It was already pretty good daylight and we could hear the turkeys maybe 150+ yard in front of us on the ridge. Well I had heard the dog hunters come in on the gravel road way back behind us earlier, and had been hearing some dogs cold trailing, then they lit the woods up hot after some deer. I could tell they were coming our way, but Mr. Camp didn't seem to hear them at all. I heard the deer hit the creek way down behind/below us and could tell they were now coming right at me up a little finger ridge, and remember Mr. Camp had his back slightly turned to me (and as far as I could tell, had no idea what was about to go down ) I never heard Doug say a cuss word before, but all in about 10 seconds two big bucks (there were more, but I ain't sure what they were) topped that ridge about 15 steps from me and BANG BANG BANG!!!!! I shot the lead deer 3 times with 3" #6's and he turned a flip right on top of us (I'm basically trying to stand up and shooting all in one motion). Turkeys are flyin' and cacklin' in every direction, one deer is running off, one deer is flopping around knockin' over bushes, dogs are screaming and barking coming across the creek, and then it goes stone cold quiet. I don't think I'm even breathing, and I look around and Mr. Camp ain't moved, still against that tree with his gun across his lap. We looked at each other about 10 seconds and he simply says, "Well damn"

Gosh I miss those days, hunting has never been like again.