By Will Primos

Louis was a black gentleman in his 70's who took care of the grounds for a private landowner in the lumber business. There were approximately 18,000 acres to hunt turkeys and generally, there were no more than 1 to 4 people hunting on any one day during the season. Most chose far and remote places, thinking that was the best place to find an unmolested gobbler.

I was running late when I drove from my home in Jackson and arrived about 20 minutes after sun up. Before I could head to the woods, I needed to check and see where the others had gone hunting. While I was getting out of my truck, I heard a turkey gobble. It was just on the edge of my hearing, but I could tell that he was due west, which would put him somewhere near Louis's house. Louis lived approximately a quarter mile from headquarters. I spoke to the lady of the house and found out where the others had gone. Sure enough, everyone had gone to the most remote places available. I explained that I was going to walk from headquarters and head in the direction of Louis's house. That began a two-week marathon trying to kill the turkey that I named "Louis."

You see, "Louis" was living, as I had suspected, right behind Louis' house. He had one heck of a beard and one heck of a gobble, and he was always by himself. His two best friends were a donkey and a very old horse. There was about a five-acre over-grazed pasture that made up the back yard of Louis' house, which is characteristic of many rural homes spread throughout the south. If you yelped at "Louis," when he was in the woods he would walk to the pasture under the protection of the donkey and that old horse. If he was in the pasture when you yelped at him, he would stay there. For some reason, that donkey and horse had the best hearing of any two animals that I could have ever imagined and they were also extremely curious. Once you yelped, they were not going to let up and they were going to point like a bird dog no matter where you yelped from, how much you crawled, or how much you sneaked, it just did not matter. "Louis" would stay in full strut within 25-to-40 yards of the donkey and horse. You would think he would gobble and answer your yelp, but he keyed into that donkey and horse like nothing you have ever seen. It looked like I was going to have to kill the donkey and the horse if I was ever going to get to "Louis."

I was becoming obsessed. I came up with a plan to know exactly where "Louis" roosted. The trees close to the pasture, which is where most of the time he went to roost, were very small pines, no more than 15 years old. On that final afternoon I messed with "Louis," I went and stood in one spot until I heard him fly up and heard him gobble on the roost to know exactly where he was. The next morning, I came in an hour before daylight. Ever so quietly I walked right past the donkey and horse (who followed me to the fence) until I thought I was within about 25-30 yards of his roost tree. Sure enough when he gobbled, he was right there in front of me. I could not see him, but I could see him move the limbs whenever he stretched his neck out to gobble. My idea was to never say one word, never yelp, never scratch the leaves, never do anything because during this two- week marathon, I had learned that "Louis" did not like to fly out of a tree, he simply jumped. It was something like what I would call a controlled fall. He would hit the ground like a crocker sack filled with two pounds of dirt.

I had my gun on my knee pointed in the direction of his tree and sure enough, when it was light enough to see, he jumped to the ground. He was well within gun range, but I had to move my gun 12 inches to get the bead on his head. So, when he hit the ground, I did not move, I was waiting for the ideal time to put the bead on his head. He was not on the ground more than five seconds when he knew I was sitting there and I was not supposed to be there. When I saw the posture and the stiffening of his neck and him checking his wings, folding his wings neatly on his back, I knew it was now or never. In one fluid motion, I moved my gun and squeezed the trigger and "Louis" was history.

In no time I was back at headquarters, sharing my tale with the lady of the house who was elated that I had killed such a grand gobbler with 1 3/4 inch spurs. She wanted to know what calls he responded to, especially me being in the call business. With a sheepish little grin I told her the call that he came to was known as "desperation" and then I related my story.

I will not disclose the name of the lady who owns this property with her husband so I can keep this great turkey hunting place a secret, but here is where the story ends ... quite amusingly. Shortly after I told her about "Louis," she drove to Jackson to do the weekly grocery shopping for the hunters she and her husband entertained that time of the year. She saw my mother who knew Louis as the caretaker of the grounds there. She excitedly told my mother that I had killed "Louis" that morning. Spine tingling shock waves went through my mother who thought I had killed the old gentleman who took care of the grounds. Of course my mother was quickly informed that it was the turkey named "Louis" that I killed. Since then we have all had many laughs about the story behind "Louis".