On April 18, 2010, my alarm went off early but there was no need for an alarm. I'd been up for the last couple hours anxious to get out to the woods and listen to the toms gobble their heads off on the roost. As I got out of the truck and loaded my gun, I heard a turkey gobble. My heart started pumping. Right then it hit me: It's turkey season! That day was a day full of tough heartbreaks. Every turkey we called in just wouldn't get close enough. My stepdad and I tried every sound on that slate call but it just wouldn't get the turkeys to us. As 10 a.m. came around, we saw a monster gobbler about 400 yards and two hills away. We quickly decided to sneak up to the second hill and try the slate call once more. We got up to the hill and my stepdad began calling. That turkey gobbled and strutted like no other. The only problem is he wasn't getting any closer to us. My stepdad decided to pull out the old reliable push call. A couple of quick calls with that, and the turkey was on his way up the hill straight to us. About 20 minutes later the turkey is 20 yards out. Spitting and strutting like crazy, the gobbler gave me a good shot so I took it and he went down. After I finally settled down we measured the eastern turkey. He weighed 24 pounds and had a 10 1/2-inch beard.