Gobble gobble gobble…turkey season is here, and our friends at Williams Knife Company have the perfect complement to chasing Toms: the Cocobolo Bird Knife. This bad boy is a great companion for any turkey/waterfowl/upland bird and is not afraid to get dirty.
The blade is M390 super steel, and the handle is slightly oversized, making it easy to use. It comes with a Kydex sleeve and a belt clip, so it’ll always be secure and ready.
To celebrate, we’ve teamed up to give one lucky Red Clay Soul reader a Cocobolo Bird Hunter of their own:
To Enter:
- Tag three friends in the Red Clay Soul giveaway Instagram post (LINK HERE)
- Follow Williams Knife on Instagram
- Follow Red Clay Soul on Instagram
You must complete all three to be considered. EXTRA CREDIT: leave a comment below with your best turkey hunting story. We’ll run this giveaway through Sunday, April 6th, at midnight ET, and announce the winners on Monday the 7th around lunchtime.
Good Luck!
Thanks to Williams for providing the goods for the giveaway.
I hunt a property with a lot of hogs and some black bears. I almost always carry a large caliber pistol any time I’m out there, for obvious reasons. This specific morning I forgot it at home. While Turkey hunting last year I saw a black hairy blob laid at the bottom of a big pine. I slowly crept up to investigate. I was planning on it being a dead hog. I snapped a twig about 30 yards out, and when I looked up, there was a hefty black bear staring straight at me. I quickly realized that my decision to investigate that hairy blob, with nothing but a shotgun and turkey shot, was a very bad decision. He stood up and tore off through the woods mowing down saplings like they were stalks of wheat. Luckily, in a direction away from me. Curiosity can, in fact, kill the cat. Stay safe out there.
It was just before Thanksgiving 2018, headed to Publix as normal, and found turkeys were $0.75/pound. Bagged a big one that day.
My best turkey hunting story is most people’s worst. I see them during deer season and don’t see them during Turkey season.
My brother’s and I first turkey hunt together on opening weekend, we had our first successful shock gobble on top of the ridge. Gobblers were fired up all morning responding back to our calls as the morning progressed then suddenly stopped. We waited as we heard what we thought was a turkey come to our ridge side. We waited and waited as we were too nervous to over call our hand. Then suddenly, we heard movement closer & closer when a family of armadillos showed up in front our blind 20 yards listening to our calls and stayed making movement until we left our blind
Some days you get the turkey, some days you the turkey gets you.
My best hunting story is an awesome story and a sad one. One afternoon, I roosted a couple of Toms . I told my buddy Shellan and we hatch a plan to get them. Early the next day, we made our way there. We was gonna do a double. We done a few calls and they appear. At forty yards, we begin to our count down. Three. Two . One . Boom 💥 Two toms lay a flopping in the field. I look at my gun. I look at my buddy. And I said, my gun was unloaded!!! I thought I had put one in the chamber when I loaded my gun but I didn’t. My buddy had pull his own double!!!. True story.
My first turkey was last spring in west Texas. I had set up over a field the afternoon before to try to take some hogs. We got skunked on hogs but heard turkeys. The next afternoon I set out to harvest a turkey. Instead of hogs. I could hear them and finally saw them. I was probably 200 yards away so started slowly and quietly working my way toward them. I didn’t realize how close I had gotten until I snuck around a mesquite bush and there they were at 30 yards. I waited until the spread out and picked the biggest one out. It was a Jake and while some people may not appreciate my story, it was my first turkey and I was proud to harvest it either way. Back at camp I cleaned it with my Williams expedition series knife that I’ve had for years. Beginners luck I guess because I haven’t been able to get that close to one again.
Many years ago, I went on my first turkey hunt with my wife’s grandad. I had never been before, but I’d always wanted to go. It was March, a warm afternoon in South GA, out on their family farm.
We got set up, and he started calling. He was a fantastic caller—much better than me. For a while, we didn’t hear a thing. I was starting to get anxious, wondering if anything would show. Then, out of nowhere, a gobble echoed through the pines.
It was the first time I had ever heard a wild turkey gobble, and I swear I got goosebumps. The bird only gobbled once, but Grandaddy just smiled and said, “You wait—he’ll come struttin’ down that lane in a bit.”
Sure enough, about ten minutes later, he came strutting in, just like he said. He worked his way toward us, and that was that—an 11″ beard, 1.25″ spurs, and a memory I’ll never forget.
At 14, after an unsuccessful first turkey season, I was determined to succeed. With a new diaphragm call, camo, and a patterned shotgun, I set out with my dad and brother. We positioned ourselves at the base of a hill, placed a decoy, and settled in. After about 30 minutes of calling with no response, my brother suddenly whispered, “I see one… no, two!” Two jakes were sneaking in. My brother took a shot and missed; the birds took flight right over me. Instinctively, I shouldered my shotgun and fired, dropping one mid-air. The excitement was overwhelming—we were hollering and high-fiving. Having my dad and brother there made it even more special. That moment cemented my passion for turkey hunting, a passion that continues to this day.
My best turkey story is about a jake we spotted down a grassy fire break, sucker ran in in 50 yard sprints, stopping to “strut” each time. I’m sprawled out in the knee high grass with shotgun pointed where he should come thru. Next i know buddy (about 20 yards behind me) says Rich – shoot him, he aint gonna hang around forever. Where is he I can’t see him. To your right. I look to my right and there it is, about 15-20 yards on a raised berm staring a hole in me. Made a slow contortion swinging the barrel and as soon as the bead hit his neck, Boom! Dumbest turkey award.
My dad, stepdad (yes, they hunt together and no one gets shot), and brother in law took off to Central Florida to try and harvest an Osceola.
The first afternoon hunt was a bust, but we heard them gobbling that evening and were hopeful for what the morning might bring.
The next morning we set up near the area we heard them the night before and just as the sun started to rise we saw a gobbler come off his roost. My stepdad was calling and the bird didn’t seem to be responding to it or our decoys. At a final attempt my stepdad gave him the kitchen sink of calls and threw everything he had at him. It worked. The bird came in on a dead run and I was able to put him down. It was like it was out of a hunting show. What made it most enjoyable was sharing it with the men of the family. It was a hunt I won’t forget.
Several years ago, I went on my first turkey hunt with my wife’s grandad. I had never been before, but I’d always wanted to go. It was March, a warm afternoon in South GA, out on the family farm.
We got set up, and he started calling. He was a fantastic caller—much better than me. For a while, we didn’t hear a thing. I was starting to get anxious, wondering if anything would show. Then, out of nowhere, a gobble echoed through the pines.
It was the first time I had ever heard something like that, and I swear I got goosebumps. The bird only gobbled once, but Grandaddy said, “You wait—he’ll come struttin’ down that lane in a bit.”
Sure enough, about ten minutes later, he came strutting in, just like he said. He worked his way toward us, and that was that—an 11″ beard, 1.25″ spurs, and a memory I’ll never forget.
Unfortunately only got to go turkey hunting one time with my uncle. He was really big into it but did all types of bird hunting. He provided me with the knowledge and passion I have for hunting now. He recently passed unexpectedly of cancer at the same time I’m getting ready for my first hunt without him. Hopefully he’ll be with me still.
Still waiting on the big one. Getting skunked isn’t nearly as painful when the bass creek nearby provides