THE ITHACA GOBBLER
SPRING 1999 It was Friday well before dawn, the first week of the season. I took a vacation day to turkey hunt, hopeful to get a jump on other hunters who would undoubtedly intrude into that section of property, though it was privately owned. I loaded the '95 Ranger with my lunch and turkey vest loaded with calls, water and two ultra lightweight decoys stuffed in the back. My 20 gauge safely in its case, I tucked it and a box of shells behind the cab. Most folks use a 12 gauge but I got a deal on a used, very nice Ithaca semi-auto 20 gauge pump shotgun. Its action was smooth and the solid walnut stock gleamed after a good rubdown. I was ecstatic to own my first real gun after lifelong borrowing to hunt. No men's own shotgun would fit me, b eing a short woman, so any loaner was appreciated but uncomfortable. I finally had a gun that fit me and was raring to go. Driving the hour through sleeping small towns and winding narrow bla