I’m a pretty confident guy. Anyone who knows me well enough can confirm this. Some may even say I’m arrogant, although I don’t feel that I am. I do, however, believe if I decide to do something and put forth my best effort, I usually end up in a good spot. I say all of that to say this: last week when I ended my column with the words “take it to the bank” regarding killing a turkey this season, I didn’t have any idea if I would actually seal the deal on one.
Early mornings are my lifetime nemesis. I usually stay up way too late and wake up groggy the next morning then repeat the process again and again. If I get six hours of sleep I call it a good night. So, when my alarm went off at 5:00 in the morning on Friday every fiber of my being said hit the snooze button and go back to sleep for another hour or so. But I couldn’t. I’d made a promise to myself that I was going to do it right. I moved as quietly as I could through the house careful to not wake anyone else up. I’d laid all of my clothes out and packed my truck the night before to make the morning a little easier. Destiny awaited, whether I knew it or not.
The previous evening I’d checked out some private property just inside the Forrest County line that I’d recently been given permission to hunt. The owner...let’s call him Mr. DB for sake of anonymity, showed me around and gave me a little history of the land. I enjoyed learning about the place that has been in his family for over four generations and weathered at least one really bad storm years ago. You could immediately tell how much the land meant to him by how he smiled when he told of its history. When we were finished riding the property, I struck out to do a little scouting for the evening. I didn’t hear any birds but stumbled onto an area I thought looked pretty good and decided that’s where I would go the next morning.
I arrived that morning well ahead of daylight. I took my time and made sure I had everything I needed before I began my walk, which was about ¾ of a mile. As I hiked in, the first rays of sunlight began to break the darkness. The view was nothing short of beautiful. I reached my targeted area just about the time the woods began to wake up. Being a turkey novice, the only thing I knew to do was be still, listen, and hope for the best. In the distance, the sound of geese taking morning flight momentarily filled the silence. I’d hoped that would entice a gobble from a nearby bird, but nothing. A couple of minutes later, a crow’s “caw” ripped through the air and all of a sudden the quiet woods were no more.
He wasn’t any further than seventy-five to eighty yards from me, still roosted, when he thundered from above. Pure luck that I’d stumbled so close to a roosted Tom on a property that I didn’t really know. It sent shockwaves through my body like I’d just mainlined adrenaline. My first thoughts were, “I’m too close” and “What the heck do I do?” As quickly and quietly as I could, I set up my hen decoy and backed up into a thicket about twenty-five yards away. Again, not really knowing what I should or shouldn’t do, I began to call. He didn’t respond on the limb, but he flew down about a hundred yards from my location. Almost immediately afterward, a hen came gliding through the woods from her roost position. She ended up to my left and the gobbler to my right. This is the second bit of luck for me.
The hen began to cackle and yelp once she hit the ground. I’d call some and she’d answer. For the time being, my gobbler was silent. Eventually, the hen worked her way around to the lane where I’d set up the decoy. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she had to be in the lane from the sound. She made her way to the decoy, yelping all the while. By this time, about every third or fourth series of yelps she’d make, the gobbler would respond. Finally, she came into view and checked out the decoy. I became a statue. If she saw me the hunt would be over fast. Thankfully, she didn’t. She turned and went back the way she’d came, back down the lane. This was the third stroke of luck.
I felt like if she kept yelping and walking away that the gobbler would follow her. One more gobble from the same location, then silence. I agonized over whether or not to try and move toward him. I opted to stay still and be quiet, which turned out to be a good decision. It wasn’t five minutes and I saw not one, but two blue heads bobbing through the brush. I’d already raised my gun just in case, so I was ready. I just needed them to keep going until they got into full view. The first bird that came into view was a Jake. Agony again! Surely, there wouldn’t be two Jakes, right?
Then, there he was in all of his glory. Full strut. Spitting. Drumming. I couldn’t have drawn it up any more perfect. I saw his beard dangling below and knew immediately he was a mature bird. Just as soon as he deflated I squeezed the trigger. My normal resting heart rate is around 50-52 beats per minute. After looking back at my watch’s data later that day I noticed a tick where it reached 130. This was that moment. The majestic bird flopped a few times and was done. My losing streak was over.
I made several calls before I ever left the woods. I haven’t been that excited over a hunt in a long time, maybe never. It felt like a weight was immediately lifted off my shoulders. “Finally,” I kept saying. On the way out, I stopped to show Mr. DB the bird. He knew how much it meant to me and I think it was special for him, too. I can’t thank him enough for the opportunity. With the help of some friends, I was able to get the fan, beard, and spurs taken care of because I obviously didn’t know what I was doing. And later on, after a dozen pictures and phone calls, I finally got to taste those turkey nuggets...and they were worth the wait.
