As the hunting season gears down, I tend to reflect back on the events that shaped a successful adventure. A young mans first deer, watching the fawns grow into yearlings, and last years yearlings develop into the natural order of the woods.
The smiles of friends and family over large shared meals and the exaggerated tales told around the fire at night. The anticipation of harvesting a long beard when Spring Gobbler Season opens, by the old crusts and the children alike. That first bird for a novice hunter. Wait, what am I saying? I know a lot of old hats that still haven’t nailed an Osceola Turkey. They aren’t quite as easy as it’s stated. And now that I think about it, my wife was a prime example.
It all started about ten years ago when we were watching a TV show on elk hunting in Utah. My wife was tired of seeing me go off to hunt in exotic places, although some of these hunts were not so exotic from a comfort level. She was not a “hunter” back then and here she was, wanting to start at the top of the hunting pyramid. I told her right then we would do this slowly to make sure this is what she envisioned. First a couple of hogs, then a doe and turkey before we jump into them expensive hunts out west.
All went well the first couple of years, she took out some hogs, they’re not very cute. A couple more the next several years and a doe or two as well. Now she’s getting into the hunting thing and I can’t go anywhere without her. She got her first buck, a nice old nine point, and then started on the turkey quest.
The first year I took her with me, I showed her the decoys, calls and even got her a new shotgun. To celebrate the moment, I went out and got a small bottle of champagne. I kept it cold and never showed it to her. I would place it in the cooler section of my backpack along with two crystal champagne flutes wrapped in a soft towel. I snuck it with us that whole first year and she never knew. At the end of the season we had not pulled the cork, something always happened and I hid the bottle away for the next adventure.
WHEN TURKEY SEASON ARRIVED, I PULLED OUT THE CHAMPAGNE AND SET ABOUT GETTING HER A NICE BIRD.
Somehow, one of the flutes got broken when the next season arrived. I found two champagne glasses at my mother’s house that next year and wrapped them in a soft towel, champagne still in the fridge, Janet still unaware. We did a lot of hunting that year too, bigger bucks, more hogs, she was really getting into it. When turkey season arrived, I pulled out the champagne and set about getting her a nice bird. Several blunders later, one of the stems broke and I figured I’d just hold it where she couldn’t see the break, still working the program. The birds would not cooperate and for the second time I put the champagne back in the fridge.
This next year, I changed my direction and bought some plastic disposable glasses, still packing them in with the champagne. We worked hard throughout the season to attain her quarry and check that off her list. Busted is the term I used most often when remembering that exercise. I even took her to Georgia because the Eastern are not as smart and elusive as an Osceola. Busted seems to have been the key word again when describing the trip. I love my wife, but come on, that champagne was now getting old and I just didn’t have the desire to shoot a bird out from under her nose.
Back in Florida the next year, I got rid of the now broken plastic glasses and decided when the event does happen, we can just drink out of the bottle. We’re going on her forth year now and I figured I’d go buy a domestic bird and stake it to the ground to save time. I didn’t go that far, but the thought kept reentering my head. I gave that shotgun to one of our kids and got her a new auto in 12 gauge, had to try something different.
The event was about to happen, it was her birthday and I had scouted an area very well, had all the stuff and called a couple of two year old beards right up to within 20 yards. Whispering to her to shoot the bigger one, she raised up and pulled the trigger, only to forget to take off the safety. Those birds knew the escape route well and I was now a little mad. We packed up and headed to the truck, she was pushing the safety off and on for practice. We then as a last resort, went by another place I had had success in the past. We exited the truck and for the first time did not bring the cold bottle of bubbly. Just walking along, I spotted a big single long beard working through the pines. I grabbed her by the belt and told her to take the safety off. That bird never knew what hit it. One shot and the bird was down and I was running to the truck for the champagne.
I took that bird to the taxidermist and had it stuffed, just the position he was in for my wife’s first bird. The guy told me when I picked it up, he wished more folks would bring they’re birds in that way. I questioned his remark and he replied that only one #5 pellet had hit the bird, in one eye and out the other, quick kill and no fixing of the mount required. After all this time, I realized she was shooting high. Better to be lucky than carry a bottle of bubbly the rest of your life. He sits next to her in the living room and we have more to do before the elk hunt is justified, but that’s why we go.
