I have been on many great turkey hunts, so some not so great experiences are bound to come along with the territory; however, any time spent in the woodland is special to me, especially when it’s spent with a great friend or someone you love. On this particular hunt, that loved one is my girlfriend, Emily.
My access to good hunting land has dwindled as of late, from a 2,000 acre hunter’s paradise with plentiful hardwood creek bottoms and open pines, to a sometimes seemingly barren 100 acres, but as all you turkey hunters know, no matter where you hunt, Alabama turkey season comes with much excitement and intensity as we go after the ever elusive eastern. As March 15, the opening day of turkey season draws near, my obvious excitement sparks Emily’s curiosity, and we begin to plan a turkey hunt together.
On a beautiful Saturday morning in early April, Emily and I head out for her first turkey hunt, or any hunt for that matter. On the drive there her innocent questions make me aware of just how challenging this hunt might be. We arrive at my friend’s farm before daylight, park my Tahoe, and walk toward our starting point. Let me preface the following by saying that I have never had any luck here for turkeys, and at most, one bird roosts on the property per season. We stop on the top of the hill where I always start, because from here, you can hear any bird on the property sound off. As we stand there, I start hearing gobbles all around but most of them are sounding off the property. Then, a couple of birds fire up, over near a power line on the property. Before going after the power line birds, I decide to owl hoot just to make sure a Gobbler isn’t roosting near us and just hasn’t gobbled yet. Sure enough, one gobbles no more than one hundred yards down the road. At this point, it is still dark enough to get a really good set up and get my girl situated and well hidden. As the dawn breaks and the woods start to come alive, Emily’s excitement grows with every passing minute.
I wait for some hens to fire up before calling softly with some tree yelps and purrs on my true double mouth call. I know with the hens roosting so close to the gobbler our chances aren’t good, but after 45 minutes, the hens shake the ground a mere 80 yards away. The hunt is on. It’s the perfect set up, but as all turkey hunters well know, theirs and the turkey’s plans aren’t always the same. Me and my mouth call are no match for the promiscuous hens that lead this ole Tom away from us. I tell Emily we will have to move quickly if we hope to pull the gobbler away from the hens. Reluctantly, we abandon our perfect spot. We gather ourselves, and start walk- ing down the road, calling every 15 yards or so. Since my mouth call hasn’t tickled this bird’s fancy, I switch to my slate hoping a change in tone will result in a change of heart. I am cut off by a double gobble that sounds like a very eager turkey about 80 yards away over a hill in some hardwoods. We scramble, frantically looking for a tree with enough cover to fit us both, but he gobbles again, only 40 yards over the hill, cutting his distance in half. This bird is coming fast and hard, and by the time I put Emily behind the first decent tree, he is about to pop over the hill. With no time to put out a decoy, I look for a concealed position. All I see is this tiny young tree. I dash 15 yards towards it and sit down beside this twig of a tree, just before the turkey is in view. I am still out of breath, and of course the gobbler is coming over the hill and straight through the only section where I have absolutely no shot. To my right is the road and to my left are open hardwoods. This Tom is behind two large pines and thick brush gobbling, drumming and strutting 25 yards from our position. I can see him looking hard for the hen that drew him in just 1 minute before. My thoughts turn to how exposed we both are. With only a few steps to go before the turkey is in the clear, I adjust my aim ever so slightly to ready for the shot.
Now, I don’t know if this ole gobbler sees the twitch my finger or Emily’s blond hair sticking out like a flare, but the ole boy takes off like a thoroughbred racehorse. I take one shot in desperation, wanting so badly to get a turkey on our first hunt together. I stand up and walk over to Emily at which point she asks if I had “caught” the turkey. Greatly disappointed, I tell her the turkey is long gone.
All in all, I genuinely enjoyed our time together discussing life and God’s majesty in His creation, and one thing I’ve learned through my years of hunting, it’s not always about the trophies, but the adventures that you share and who you experience them with.
Final thought: Sometimes I think back on that hunt and what went wrong. I wonder… was it the twitch of my hand or the final adjustment of my aim? To be honest, it helps me sleep at night to think that Emily’s golden hair is what sent that turkey running for the hills. Until next time, God bless.
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