Turkey time
Remembering my first turkey hunt
WHEN I GOT OUT of the Army in 1992, I came home to find all of my friends buzzing about their new outdoors obsession—turkey hunting.
We had always been excited by an upcoming season, whether spring crappie fishing or fall deer hunting, but I could tell turkey hunting was something special by the stories my buddies told.
Wild turkeys are native to North America, but they suffered devastating population decline and were nearly extinct by the early 1900s due to habitat loss and overhunting. But thanks to careful habitat improvement, scientific research and advocacy from groups like the National Wild Turkey Federation, turkey numbers recovered. And in 1991, the year before I got out of the Army, every state with a wild turkey population opened a spring hunting season.
It felt like forever before my first hunting season rolled around. My buddies only made it harder with their campfire tales. While I waited, I purchased a seat, calls and a fancy turkey vest—but not a gun, because I wanted to take my first turkey with my grandfather’s shotgun.
Opening morning finally came. The pre-dawn air was chilly, with light winds. During the dark drive to the hunting grounds, I drank hot coffee and listened to my friends’ stories of previous hunts, and we caught up on what I had missed while I was overseas.
When we arrived, they showed me where to sit and set up the decoys about 20 yards away. Then we settled into the dark stillness of the morning. A gobbler sounded off in the distance, and as the sun crested the horizon, we heard him hit the ground, gobbling. Soon, other birds joined in the march toward our decoys. My friend began to call lightly.
Soon I heard a whisper: “Here they come, get ready.” It was only then that I realized that, from my vantage point sitting in a slight depression, I could only see about 20 yards. My buddies could see the turkeys coming from 100 yards out—but I was still in the dark.
“They’re almost in range,” my friend whispered. “Are you ready?”
But of course I wasn’t—I couldn’t see. Forced to wait, we sat motionless as 13 gobblers strutted very close. Several made distinctive noises that hunters know as spitting and drumming. It was an awe-inspiring display.
I harvested my first gobbler that morning. My friends jumped up, excited but puzzled. I explained how my low vantage point had limited my vision until the turkeys came in close.
The range of the shot quickly became irrelevant as we stood around a beautiful bird and high-fived. It was an unforgettable morning—reconnecting with my friends, experiencing an amazing species up close and making memories that have lasted decades. We began reliving that hunt almost before it was over. Around us, the woods awoke and the chill turned to a warm breeze.
