Stoned on turkeys

• Outdoor columnist Ben Smith says he may never kill a turkey, but as long as he gets to keep listening to them that’s almost enough.

I’d really held out hope that this week I’d be writing about killing a turkey, but as fate would have it I’m still not on the scoreboard. Shocker, right? It hasn’t been for a lack of trying. I’ve logged several miles over the last week chasing birds but haven’t quite been able to close the distance. I did, however, enjoy one of the best turkey hunts that I’ve ever been on last week. I had three different birds gobbling within one hundred yards and I haven’t felt an adrenaline rush like that in a long time. I’ve heard of runners getting a high while running, but never turkey hunters getting a high while listening. The feeling I got while hearing them gobble has to be similar. There’s something magical about watching an old gobbler strut around and that familiar sound piercing the cool morning air. I spent the better part of an hour watching and listening to them do their thing atop a hill. 

Those of you that turkey hunt are probably wondering how in the world I couldn’t close the deal on at least one of three gobbling birds within a hundred yards. So, let me answer it the best that I can for you. We got set up on the birds after they’d already flown down into a field. We called a little bit, and they immediately took notice. They started making their way across the field toward us and I thought for sure we were about to lay the smackdown. But, as turkeys often do, they stopped around 70 yards of where we were setup. We figured they’d eventually close the distance, and we’d get a shot opportunity, so we didn’t call any more. Moving our position at that point wasn’t an option without them definitely busting us. The sun was beaming right down on us and there was no wind, so any movement we made would have been easily detected. 

We opted to sit still and wait them out. Unfortunately, they lost interest and retreated slowly back across the field and over the hill disappearing into the woods. Now, we could have moved then and worked our way around in front of the direction they were heading, but we would have had to trespass to do so. I won’t lie to you and say that I’ve never skirted a law or two in my life, but I’ll absolutely tell you that I’m not hopping a fence to kill a bird. What good would breaking the law be to kill a turkey? I like telling stories and you definitely can’t feel good telling a story about trespassing to kill your first bird. 

We tried calling them back across the field to us, but to no avail. Instead, we cut our losses and decided to grab lunch then check the other side of the property for any activity. On the way out we encountered another gobbler strutting in the road. Of course we did. That’s my luck. I apologized to my buddy for bringing my curse with me. The bird, obviously freaked out by us, took off through the woods like he was shot out of a canon. We figured he’d stay pretty cautious for a while, so we went on and got lunch. 

We returned that afternoon and setup near the area where we spooked the lone gobbler on the way out. We called several times with no response, so the waiting game began. The temperature had increased a lot since the morning and sweat rolled down my face while I sat as still as I could. I’ve never really thought about mosquitoes being a problem when turkey hunting, but if I didn’t get West Nile the other afternoon I’m probably immune to it. I’m not sure exactly how long we sat there, but my entire lower body was pretty much numb by the time we decided to call it quits. Another turkey hunt, another trip home empty handed. 

Clearly frustrated by our lack of a shooting opportunity, my buddy seemed dumbfounded on what all had gone wrong. I, on the other hand, had just finished one of the best days of turkey hunting that I’d ever had. I know it’s not saying much, but for me to get to watch three different birds strutting and gobbling, and then another one strutting in the road later on, it was something truly special. I left there almost as happy as I could be, and that’s pretty rare for an empty-handed drive home. Of course, it was frustrating, but I was hooked. It’s almost like a drug that keeps you coming back for more. 

I wasn’t even halfway back to my house when I called my buddy wanting to go again the next morning. I just had to hear those birds again. So, that’s what we did. We went back the next morning. Unfortunately, the birds weren’t in the same location as the day before, so we didn’t get to watch and listen to nearly as much action. I did, however, hear something else new for the first time. When walking into the woods that second morning I heard the most awful racket coming from a tree not too far from me. It almost sounded like something growling. My initial thought was that it was some sort of cat. But when the growling stopped the faintest little gobble came from the tree. Then another gobble. It was the weirdest, yet coolest, thing I think I’ve ever heard in the woods. When I told my buddy what I’d heard he let me know there was a really old Tom in that area with a very shallow gobble. That made it even cooler.

We didn’t kill anything that morning either, but once again I was okay with it. I’m almost resolved to the fact that I may never kill one, but as long as I get to keep listening to them that’s almost enough. To me, they are the neatest thing in the woods. I mean, they are twenty-pound birds with inch long spurs on their legs that puff themselves up and gobble loud enough to be heard a mile away! If that doesn’t light a fire in you, I don’t know what will!