Season is quickly approaching and I find myself thinking back on old hunts as the excitement starts to build. As I was reflecting, I asked myself which one was the most memorable? I began to think about the hunts and what made each one of them unique and special in their own way. Was it my first turkey? Still my biggest bird to this day (double beard 10.5/9.5 in beards, 1 3/4 in spurs), but not my most memorable. First Merriam? Special yes, most memorable, no. It didn't take long to look back on one hunt in particular that put a big grin across my face and gave me sweaty palms like I was looking down the barrel again. Yes, this was my most memorable bird.
I grew up deer hunting a local WMA on a river here in the Florida panhandle and would occasionally see turkeys while deer hunting. My dad doesn't turkey hunt so I was a little late to the game, and basically self taught myself once I could drive at 16 through trial and A LOT of errors. This particular WMA had quite a bit of property but most of it was in narrow strips that quickly turned into private land. The biggest issue was getting between the birds and private land before they made their way across the line. I spent many mornings playing cat and mouse with stubborn gobblers who simply would not come back to the hardwoods once they had left. Other times, I had worked a bird nearly into shotgun range only to watch a hen cut between us and lead him in another direction. By this time, I had a few birds under my belt and confidence due to access to a lease my uncle had, but each empty handed trip from the river started to add up and left me wondering why in the world I couldn't kill a bird there.
The river (which is more like a creek), had gotten so low the jon boat I used was basically useless. Tormented by the birds I knew would be there, I loaded up a pirogue I had access to and made the hour drive to slide it in and get after them. This particular morning was heavy overcast and muggy, and to be quite honest my expectations were pretty low. It took roughly an hour to make it to where I normally hunted and by the time I got there it was light enough they should have been gobbling on the roost. A few owl hoots and not a peep. Nothing. Dead silence. "Here we go again" I muttered to myself. Another trip, another skunk.
I decided to sit and listen for an hour or so to hopefully hear one bust off, or at least keep from bumping them off the roost. Around 8:30, and after hearing no birds I decided to nudge the pirogue off the bank and paddle on up and go as far as I could and call occasionally. About half a mile up the creek I made it around a tight curve and let out a half hearted series of soft yelps. A chorus of gobbles rung out 150-200 yards further up the creek. I honestly nearly flipped that pirogue over they startled me so badly. Completely unexpected!
I slipped the pirogue up on the bank and was scrambling to get my gun out of the waterproof floating case when they fired off again on their own. They were clearly closer than they were when I struck them. We've all been there, I was in panic mode.
I rushed to a big tree no more than 20 yards from the pirogue (thank God it was black) and turned around and assumed position. I yelped, they cut me off. I got quiet and they gobbled on their own trying to find me. A moment later I see a glowing bluish/red head bobbing behind the palmettos, and then another, and another, and another!
At this point, they were closing fast and my silence was driving them nuts. A morning full of silence was now erupting with unprompted double and triple gobbles. I couldn't help but smile to myself and take it all in. They quickly made their way into my lap, and for my own selfish reasons I softly yelped once more just to get them to gobble in my face one more time. They did, and I folded the strutter at 20 yards.
Success, finally! A fine 2 year old with a 9 inch beard and 3/4 inch spurs. The countless streak of unsuccesful and frustrating trips had finally been broken. A morning that started out as bleak as the weather quickly turned into my most memorable hunt. I guess what makes this particular bird so special is the location and the history I've had with those birds in that place. Growing up playing sports, I love competition and in that moment with my foot on that 2 year olds neck I felt like I had just hit a walk off home run. A feeling and moment I'll take to my grave!
Thanks for taking the time to read. I thought this would be a good way to build some excitement and relive some of our hunts. Feel free to share yours too
