At the flip of a switch...

[Garrett Trentham]

"At the flip of a switch..."

After a long early morning truck ride I would hurriedly grab my vest out of the truck and start hoofing it as fast as I could down the dark path behind my father. Towering above me at 6' 8" tall, he was like any other oak or hickory tree I passed in the twilight only he was always ten strides ahead of me – no matter how hard I tried to catch up. "If you can't keep up, stay in the truck," he'd say if I fell too far behind. I could hear it in my mind before he ever said it. We'd arrive at our listening spot just as the eastern sky began to turn orange and catch our breath as we began listening for the first gobbles of the day.

There were always turkeys to be heard at daylight. The rolling hills of hardwoods and cedar glades across middle TN have served as a prime home to the eastern wild turkey for the past millennia and beyond. Settlement, farming, and even the wounds of war had taken a toll on the land through the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Ironically, the ground we hunted was available to us precisely because of that, purchased by the government during The New Deal to conserve its fragile habitat. At that time, turkeys and other big game had largely been removed from the area. Over-hunting and habitat degradation are a lethal combination. Luckily for us though, the land use had changed. Viable habitat was expanding and restocking efforts had brought back huntable populations of turkeys.

Every Saturday morning in the spring and sometimes on a rare week day afternoon I would follow along with my father chasing turkeys. Even as I got old enough to carry a gun myself, it was always more chasing than killing. By the time I was thirteen I had carried a gun for five seasons, had only seen one turkey die, and not by my gun. At first, turkey hunting was exciting, then it became something to do in the spring, then it became frustrating, and finally it became a personal challenge. I had my neck bowed that I was going to kill a turkey. By this point, I wasn't in it for the enjoyment. I knew other folks that had killed turkeys, I'd seen it happen with my own two eyes. I knew it was possible. I was gaining a growing understanding of the bird's habits and survival instincts. On paper I knew how to hunt turkeys – I just hadn't closed the deal.

-

It was no different than any other April afternoon. My uncle Pat had killed a turkey that morning. Dad and I hadn't come close so Pat took me back that afternoon to the same area. The same woods my father and I had hunted countless times in the years past. We set up in a spot that we knew the turkeys liked to roost and waited for their return. A distant gobble changed those plans. Dad would have stayed put and waited them out but we didn't. We got closer – so close, in fact, we were worried about him seeing us. A call and an immediate response from him put us in a hurry to sit down.

Similar to what I had experienced in the past, the gobbler would answer Pat's yelping, but he was more interested in us coming to him than vice versa. That's when Pat started calling much more aggressively. My dad would have thought it too loud, but it sure worked. The turkey lost his mind. Double and triple gobbling in response all while making his way closer and closer.
"I see him," Pat whispered. My heart rate sky rocketed. I couldn't believe what was happening.
"Where?! I can't see him," I nervously replied.
"Look further to the right."
"I don't see him!"
"Be quiet and look further to the right." Pat reached over and turned my head sixty degrees clockwise with his hand. "He's right there." At that point I could hear the gobbler walking through the brush and saw a dark mass easing through the woods. His red neck glowing in the shadows.
"Should I shoot him?"
"No! He's too far. Keep your gun on him." The gobbler stopped to survey the area and continued his movement closer to the source of the hen calling. He disappeared behind some brush and when he stepped out Pat whispered, "Alright, when you get a clear shot, take it."
Twisted against that cedar tree I aimed down the barrel at his neck. He stood there looking right at me. He tried to strut but the brush was too thick. My heart was pounding. I couldn't control my breath. It was almost too much to take. I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.
"You got him!" Pat exclaimed. The adrenaline created a near out-of-body experience. All of the sudden I was standing over a dying longbeard. I had pulled the trigger. I had done it.

-

Leading up to that moment I often wondered what I was going to do after finally killing a turkey. Until then, I hadn't really enjoyed hunting them so I figured I'd have to find something else to occupy my free time in the spring. I reminded myself that I just needed to kill one and then I could move on to other things. I needed to finish what I had started.

However, my experience that afternoon flipped a switch inside me like nothing since ever has. It brought the whole hunt into focus. I knew I had to do it again!

I've chased that feeling ever since. Across multiple states harvesting turkeys in all kinds of terrain. I've watched others kill their first turkey and seen the same switch get flipped inside of them. Of all the turkeys I've killed, a handful of gobblers have gotten me close – but I've yet to have that same rush. A part of me hopes I never do.

As I've grown older I've come to appreciate the style in which I was exposed to turkey hunting. No corners were cut, nothing was handed to me. Success and appreciation have to be earned. My father realized that far before I could have. The kill is nothing without the hunt. Dad and I have since killed turkeys together on multiple occasions, both of us deeply enjoy the time we get to share afield.

- - -

Fifteen years later I returned to those same woods. Life and work moved me back and forth across the US. It had been a long time since I last walked those trails. This time I was on my own. The paths had grown over. In some places it was only by the distinct rock outcroppings that could I tell with certainty where I was. I found and sat for a spell at the tree where I called up my first turkey – a hen right after flydown. I stood in the same spot where I shook my uncle's hand after killing that first gobbler. I remembered the blood stains the gobbler left on the rock where I had laid him fifteen years before.

When I was a kid, the fact that this land was publicly accessible seemed like a crippling disadvantage. I envied those with private farms to hunt at their whim. But this time things were different. My perspective had changed entirely. I was overcome with gratitude that this ground was still available for anyone to hunt – that current and future generations could come and stand in that same spot, that they could experience the same things I had.

So my encouragement to you is this: If you've never hunted turkeys during the spring on public land, I believe you're missing out on a uniquely American experience. I don't know why it's so much fun, but it is. It's a lot of work and it can certainly be frustrating at times, but hopelessly trying to keep your heart rate down while watching a jet black gobbler slowly slip towards you strutting in the filtered sunshine through woods that are on the cusp of exploding in blooms and spring foliage is an experience that every American should live out at least once. It is such an incredible blessing to bear witness to. Getting to roam the hills of my youth and hunt the same ground where I cut my teeth hunting squirrels and turkeys was wonderful. So many good memories. Public land is important! It is necessary and should be defended and managed with passion.

- - -

Twenty years since I first carried a gun in those woods. The turkeys are still there, I'm still there, and they still win most of the time. That, my friends, is something worth chasing.




Pictured: a gobbler I killed last year on the same ground where I killed my first turkey 15 years prior.

[Hoot 000]

That's a fine story enjoyed that

[Yoteduster]

It's hard to put our passion for turkey hunting into words you sir have done it in style..great story thank you

[Tom007]

Great story, thanks for sharing

[GobblerReaper]

Great read and aweome gobbler!

[tnanh]

I hunt middle Tennessee also. I could picture the hills while I read the story. Thanks for writing and sharing it.

[fl panhandler]

What an excellent read, thanks.

[Greg Massey]

Good story and nice gobbler ...

[Ozarks Hillbilly]

Enjoyed that thanks for sharing.

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[3bailey3]

great read I so enjoyed! I have hunted a lot of places but enjoy going back to where it all started also, a big oak in a field we called governor's field, I killed my first and a few more in that same spot, I wish I could go back and hunt that spot again..

[richard black]

 Congratulations on writing a very nice account. I enjoyed it very much. Priceless memories.

[blake_08]

Man, you can sure write. Thanks for that, i really enjoyed it.

[NCL]

Wow, what an excellent way you put the feelings into words. Thoroughly enjoyed that read 

[AppalachianHollers]

I began turkey hunting on one of those private farms you once envied (maybe even literally—it was in Lincoln County, TN). But this year on public land made me truly fall in love, even though I didn't fill a tag.
The difference was really getting an opportunity to act the woodsman, instead of just sitting in a blind. Hard to think I'll ever go back to just sitting on 100 acres again.


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[Vintage]

Great story.