A NICE QUIET TURKEY HUNT?

           It's 5am; I'm tiptoeing out of the bedroom trying not to wake my potentially grumpy wife and even grumpier baby girl.  I'm using more stealth and effort now to be quite that I ever will today while hunting.  A crying baby or early woken wife will really slow down my departure time!  Finally, my 14-day Michigan turkey season is here, and I am beyond excited.  A cup of hot coffee to open my eyes, a banana, and I'm out the door.

           I'm hunting my uncle’s farm, a farm that has been in our family forever, and I know it well.  The first 3 days I had stuff going in the evenings with my older kids and I had to work.  Last night my oldest son and I got out with no luck.  Finally, today I was able to get out in the morning.  I know where the birds roost, so this should be an easy one.  I quick drive to my uncles house, ever so quietly close the van door and open the back hatch, get dressed, load my gun and I'm off.  As I sneak the half-mile or so to my spot, my excitement and anticipation continue to rise.  I'm a gobble addict, I love to her the early morning calls and have waited ever so patiently for almost a year to get my fix. I crawl the last 50 yards or so, set my Jake and hen decoy combo, sneak back to my spot, put down the seat pad on my vest and get settled in.  The song birds aren't even chirping yet, I got here in plenty of time.

            Not long after, I got was I was waiting for. “GOBBLE...GOBBLE, GOBBLE” Sweet, there were at least two of them.  This beautiful music continues for quite a while.  I give a few ever-so-soft tree yelps and then a previously undiscovered third and bigger sounding tom fires off, “GOBBBBBBLE!” I am in business, this will be a piece of cake.  I'm only about 100 yards from the roosted birds and I'm positive they did not see me sneak in.  When they fly down, they'll come check out the sweet lady making all those nice calls and her chump boyfriend and my hunt will be over!  Back to reality, it really happened like this.  As soon as they fly down, it's a sprint to the goal line, two of the toms were literally running once they hit the ground.  Unfortunately, it was like I had a disease of something, they were going the other way.  I soon learned why.  A nice old raspy hen was giving me some competition.  Of course, she was real and she won.  The toms quickly vanished over the hill and completely shut up, no more sweet gobble for me.  I'll just wait them out, they'll come back, if anything, the toms will be lonely mid day and come back, I'd just have to be patient.

           Not long after, they did come back from over the hill. The line of turkeys looked like a funeral procession.  First a hen, and then another, then another, then a giant tom, a pretty big tom, and a Jake bringing up the rear, all in one consecutive straight line.  Like they were playing follow the leader.  The big tom was funny to watch because he was sprint-strutting. He would try to get into a strut, notice the hens keep going, then he'd sprint close and strut again.  They weren't giving him the time of day.  I'd learn later that he'd pretty much spend his weekend this way.  I hit a few yelps on my mouth call and the hens looked at my decoys.  They then decided it was time to move away, and literally turned the line away again, once again over the hill that I wish I were sitting on somehow.

           This disappointing behavior continued on most of the morning.  I would changed set up's often, trying to cut them off from their field exit, and they'd just keep turning away.  One time I almost shot the Jake on accident.  He saw strutting over the hill and I could see his fan. I had a bead on him, when he came closer, I decided against it.  I don't want to shoot a Jake on the first day, or ever really.  I'll save those for the kids. Another time the lesser tom did break away and come to me, but hung up at about 70 yards, no luck.  I had a Dr. appointment to get to, so I cut out about 11am, empty-handed yet full of disappointment.

            The next morning, I played super dad and stayed home with my three kids while my wife went and ran a 5k. She is a great runner and I want to encourage her to continue her addiction, so I didn't have a problem staying home. I love being with my kids and we had a great time. She got home, happy about beating her personal best time and I took advantage of the good mood. I took back off hunting for some earlyafternoon, lonely, lost gobbler action.

            The results of this early afternoon hunt were also disappointing.  I saw nothing except a hen I spooked, and heard nothing.  It was very windy and I had no idea where the birds were.  After what I thought was every possible setup, I called it quits.  When I got back to the house, I met my uncle and cousin.  They said “you're too late!” and showed me the beard and spurs of the tom my uncle shot that morning.  It was a nice one, about 10-inch beard with about 1-inch spurs.  I would have shot that bird any day of the week.  My uncle said it was the second tom in a big procession of turkeys. They caught him off guard and the big one was gone by the time he could get a shot. Oh well, I was a little jealous, I'll admit. Those elk steaks I had marinating at home sounded pretty good right now, so I headed back to the real world.

            On the way home, I called my dad and told him of the radical idea I had for the next mornings hunt. I was going to set up tight, and not do a thing! Literally, I would only bring my mouth call, and not put in my mouth unless I needed to make a strutter gobble before the final blow. He said that it sounded like a good idea, nothing else was working.         

            The next morning was one I won't soon forget. I awoke quietly as usual, the same old “DEFCON 5” routine and I was out the door. The problem was that I wasn't excited though. Usually I'm fired up every time I hunt, this time was different. I don't know if I slept wrong or not enough or what, but I was in a lousy mood. I always believe that I hunt harder, sacrifice more, take more precautions, read more, and basically put forth more efforts into my hunting than anyone else I know. I hate to admit it, but I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I hadn't shot a turkey in two years. I spent most of my last year’s turkey season taking two boys from my school out after their first birds, and the year before a friend after his. Needless to say, I felt that it was my turn. Anyway, I had enough mental strength to still hunt right. Same old parking and getting dressed routine, I crawled into my spot, no decoys, no calls handy, and waited. This was the best thing that could have happened to me. I was able to sit and just reflect on my poor mood and the overall status of my life. I am really so lucky, I have no reason to be upset about anything. I have three beautiful, healthy children, a gorgeous, smart, loving wife, and a great job in a community that I am proud to belong to. What more could a guy like me wish for? I think I needed to hit rock bottom in a sense, and then dig myself back out for things to go the way they were supposed to. I realized a lot of things before light that day. Nobody owes me a turkey. They are a living, breathing creature that deserves a fighting chance at survival.  God has given me a wonderful life and I have nothing to complain about.  I am very blessed. I always tell my friends, “I'm the luckiest guy in the world” and I truly believe that I am. One or two of them swears that they are, but other than that, most of them agree with me. I was quickly awoken out of my emotional epiphany by a familiar “gobble”, just a little one, probably the Jake, but a gobble is a gobble, and I quickly realized what I was out here to do.

            The Jake gobbled and gobbled, apparently not satisfied with the responses, or lack of, he was getting from the local hens. I stuck to my plan, and didn't move a muscle. Right before fly down, I came as close to a heart attack as I'd ever like to be. What came from a tree about 25 yards from where I was sitting will be in the sound byte section of my memory forever. I heard the loudest, closest, most dominant gobble I have ever heard. “GOOOOBBBBBLLLLEEEE”, boom, like a cannon, the big tom made his presence known. I could hear each individual note of his mating call. And moreover, I was right under his nose. When hunting, you have to be confident, and I knew he had no idea I was there. One gobble was all he needed, and he flew down out of sight. It sounded like I was in the middle of a singles night at the hen club, because they were yelping , clucking, and cutting everywhere. This was so entertaining, but I knew my hunt was done, there was no way with all these hens that this dude would even bother to strut, let alone walk in front of me. I just sat and relaxed. I was feeling good at this point, appreciating once again how good my life really was. I never heard another gobble that day.

            About a half hour after fly down, I figured that the turkeys moved off somewhere else when a lone hen came yelping out in front of me. Finally, someone to do my dirty work. She would yelp, he would gobble, and I'd know where to go re-set up on him. Once again, back to reality. No such luck, she yelped her head off all across the field without one response. Not even from that poor lonely Jake, he even he must have had some action. I checked my watch, about 6:30 am, what a great way to start the day.

            Another half hour later, I heard it. It wasn't the gobble I was waiting for, but it was a turkey. I heard the weird, indescribable sound of a tom going into full strut. You guys who have heard it know what I'm talking about. He was close! I quick snuck my one diaphragm call in my mouth, pulled up my gun, and waited. I remember wanting to let the gun down, but I kept telling myself that I came too far to screw up now, so I held out. I planned on calling my chiropractor ASAP to get my back straightened up from this long, hunched down wait. Sure enough, out of the corner of my left eye, I saw the king. He was in full strut, and coming out into my shooting lane! I kept the bead on him the whole time, and he put on a show. Strutting all the while, back and forth, left and right, and finally clear from the branches I was sitting under but still about 10 yards out of range. I have a 3 1/2” inch turkey gun, so I needed him to be at 50 yards to be comfortable. I then mustered up the softest cluck possible that my diaphragm call would allow, and he fell for it. He still stayed in the strut, but came right at me, on a string.  Then, for no reason, turned completely around. I took advantage, shifted my body into a more comfortable position, and clucked again, he turned right around and walked into my memory. BANG! The first shot tumbled him down right before he flew off. I quick got up and shot him again, that put him down for good. I came too long to take a chance at losing this beautiful animal.

            I grabbed my bird, in turn he tried to repay me by spurring me to Death. I then grabbed my gun an headed out to with a plan of making it to church on time. I promised my wife I'd help with the food drive she was organizing and it looked like I wouldn't have any reason to complain.

            I forgot how heavy turkeys were, and loved every minute of the struggle. At my uncles house, after the story and congratulations, we weighed the bird. He was 22 pounds, with a 10 1/4” beard and 1 1/8” spurs. To be honest, I thought he was bigger, but to me, he'll always be that monster I chased all weekend, the one who almost put my heart to bed with his one thunder gobble that he belted out right before he flew down.

            There is a postscript to this story. I didn't mention earlier about the greatest hunt of my season. The night before my first morning where this story starts, my oldest son and I snuck out for a few hours.  It was great. I love taking him hunting, and in small doses he does well. He had his game boy for the boring moments. We got him a pop and donut, which is a treat in our house, and headed out. We saw a hen, heard a pheasant, and talked about a lot of great stuff. He didn't want me to shoot anything due to the loud noise, and little did we know that shooting wouldn't even be an issue. It was good quality time with him which is unfortunately rare these days. Honestly, I'm glad I wrote this story because I'll vividly remember everything about the hunt with my son, I'll probably forget most of the details of killing the turkey.