I believe I went on my first turkey hunt at 12 years old. Growing up, my uncle was the only hunter in my family. He wasn't much into turkey hunting, but relented when I begged to go. The first time I heard one gobble, it was life altering. My uncle wasn't the best caller, but knew someone who was. My first up close experience came the following year, when I sent the shot column about 2 feet over the top of one's head due to not having my cheek on the gun. In the years that followed, the hunts didn't come too often. Saturdays were the only real morning I could hunt, and as the teenage years moved on, I was too busy chasing other two legged critters with breasts on Friday nights to make it hunting Saturday morning. Through college and subsequently vet school, I hunted a few times with friends. Always getting close, but never sealing the deal. I seemed to educate a hell of a lot of them during this time, and I hoped they had returned the favor.

This spring, I was determined that I was going to make it happen. I would plan to hunt every morning that I could.

My boss recently had purchased an old farm close to town with great hardwoods on the creek. He had told me he had heard several birds there, but all the birds he had seen had been jakes. The first morning I was there, the woods were rolling with gobbles. I believe I heard between 7-8 different birds gobbling that morning. I hadn't been too far into this area of the property I heard the majority on, so I was cautious about where I would try to set up, not knowing where the many cuts and fingers of the creek were. I moved as close as I dared before the first light no longer hid my movements. I set up and started some soft calling and the woods exploded with gobbles. I was covered up with birds. One particular loudmouth seemed very attentive and I focused on him. In my conversation with him, I began to notice the woods were alive with the sound of hens. As expected, he eventually went quiet, as did the hens, and the morning ended with me never seeing or hearing another peep. I briefly scouted the terrain as I made my way out hoping to glean some information without causing too much disturbance.

The following Wednesday (my off day), I returned to the same area, and again the birds were there. I decided to go set up again in an area, but facing a little different direction, offering him an easier path from where I believe he was roosted, to where I lay in wait. He was on the roost probably 80-90 yards away, and each soft cut brought a raucous response. I gave him my best fly down cackle, and as soon as I did, the real deal decided to fly from her perch in the tree 50 yards behind me, across the small creek to my right. I watched her hit the ground and start his direction. Wasn't long before I heard him hit the ground, and they eased off into the morning, leaving me as the third wheel again.

One week later, here we are again. I had woken up late this morning, and in the rush had left the most important item in the Alabama turkey woods: mosquito repellent. I hooted, and he immediately responded, in the same area he was in before. I decided to go to where the last hen had gone, up on a little finger that ran along the creek and dropped down into open flat. I knew this turkey was roosted somewhere in those hardwoods, but I wasn't sure exactly where. I eased my way down the finger and decided to stop and hoot to pinpoint his location. He responded, and it sounded like he was sitting in the tree right in front of me. Scrambling to set up, that's when I also realized I didn't have a mouth call, or the sandpaper for my slate. Each time I touched the striker to the pot, I held my breath hoping it sounded like a normal turkey, and not one strung out on meth. Every call from me was cut off, so I said I am just going to "fly down" and just sit here and wait. As I put the call in my hands, I heard an all too familiar call and the rush of wings. I watched as the hen pitched down fifty yards in front of my then disappear into palmettos and hardwoods disguised by the morning's haze of fog. By this time, the mosquito were on me full bore, I could feel them crawling along my facemask, and each little pinch as their stylet pierced my flesh. I did my best to hide my movements as I sat miserably dejected, being eaten alive by mockingbird sized mosquitos and knowing the hunt would likely end the same as before. Suddenly I saw movement about 40 yards ahead, moving right to left. It was the hen, and I was sure she had already seen me and my feeble attempts to provide relief from the insects. By now, I hadn't heard a gobble in 20 minutes. I was sure I was busted. I watched the hen and she slowly but steadily made her way across my field of view. I decided to hell with it, I am here and there are birds on top of me, let's just see what shakes out. What seems like an eternity later, I caught movement 80-90 yard away. It was still quite dark out at about 6:25am, with canopy of the trees and lingering fog. Glassing the area, I watched as a gobbler strutted between some palmettos, before disappearing. I gave a few cuts, and he hammered. I picked an area that I thought would be his most likely avenue, and waited. He made one more brief appearance about 70 yards out, before I lost him in the rise of the knob I was on. Finally, I saw a red head pop up above the forest floor, exactly where I had hoped he would come. The sights centered, I squeezed off, and he rolled. All those years, all those close calls, no longer mattered. I had finally done it. The feeling of accomplishment, killing your first bird, added with the excitement of doing it yourself, is unmatched. I knew right then why generations of people seemingly went insane every spring, chasing these incredible birds. He wasn't the biggest bird, a 2 year old with 1" spurs, a 10 1/4" beard, and 18lbs, but he was a trophy to me. If I wasn't hooked before, I know I am now.

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What a wonderful tale! Thanks for writing it up and also sharing the classic picture!

Certainly on my wish list - the turkey !

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Thank you. Mod, I apologize for putting this in the bird shooting forum. I would guess NA Big Game hunting would have been more appropriate. Feel free to move.

When I was a teenager I would pick up the occasional American hunting mag and for the life of me could never understand the American fascination with Turkeys.

40 years later I'm staying with a good friend in Sth Carolina and during my stay would accompany him on his morning runs to drop off his daughter at school.

To this day I vividly remember seeing my first Turkey, wow what a buzz.

Don't know what it was/is but those damn birds had me getting up early never wanting to miss the "school-run" just for a chance peek at a flock.
I'm not much of a bird shooter myself but those damn Turkeys have me in their spell and if I lived there I would be giving them some serious bother.

Congrats on your quest and thanks for posting.

Excellent story! There's just something about turkeys that gets me going. They're my favorite North American bird, and I love hunting them every spring. Congratulations on a fine trophy!