Okay, relax. Yes, I said “Turkey Enjoying” rather than “Turkey Hunting,” but this is not an anti-hunting piece,…quite the contrary.
I have been turkey hunting for 51 years, and I am an avid fan. I am hesitant, however, to label myself a turkey hunter, because I have had the privilege of being guided by some of the most legendary turkey hunters in Greene County. I am not in their league. These folks have an incredible level of mastery.
A typical guide excursion started with roosting the flock the night before, so that we knew where to set up at 5:30 am. The morning began with a couple of mouthed Barred Owl calls that not only elicited a gobble or two, but also often compelled a few of the real owls to silently swoop over our heads.
When the time was right, my guide would artfully employ his mouth calls, box calls, and slate calls, to get a “Hot” Tom gobbling. Within 10 minutes, I would have a strutting Tom within range of my 12-Gauge Mossberg. These guys had no trouble pulling these Toms away from the amorous hens in their established flocks. In fact, I am pretty sure that one of my guides could draw a Tom away from a dozen coquettish hens by merely batting his eyelashes. These were the real turkey hunters.
I worked in New York City for 15 years, during which time my turkey seasons became more sporadic. I would, however, always attempt to include a Greene County visit in my May schedule. Talking about going turkey hunting while sitting on a Wall Street trading desk elicits quite a different reaction than it does while having breakfast at Laverne’s. Frequently the reaction was judgmental. I always handled such criticism with delicacy, and I always tried to educate my audience on cultural differences, the incredible impact that hunting license revenue has on game-land preservation, and the bonds built in the hunting experience.
My most memorable such encounter was when three women who worked in my division began to rail on me for heading back home for a turkey hunt.
“So, you just walk out into the woods and shoot some innocent, defenseless bird?” one of them asked with more than a little condemnation.
“Not exactly,” I replied, mischievously.
“I actually, and very cleverly, imitate a sexy female turkey, whereupon I draw it away from its current girlfriend…THEN I shoot it.”
At which point, one of the three women blurted out, “Then it deserves to die!”
So, while I do not label myself a true turkey hunter, I count myself amongst those who relish the season the most. For me it starts with the first time I hear a gobble in early March as the mating season begins.
Once alerted, I begin to take regular pleasure-drives on roads like Sugar Run, Oak Forest, or Bluff Ridge, all in the hopes of seeing our magnificent, feathered residents strutting their fans across newly greening fields.
And when I get the chance to hunt, I usually take a nephew (And soon my grandson, Ben), so that they can experience their first chance at a shot. Shooting is a low priority for me. I am content to hear and see the various birds that have returned after a long winter. I am content to drink in the smells, and admire the flowering Dogwoods, Cherries, and Apples. And I am still thrilled to hear that first wonderful gobble…that stark blast that disrupts the serenity and stirs my senses. That beautiful call that keeps me ever enamored of my Turkey Enjoying Season.
