What a Hunt!

Saturday morning was one of those mornings to remember… but I know my broken brain won’t hold onto those special details… so I’ll write them down.

I got up bright and early and rushed to the field. When I pulled my truck into the tractor path I regularly park in, I noticed over 10 turkey roosted in the trees all along the exact path I HAVE to take to get to my hunting spot.

I knew trying to sneak past these birds wouldn’t work out for me.

I put the truck in reverse and sped out of there quickly trying to get to the other entrance.

When I got to the field, I laid down flat on my stomach - shotgun in front of me. Waiting. The hens and toms that were roosted were now about 500 yards in front of me. Man, were they all so loud!

As the sun began to emerge from the tree-line behind me, three turkey descended from their roosts. I knew at least two were toms because they let out a wicked gobble as they landed. Of course - they were headed in the opposite direction of where I was set up.

The remaining birds stayed roosted for longer than usual. So I waited … but there was an internal battle of “do I wait or do I stalk?”

I waited. And waited. And the remaining birds finally came down… and followed the three birds that had landed earlier. They were clearly all in the other field, behind the small bush that was in the corner.

“Okay… they are clearly not coming in and they’re moving farther away. I’ve gotta get after them.”

I quickly hurried through the field, across the culvert and carefully walked along the bush.

A loud gobble stopped me in my tracks. I hit the ground and quietly removed my hunting back from my back. I then army crawled along the bush line until I could see three huge white heads through the trees, fans on display, hens pecking the ground around them.

There is no way I could take a shot through all of that brush, and the way they were positioned meant they’d see me before my barrel had a clear path if I got any closer.

So I waiting. Again. And they moved away. Again. They were headed to a bush on the other side of the property where they always seem to go by mid-morning. But it’s 6:30. Turkey can’t tell time. They were headed there early.

I couldn’t follow them. They’d see me in a second. They were moving through an open, plowed field.

So I rushed back to my truck, fired her up and zipped up the road to the third entrance. It was a long walk to that second bush where the turkey were hanging out.

Slipping on wet ground, pulling myself over fallen trees, carefully trying to cross the small stream that split the bush.

I quietly moved through the thick thorns and branches until I heard them quietly clucking.

Again. I hit the floor, removed my hunting bag, held my shotgun in one hand, and crawled across the wet, muddy leaves - praying I wouldn’t trudge through a nest of ticks.

I tucked myself behind a pile of fallen trees and I could see them!! 20 yards away. The toms, jakes and hens all grazing and bopping around.

I slowly and carefully lifted my shotgun and pointed my barrel through the only opening I had where there was no brush. Waiting. Waiting for one of those toms to just step right where I needed him. It felt like an hour had gone by, but it was only a few minutes.

The birds began moving. In the direction I needed them to - finally. Hen, hen, hen… oh another hen… and then finally the toms.

I took aim, aiming LOW because these birds were close and I had my pattern master turkey choke secured onto my gun. I took a breath, cleared my head, focused my eyes - and boom - the tom I was aiming at jumped up and flopped down onto the ground.

The other birds looked confused, they started clucking loudly, and slowly staggered across the field - probably wondering why Hank was just snoozing on the ground.