My journey to turkey hunting capability.

I don’t know why it took so long for me to get the bug, or at least for me to realize it had bitten me. Hunting wild turkey is its own brand of madness. I remember very well the first experience I had and the racing heartbeat is still fresh in my mind. I had to only be about 13 or 14. I was still new to all hunting, let alone chasing wily gobblers. My dad only went hunting because I had wanted to try it, so he knew no more than I did. But on a humid spring morning, we ventured up a steep mountain side in the wilds of Cameron County Pennsylvania. The area has about the lowest population density of turkey in the state, but no one had told us. And yet on that morning, there he was. I never even saw him. But standing on that overgrown logging trail, he thundered back at my push button box call yelps for about 15 minutes from a flat bench about 80 yards above us. Those gobbles echoing down the hollow to my young ears started something. I stood there for a while after he had gone silent or moved on somewhere else. The terms “hung up” or “henned up” and “strut zone”  meant nothing to me.  I had no idea that turkeys would be reluctant to descend a steep hill toward my calls. Even if he had, the boy standing on the edge of the logging trail with a box call and a break action 20 gauge would have been easy for him to spot before stepping into range.  But I’ll never forget that morning and my dad and I shared a neat experience together.

It was more than a decade later before I again took to the turkey woods in the spring. School, college, work and family had kept me busy, and the spring woods seemed more for trout fishing than for hunting. I made every effort to get in the woods for deer season and small game. But other than checking the guide to see if turkeys were also in season during a fall hunt, I never targeted the king of game birds until last spring. My family had moved to north west Pennsylvania. I was now a husband and father, but being self employed now had left me with a flexible schedule. I could now sacrifice sleep, in favor of more hunting time. With the first real opportunity to spend a good amount of time afield in a season, I set out to tackle the challenge of turkey hunting. This 13 month journey, can serve as a fun story to you veteran turkey hunters, as you will no doubt nod along in agreement having lived out similar learning experiences, mishaps and the feelings of falling into addiction to spring turkey hunting. For those of you new to it, you may learn a bit from my baby steps and a few tricks I picked up so far. I’ve now tasted some success, but still have much to learn and, no doubt, still don’t even know how much I don’t know. But I look forward to it all. As I sit here and type this though, I at least feel that I can say I’m a turkey hunter and not just that I have hunted turkeys. Here’s my descent into madness.

Winter in northern Pennsylvania can be brutal. We get a combination of the cold snaps and the snow piling up. Not as extreme as northern NY or Minnesota, but the worst part of it, is that it seems like it never ends. There’s a black hole between New Years and trout season. Turkey starts just a couple weeks afterwards. Inside that black hole, I resolved that this would be the year I would become a turkey hunter. I could yelp with a box call, but didn’t like the idea of having to put it down to shoot. I bought an HS Strut starter pack of mouth calls from our local gun shop/Sporting goods store. Only 10 minutes down the road, I was already getting death glares from my wife as I squeaked, squawked and whistled trying to get a turkey sound out of it. A couple hours later, my teeth hurt, but I could yelp. I watched some youtube videos of real wild hens and imitated them and tried to learn the cadence. I bought a box of Remington Pheasant loads  for my H&R Pardner Pump shotgun and outfitted it with a sling. I patterned it and using “Kentucky windage” could put enough pellets on a turkey target that I felt anything within about 35 yards would be mine. On two occasions I heard birds gobbling in different corners of the property while scouting and felt I had a good idea where to start. Opening day had me walking a dirt trail along the top of a rolling mountain. I wandered along, calling and listening about every 15 minutes. A little before 7, I heard a gobble. That by itself was an accomplishment to me already. I hustled down a point of the hillside and settled down by a tree. I gave some yelps and heard two gobbles down the hill. For about 20 minutes I sat there, calling every few minutes. I could hear at least two gobblers and a few hens down there. They were probably 150 yards or more from me. I was thinking of moving to try and close the distance, when the noise of a diesel engine came over the top of the mountain. A few doors slammed, followed by some of the scratchiest, ugliest yelps I’ve heard. (You know its bad if I can critique it.) That was it for the birds. They went silent after that and they were the last I heard.

Day 2 I decided to get farther from the roads and other hunters. Pre dawn, I had no idea where the turkeys would be, so I crept along a logging trail just listening. Then in the distance, I heard a gobble, then another. I hustled down the road, found a suitable tree and let out a few yelps. (He was probably still on the roost, but I had no clue. I just knew turkey hunters called to turkeys) he continued to talk but was some distance away yet. I moved in closer, closing the gap to about 100 yards. Magic again that morning. I called, and he would yell right back.  He came within about 40 yards, but a blackberry patch was between me and him.  Despite an ATV trail piercing the thick stuff, he never emerged. Some hen noises told me what was happening and he finally went silent.

Day 3 had me in the same place, this time on the other side of the berry patch. He yelled again for about the same amount of time, but was a bench lower this time and not inclined to come see where I was. The following weeks, I would hunt every morning until about 8 or 8:30 (While my job was flexible, my wife held an office job and we passed the kids back and forth). I had birds talking some mornings. Silence others. I had one making a beeline somewhere gobbling the whole time. Despite running down the trail, I could not get in front of him. I had a bird come in silent and bust me when I turned my head to scan the field in front of me. He couldn’t have been more than 30 feet away. On a weekend in the mountains where my first hunt took place more than a decade ago, I climbed clear to the top of a mountain to set up on a talkative bird. He would not leave his strut zone, and I was on the other side of a knob and couldn’t see him. When he finally ventured far enough away, I climbed up onto the flat of his zone and with a few louder helps, he came in. I heard him before I saw him. He came from behind the bushes  and then, there he was;  blue head, long beard, full strut and spitting and drumming. What a sight and what a sound! He closed the distance to about 50 yards. I was just standing behind a big maple tree. I used the old trick of waiting for him to step behind a tree before bringing the gun up. It worked and I had the bead on his head, but at about 45 yards, I knew my pattern shooting pheasant loads with only a modified choke was not what it should be for that range. I made a mental note of where 30 yards was, hoping he would close the distance. Then I heard what I never wanted to hear. “Putt! Putt!” his head came up and he started trotting up the hill. He continued to gobble and answer my calls, but slowly faded away. In hindsight, had he come in on my right, I probably would have killed that bird. But as a right handed shooter, leaning on the left side of the tree, I was too exposed. There was no stilling the quivering of the adrenaline running through me and he must have picked up on it. Either that or my face. I considered a beard to be natural camo, but my light tone skin probably stuck out anyway in the greens and browns of springtime. Lesson learned.

Home again, I made my early morning treks. By now the foliage was denser and the birds less talkative. Most mornings I would hear a distance gobble or so from the roost and nothing the rest of the morning. I saw a longbeard cross a field in the distance one morning after a single gobble. But he had other places to be than where I was. I was beginning to feel my chances were getting slim. If I couldn’t get a bird by now, what were my odds now that they were better hidden and much more cagey. Much as I didn’t want to, I was starting to think I was just getting experience for next year.

Then, as it often does, it all came together with a little luck. I had positioned myself in a wooded hollow with fields above and below me. At first light, at least three gobblers were sounding off about 300 yards to my left and a very distant one to my right. I dropped down to a horse trail and did a loping jog down the trail, pausing every so often to hear the birds. They had flown downhill off the roost. Like stalking a whitetail, I made my way across the hill until they were directly beneath me. Still out of sight and over 100 yards away, they were near an opening above one of the dirt roads that intersects these woods. I picked out a good tree. If the birds came up the hill, they would be within shooting range by the time they were in sight. I yelped a few times and got some answers, but could hear hens down there too. I expected this would be a familiar story. But then I could hear a vehicle coming up the dirt road. As it neared, it slowed to a stop and I could hear the alarmed “putt putt!” as the turkeys ran away from the truck… up towards me!  The truck drove away after a few moments and I waited a few minutes for the turkeys to calm down.  After a couple minutes of silence, I slid myself up the tree and could make out the shapes of more than a dozen turkeys on the bench below me. I let out a few very soft yelps. Minutes passed. The rustling of leaves below me got closer. I positioned my gun accordingly. I gave a few more yelps and let a few more minutes pass. The rustling got so close, I felt they had to be right on the sidehill between the benches. Then finally, a big red head appeared, closely followed by two more. The first bird must have caught the little bit of movement as I put the bead on his head because he stood up very tall and turned sideways to look my way. But by then I’d already noted the necessary beard protruding from his chest, centered the bead and KABOOM! I appreciate the tranquility of the sounds of spring, but shattering it with the blast of a shotgun on a turkey is better than the crack of a rifle in the November deer woods. At the shot, he tumbled over and flapped a few times. I was up and running, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, after all the early mornings of slipping out long before light, and trying not to awaken a grumpy wife next to me. After all the trial and error and close calls, I was holding my first turkey. He was not a trophy by size. But by appreciation, he could have made boone and crockett. A big jake. His round spurs were about 3/8 of an inch and his beard was 5 ½ inches, which I’m told is above average for a jake, so I’ll take it. But more than inches, was the beauty of these birds up close. Every feather was a work of art. The way the wings and tail spread. The colors of the head. I can’t get over them. I propped my phone on a rock, set a timer for the camera and took some in the field pictures. I snapped several angles of him as well. I make the victory walk home and my three year old was equally enamored. Little boys look at their daddies like superheroes on days like that. He wanted the details in the form of endless 3 year old questions. (Often the same questions got cycled through 3 and 4 times over.) I felt mixed accomplishment and remorse butchering it. I am not uncomfortable taking the life of an animal that is to be eaten, or to better manage land. But the butchering was the last step. The bird would be gone and the memories put in the past. The meals would be great, but the beauty of the wild turkey wouldn’t be there to look at anymore. And the following morning, I would have no reason to set an alarm. So naturally, I was already looking forward to next year.

I had a good season. My son and I took some groundhogs out of the fields and fished during the summer. I was lucky enough to have him by my side in archery season and took a mature doe and a nice 8 point buck. I hunted turkey in the fall a little as well. The overlap between archery bear season and our 1 week turkey season had me on stand letting out calls periodically but I never heard or saw a bird.

Since I had tagged out on deer before Christmas, turkeys stayed on my mind through the winter. I upgraded a little. I’m not one to go overboard on gear though. My hunting clothes all come from thrift stores and my guns and ammo are very much budget purchases. However, when I was approached with an offer to trade an old rifle that I’d acquired in trade and never used for a lightly used Mossberg maverick 88, I jumped at the chance. Was considerably lighter and shot straighter than my H&R. (H&R you needed to hold high and to the right to hit your target.) I bought an HS Strut Undertaker HD choke tube off Ebay for $10. I also took to ebay and found a Mossy Oak vinyl shotgun kit for $18. And Truglo magnum gobble dot adjustable shotgun sights for $40. A Maverick 88 is nothing special. You can find them new for under $200. But in camo, with that choke and sighted in, every time I pulled the trigger it was a dead turkey out to about 40 or 45 yards. (Still using Remington 2 ¾ inch high velocity shells) I bought a cheap face mask from Walmart. I continued to practice calling via youtube from time to time. My eternal optimism led me to purchase the “bonus” second turkey tag Pennsylvania offers before the season begins. You have to bet on yourself because after opening day arrives, sales are closed. As turkey season neared though, the big difference, was scouting. Last year, I took a few walks before turkey season. This year, for the last weeks leading up to the season, I was out there sometimes early and sometimes late but I located a few birds that seemed fairly talkative. Unfortunately, they were near the borders of several other properties and close to the road. Most likely I would have some competition for them. But as with every part of hunting, luck can always be a factor. The lucky timing of that truck coming by assisted me in my first bird. My opening day of 2018 was made possible by a small spring thunderstorm. I had my morning game plan together. I was going to hunt a field edge and try for the most consistent and talkative bird and just hope that I would not have other hunters run him off or beat me to him. But Sunday night I gave one last ditch effort to the section where I had come close two consecutive mornings last year. I knew where that birds strut zone was from last year, and the ground was excellent, just maybe there would be turkeys around. I walked back the trail a couple miles to where I heard so many gobbles last spring. As the sun set, the woods were beautiful, but I heard no gobbles. The dark line of clouds coming in had me thinking about heading home early, but that first big rumble of thunder changed my mind entirely. Three gobblers sounded off about 200 yards down the ridge! I snuck in closer to try and pin point the roost. Every rumble sent them into a frenzy. I heard a fourth gobbler further down, but closed the distance to about 100 yards from the roost. In the last light, I picked out my tree for the morning and snuck back out of there as excited as I’ve ever been for a turkey hunt.

4:00 AM. Usually this would be drudgery. But it was opening day and I had “put turkeys to bed” the night before. I was up and in my camo. Triple checked my backpack. Shells, license, phone, gloves, mask etc. And off I went. Even though I was about a mile away, I loaded my gun as quietly as I could. Then took the walk to the tree I’d picked the evening before. The last ¼ mile was done as quietly as possible. I stalked my way in with minimal twigs snapped. Sat on my camo seat, set my backpack to the side, put my gloves and mask on, and got comfy. As the pre dawn darkness started to fade, I heard something moving down the hill from me. Took me a minute to make it out. A deer, not 15 feet below me. She must have caught my scent because she snorted and ran about 10 yards behind me. I saw two more tails and one snorted and stomped probably 4 times. I knew the turkeys were close enough to hear it and my hopes were falling. The deer moved on and the woods were quiet. I played statue and listened to the wood thrushes. Finally, I think it started at a barred owl call, there they were. Gobbles on top of gobbles on top of gobbles. All 4 birds were sounding off at owls, crows, a passing heron, each other, a distant truck engine braking.  It was worth it all just for the roost gobbles. I gave a few tree yelps about 5 minutes apart and promptly shut up. Finally, about 20 minutes after shooting light, they flew down. They continued to gobble, a little less frequently now. I yelped a few times and got replies. I tried very hard not to over call. After maybe 10 minutes on the ground, they started to move away. I gave some more excited yelps and a few cuts. The birds started coming in. I stayed as still as I could. The gobbles got closer and closer. A downed tree blocked my vision in that area. Then I saw one. About 70 yards across the bench to my right, a long beard emerged. Two more followed. At one point they paused and all three gobbled in unison.  Sure got my blood pumping!  They angled across the bench toward the hill beneath me, closing the gap to about 40 yards. I had to slowly roll to my side to keep the gun toward them. The lead bird, got to about 35 yards, looking around for the hen he heard earlier. I leveled the sights on his head and squeezed the trigger. A tiny “ping” was all I got. “COME ON!” my brain yelled. In my pre dawn attempts at stealth, I must not have racked the forearm forward fully. I tried multi tasking. As the bird moved through the brush, trying to keep an eye on the turkeys while I opened the action half way “CLICK” and racked it forward with some force this time. “CLACK!” the sounds were foreign in the early morning woods. As I brought the barrel down, the first bird was still about 35 yards out. On alert now, but not running. Through the brush I had a clear shot at his head.. “KABOOM!” I lost sight of him as the pellets tore through the brush. I saw two turkeys take off down the hill. I chambered the next shell, put the gun on safety and jogged down the hill. About 10 steps down and there he was flopping around. I got down to him and admired my first long beard. 3/4 inch spurs, 8 ¼ inch beard. The fan was huge with nice black bands through the tail feathers. I gave a prayer of thanks to the Lord for blessing me with the bird, but also to have the kind of life where I can enter the woods like this regularly. I tagged him, took a few field photos and I was on my way home with my first mature gobbler before 7am on opening day. Boy was I glad I had a second tag in my pocket or I would have had a very short season! Again, at home my now 4 year old was thrilled and wanted a wing feather. My 6 month old was a few pounds smaller than the gobbler, so I took a picture of them side by side.

I continued to take evening walks listening for birds. Thinking it wise to not hunt the same place again, I opted to hunt the fields Monday morning. At sunup I heard a few hens around me. Gobbles didn’t start until about 7 am. The hens had gone that way and the birds were heading downhill to some private property. I was in no rush to tag out, so I called softly from time to time, but mostly enjoyed a cool, sunny spring morning. Tuesday had me back in the same place as opening morning, just a little further down the trail so I had a better view of the bench. The birds were there again and fired up again. This time though, they slowly moved away from me toward a private cabin. Wednesday was a mostly silent morning. A couple very distant gobbles, but nothing I could set up on. I hunted a travel corridor that birds and deer often use. Heard nothing close. With rain in the forecast for Thursday I planned to hunt a favorite pine tree on the edge of a low, swampy field. It was positioned below and between the ridge I’d hunted opening morning and the distant gobbles of the prior day. The branches of the tree were thick and hung low. It was like an umbrella and blind put together. At first light I heard two gobblers. Both were on the far side of a creek bed. I called about every 10 or 15 minutes. There was little response and the birds slowly worked away to another section of private land. I had not scouted this area before so after about a half hour of silence, and only a little hunting time left for the morning, I decided to see if I could find the roosting area since birds had been here the last two mornings, and scout for the following day. I cut down through the pines, dropped down the steep bank into the creek bed and crossed the little creek. On the other side I found some nice open ground and some large hardwoods that may have been roost trees. Further up was a fairly mature hemlock stand and an open flat that looked fairly scratched up by turkey activity. I was in the process of looking for a good tree to return to the next morning, when I heard a loud and clear “Gobble! Gobble!”  from the hillside back across the creek. I quickly threw my facemask and gloves back on and scurried back toward the creek bed. Once I descended into the creek, I jogged about 60 yards or so up the creek and climbed up the other side. At the top of the rise, as luck would have it, was a downed tree on it’s side. I laid down behind it, laid the gun over it and let out a series of yelps. A solid minute of silence, then “gobble gobble!” from up the hill about 100 yards. A small brushy field opened up about 30 yards in front of me. And beyond that was the wooded hillside containing the gobbler. I yelped a few more times and ended with a couple excited cuts. Again it took a minute and then “Gobble gobble!” This time I resisted the urge to call. Partly because much of the advice I’ve been given is that “less is more” when calling. That arousing a gobblers curiosity is more important than firing him up and making him talk more. Partly because my calls sound pretty good about 3 out of 4 times and it seemed best to quit while I was ahead. Minutes crawled by. 5, maybe 10. Who knows. But I was getting ready to call again when I could see a red head emerge from the far woodline and enter the brushy field. I adjusted the gun and watched him walk stealthily and slowly looking about. In my mind I reminded myself to stay silent and still. No need to call since he was slowly coming my direction. He crossed the opening and stopped at the edge of the woods on my side of the field. Rather than enter the woods, he turned and followed the edge from my left to right. I had already decided to pass if he was a jake. It was only the first week. But when he turned I could see a nice long beard flopping as he walked. The woodline angled closer to the log I was laying against. I slowly moved my shotgun to an opening in the trees. After a few pauses, he made his way far enough along searching for the hen to step into that opening. “KABOOM!” He tipped right over. His wings clasped to his side quivered for a couple seconds but that was it. I walked up to him and was floored all over by the color of the head and feathers. What pretty birds. This one was noticeably bigger. 9 ¼ inch beard but the spurs were 1 ¼ inches and he was heavy. (Weighed later at 23 pounds. ) I managed to prop my phone into a forked tree and get some pictures. And then the walk home again. 5 days of hunting and two mature gobblers. I can still only make halfway decent yelps and cuts only. I still have a ton to learn. But two seasons in and I feel like maybe I’m actually a turkey hunter now.