I think we sometimes lose perspective of what we expect, many times, to gain from our experiences in the field. Whether you’re an avid bird watcher, a diehard hunter, or a fisherman with resolve, we sometimes miss what is offered to us besides our ultimate goal. Of course this goal being the viewing of a rare feathered species in the case of the bird watcher or the collection of some specimen of fish or game as sportsmen and sportswomen. I think we, at times, fail to see the trees for the forest. Stepping over a box tortoise as you make your way to a gobbling turkey is a reward in itself. Stopping to watch honeybees forage on goldenrod as you head to your favorite bow stand is also lagniappe. If you happen to witness migrating specklebellies while looking for bald eagles then enjoy the additional experience. These little extras just seem to help take the edge off of putting too much pressure on ourselves to be “successful” in our pursuit of a particular quarry. Ultimately I would describe all of our endeavors afield as a giant stress reliever. That is until it involves hunting the wild turkey of Mississippi.
As tranquil as a hardwood bottom is with the emergence of the may apple, ferns, and the gurgling of a clear stream, a spine tingling gobble from a tom turkey throws the whole ecosystem into disarray. Everything that accompanies springtime is gentle and peaceful until man and turkey engage. Why is this? Why does man become a bundle of nerves in April? He loses sleep, his vocation at times suffers, and his household walks on eggshells around him. Add to the fact that a few of his closest friends limit out early and he’s ready for counseling. Mississippi gobblers are the toughest anywhere to hunt and the stress that comes with their pursuit can be overwhelming. Alas though, I have a remedy. Leave!
There are places where turkey hunting is just downright fun. It’s hard to believe but I know of places where gobblers will run over you to come to your calling even it wreaks of mediocrity. They still have great eyesight in these meccas so if you do spook one don’t worry for another will soon be found. How reassuring it is when you step from the truck and hear a hundred or more gobblers greeting the dawn from a spruce studded slope or a mesquite flat. Immediately your confidence soars to new heights. No matter how beaten down you are from battling our home birds there is new life.
As you carry a gobbler or two down a caliche road or across a lush meadow, turkey hunting once again becomes enjoyable. You notice blooming prickly pear. The vibrant colors captivate you as you pause and enjoy. Jackrabbits, as they clumsily lope in front of you, cause you to emit an audible chuckle. You forget about the laughter behind your back at being whipped again by the hill gobbler back home. You have thoughts of moving to this country of the Merriam and Rio Grande where trout swim in pristine brooks and elk graze nearby and the howl of the coyote is enjoyed not cussed. Yes turkey hunting is fun again.
I’m really not sure of the difference between hunting gobblers here and those places I just described. To some degree I know it’s a numbers thing, but there is something else to it besides that. How can a gobbler here gobble a thousand times and as soon as you cluck to him one time, he shuts up for a week? If you call a gobbler to you and fail to close the deal, you may not have another chance the rest of the year. I have known hunters that wouldn’t even hunt certain turkeys. Time, after time, after time, hunters have failed repeatedly on certain birds to the point of giving up and offering their demise to another “friend” to try. More times than not, they give up too. I guess I heard it best summed up by an old timber man who was also an exceptional turkey hunter. He stated one morning, after we had been thoroughly flogged by an old gobbler, “The good Lord knew what he was doing when he named the bird the wild turkey.”
So next spring we’ll do what we always do. We’ll hunt the same places here with pretty much the same results. I believe they call this insanity. Then after a few weeks, Sam, JH, and I will load the truck and head to those places where we enjoy hunting and living again. Laughter will abound around the fire while fajitas sizzle and stories are told. Thank the Lord for Larry Ellis, Don Mooney, and Steve Farris, for taking care of us during spring gobbler season. Without them, I’m not sure I could find a turkey at the local grocer. Let me know if this is your story too.
Until next time enjoy our woods and waters and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it.
