Turkey Camp

Disbelief and confusion entered my mind, mere moments after waking up. Like a big ‘ol longbeard, I jumped out of the roost and scanned the situation. 

The weather report was calling for rain, and the radar showed that we were on the edge of a giant cell, so the group decided to tuck in and wait it out. A few of us couldn’t sleep, so we would head out for coffees and a quick bite to eat. 

During the drive to the diner, we were expecting to be caught in the storm, but not a drop fell from the sky. Puzzled and frustrated, we spun around and made our way back to camp. The weather “experts” had failed us. We slipped on our boots, decided who would hunt with whom, and hit the floor runnin’ like a hound on a whitetail in November. Our team of three made a spontaneous decision to head about 25 minutes north. We had enough time to build a couple of scenarios, create a game plan of "if this, then that," and decide who would lead the hunt.

We slowed our speed as we approached the first gate on the east side of the farm, where you can just see through the timber this time of year, before things get too green. We all agreed that our eyes weren’t playing tricks on us when we spotted a full fan through the binos on our drive-by the 2-acre clover plot.

“Yup. 1 for sure," Schned says. 

Without even hesitating, we parked the truck about a half mile down the road and grabbed the essentials- guns, chairs, and decoys. We snuck in the back door and hit a ‘em with a crow call, just to make sure our birds hadn’t moved.

“Was that a Jake?” Mikey asked. “Sounded like a Jake."

Just to be sure, we fired off a couple more ‘caws.

“Definitely a couple of birds.” He states with confidence. “Guess we’ll find out what’s in there.” 

Andy Reid might be the only fella on the planet with more plays in his playbook than a turkey hunter with a few good seasons of experience tucked in his vest. The plan was simple. Based on the lay of the land, using the map, we’d get things situated first, then pick out the point of ambush, and using the cedar as cover, get closer to the birds, call at ‘em and move away slowly. 60 percent of the time it works every time. It seemed that our soft yelps & clucks weren't going to cut it, so we decided on some jake yelps. The next gobble was 50 yards closer than the last, and before long we had 3 strutting juvenile birds on our laps. Knowing there was a mature gobby nearby, we kept still.

The distinct sound of a spit drum is like hearing a big old bull moose grunt without notice, it’ll send shivers up your spine and leave you grinning like a possum. The longbeard was close, and we all knew if he caught a glimpse of our setup, that would be the hunt. Unannounced and quiet as a church mouse, the tom appeared. 

Leaving the turkey woods with some of your favorite buddies, and a strutter in tow provides an unmatched feeling. Those who experience it and truly cherish it are the ones lucky enough to try at describing it. Whatever you come up with be it during sombre reflection, leaving you grateful for another day, or getting as excited as a cagey old hen cutting in the timber; or both - there's something we can all agree on: the feeling doesn’t age a day, and you’re already planning your next visit to the woods.