Still, although Brad’s philosophy is basically “one shot, one bird,” I was a gal “without a reputation” as a shooter, so he loaded two No. 5 shotshells right behind the two-ounce 3-inch No. 7 1/2 magnum.
I quickly learned that although turkeys really do gobble-gobble-gobble, like on Old McDonald’s farm, these were not the brain-dead backyard variety of domestic birds I’d occasionally encountered. Like a true urban cowgirl, our Dream Team laughed out loud at my dropped-jaw amazement when several turkeys took to the air and actually flew away out of sight!
While Orion and the Big Dipper still patterned the sky, and whip-poor-wills echoed from the hills all around us, Brad led the way through the night woods to within several hundred yards of the roosting trees. Settled in, he started his orchestra of whistles, box calls and diaphragm calls, whether yelping like a young and willing female, her tone implying, “Come and get me, baby,” or clucking and purring in pullet contentment, or aggressively cutting. Amazingly, soon enough three handsome toms approached to within 35 yards!
I hardly noticed their display behavior, the strutting and wing-dragging typical of fired-up mating-ready gobblers. My entire concentration was on looking down the barrel and lining up the sights on where the red wattle meets the neck feathers. All three were mature males and Brad whispered to take my best shot.
The discomfort in my shoulders and wrists from sitting stone still for so long disappeared. Seeing I’d made a good shot, Brad ran towards the flopping bird. Later, he described to our cheering crew how I’d gone limp with relief as if I’d been shot, before dancing giddily through the woods, flapping my arms like a wounded turkey running towards them both.
Then I laid my head down on that old bird, and thanked him and his creator for a truly glorious hunt in the budding early spring forests of the Ozarks. The wild violets and periwinkles that covered the forest floor slowly came into focus again, and I listened peacefully to the cardinals and woodpeckers in the dogwoods in full bloom.
In three days, five broads had taken five birds weighing between 20 and 23 pounds, with 10-inch or better beards, and spurs measuring from 7/8 to 1 3/16 inches. We raised our Buds, Diet Pepsis and bottled water as Jeanne toasted, “This is the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”
Brooke Chilvers dedicates this text to those Dream Team gals who are no longer in the woods pursuing game.
