A renewed passion for the one-on-one game of turkey hunting

I often wonder if I should change the name of my column because it primarily focuses on fishing. This week, though, I can genuinely say I had a “blast.”

Though it may be hard to believe, for a good portion of my life, I didn’t have to go any further than the Bluffton town limit to hunt doves, ducks, quail and turkeys, so for years I was an avid hunter, primarily of game with feathers. As our area grew, though, it seemed the game used those feathers to skip town.

I was so into it, I would hunt just about every day of any particular season and still get to work on time. My favorite type of hunting, for sheer ease, was doves and turkeys. Dove hunts were as much a social event as a hunt, while turkey had a unique appeal all its own. Turkey hunting is a one-on-one game of sorts, pitting man against a bird half his size.

The habitat, too, was some of the most beautiful imaginable: swamps, hardwood ridges and woods as they emerge in spring, shedding their drab winter coat much like a caterpillar emerging as a butterfly. Swamp bottoms carpeted in white lilies, ridges dotted with wild dogwoods in bloom, and, to top it off, the trees’ first new leaves are such a vibrant green that no artist I know could match.

I don’t know why I stopped turkey hunting, because I truly loved it — maybe fishing got in the way. But when I had an invite to head to Estill, an area that from all reports had beaucoup turkeys, I decided to take it.

Just two days before, I had attempted to go wahoo fishing in the Gulf Stream, but after a two-hour arse whipping in high seas, we nixed our grand plans and headed home. After that, quite frankly, a mellow day in the woods sounded just fine by me.

Hunting with locals Craig Everetts and C.C. Skip Hoagland, we met up before dawn and headed into the woods. I was a tad nervous for two reasons: I hadn’t touched a turkey call in quite some time, and the area we were hunting was new to me. Flashlights are a no-no when turkey hunting, so in the pitch-black darkness I couldn’t be sure what I was stepping on.

As dawn approached, Craig and Skip headed off in one direction, leaving me to fend for myself. Maybe that was for the best, though, because now the only thing laughing at my turkey calling ability would be a turkey.

Wild turkeys are amazing creatures. Sound doesn’t faze them one bit, but their amazing eyes can detect even the slightest movement, meaning patience is a must. As I sat there listening to whip-poor-wills and trying to decide where to set up, I heard a gobble off in the distance. Then another, and another, until it seemed gobblers were in every direction. The problem: I was on the wrong side of a large, open field from all the birds.

Taking a chance on being seen, I booked it across the field to the edge of a swamp, praying I hadn’t been busted.

Camouflaged from head to toe, I settled in at the base of a large tree and listened. Nothing. I used to be a fairly good turkey caller, so with a couple of deep breaths, I hit my call. From my left came three gobbles, and then two more from where I had just left!

Calling again, all five gobbled. I could tell the ones on my left were jakes (young gobblers) because their gobbles were akin to a child’s first words, bordering on comical. But the two across from me were full grown birds, and all of them seemed to be heading my way.

I would call, they all would gobble getting closer and closer after each call. Then I saw the two big gobblers’ white heads over the grass in front on me, but still out of range. Almost simultaneously, the three jakes rounded the corner to my left and stood ten yards in front of me. I don’t shoot jakes so I was in a tight place. One would gobble and they all would gobble — what a show it was.

Being so close to me, I couldn’t call. All could do was watch as the jakes and gobblers had their way with me.

Did I get one? Nope, but that was all right by me. After not seeing the hen that I imitated, they ambled off, but in the process renewed my passion for this amazing type of hunting.

The best way to say this is with Arnold Schwarzenegger’s signature line — “I’ll be back.”

This story was originally published April 16, 2016 at 4:02 PM with the headline "A renewed passion for the one-on-one game of turkey hunting."