It was the third day of my Wisconsin turkey hunt. With the kids now 12 and 8, I found myself in a season of busyness with not much time to think. That’s one thing about hunting…it will give you a lot of time to think. On the hunt thus far, I had been gifted 22 hours of me and my thoughts. Dad was with me too of course. Since becoming a mom, this remained our guaranteed time together. Hunting made me feel like a kid again…just me and Dad, the woods, and the wait.
Mother Nature kept our attention the couple of days prior. Opening morning seemed promising with responses to our calls almost immediately and continuing for a couple of hours. The second day my alarm sounded at 3:00am and it was time to try again. Three curious deer were the first to respond to our turkey calls, steadily approaching our decoys through the cornfield, still shrouded in darkness. As I looked at the sun creeping over the horizon, I was filled with a profound sense of gratitude and a gentle reminder of God’s presence. Whatever worries I seemed to have were washed away by the reassurance that God was present and at work in all things.
That morning, we heard a few more gobbles, followed by silence for what seemed like eternity. We decided to relocate and settled ourselves on the edge of a patch of evergreens. It felt good to look at something new. I occupied myself by observing a slug slither across my hand and finishing the last of my snacks. Suddenly, a loud boom crackled throughout the air, followed by a downpour of rain. A group of seven deer came bounding into the field, darting back and forth as if in a joyous dance with the thunder. They were playing in the rain. It was a magical spectacle; I had honestly never seen anything like it. Dad and I exchanged smiles, once again mesmerized by the beauty of the moment.
By day three, we were back to our original spot, with still no sighting of a turkey. Though neither of us wanted to admit it, we were both becoming discouraged. We sat. We sat. We sat. No gobbles, no clucks, nothing. Not a living thing in sight. I made my way out of the blind for a bathroom break. As I was making my way back, Dad asked me to peer over the hill to see if I could spot anything in the field below. I crawled in the grass along the edge not wanting to spook anything. I saw three dark figures in the distance about 300 yards away. Could that be what I think? It looked to be the silhouettes of three turkeys. I crawled my way back to the blind. Dad hoisted himself up to see, “sure enough,” he said. All of a sudden things felt hopeful.
Dad started calling and soon there was a gobble from behind us…the opposite direction of my sighting. It seemed we were surrounded by turkeys now. With that, our senses were keen on our surroundings. We called on and off for 45 minutes, with our anticipation building as the gobbles grew louder with each response. Then just like that I heard Dad say, “There he is!” We spotted a male turkey along the edge of the woods, eyeing up the decoys and stepping ever so hesitantly towards them. “It’s a jake,” Dad whispered. Now, Dad has never discouraged me from harvesting an animal based on size, we hunt for meat, not for trophies, I knew he wanted me to shoot…but I had been very fortunate to harvest full-size toms each year since I started turkey hunting. For a second I wondered if I should wait for a tom. I decided that with 22 hours invested and this being our first turkey sighting, Dad and I both worked way too hard to pass up this opportunity. If the good Lord was blessing me with a jake, by God I was going to take it and be thankful. I slowly switched shooting windows as the bird worked his way towards us on my left. He no longer seemed 100% committed to the decoys, but was still inching closer. I was anxious to shoot, and Dad could tell. “Hold on,” he said, “Let him get a little closer.” Dad worked his magic with a little light clucking and with that the bird walked a few more steps toward me. He was standing at 48 yards, which was about as much as I wanted to push my 12-gauge. The bird was being sneaky though, and we both knew that at any time he might decide to duck back into the woods. BAM! I took the shot and with that, it rolled him right over. Then just as quickly as he dropped, he flew up and away in the sky. Dad and I looked at each confused and full of despair. “What the hell happened?” asked Dad. “I have no idea.” I sat there just stunned, leaning over, my head in my hands, “What do we do now?”
Dad and I sat there for 10 minutes and then decided to investigate. We spotted a few specks of blood, which was a good sign, but not a guarantee by any means. For all we knew, the bird could have flown across the road and into a neighboring woods. We walked up and down, Dad and I each taking a side. I said a prayer. The thought of working another 22 hours to see a bird seemed torturous. I made my way closer to Dad and searched the tall grass, and somehow someway there that bird was right at my feet. I fell to my knees and thanked God. It was a TOM!!! The beard was so worn down from years of breeding that when we had seen him from a distance all that was visible was what seemed to be a short stubby beard. “Dad! Dad!” I ran up with the turkey by the neck.
As I reflected on the situation, a wave of thankfulness washed over me. Had I succumbed to my pride and passed up the opportunity to take a shot at what we believed to be a jake, I would have missed out on the bird of a lifetime. The long hours were all worth it. If I’d harvested a bird the first day, we wouldn’t have experienced the deer creeping in at daybreak, the fiery sun painting a landscape over the darkness of night, Dad and I wouldn’t have had all those hours talking and pondering, and perhaps the most special of all…we would not have experienced that enchanted moment in time, watching the deer dance to the beat of the thunderstorm. For everything, there is a plan.
It was a glorious feeling walking out with that turkey on my back. As we got closer to the road, we noticed 3 large hay bales…the “turkey silhouettes” we thought we saw in the distance earlier. Dad and I both looked at each other and laughed. That phantom of our imagination was just what we needed to get our hopes up and start calling with a little passion that day. Another successful hunt, another memory etched forever in time. I love you Dad.
