Eventually, Turkey Hunt Was Success

Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.

I thought of that memorable line from a Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” as Dr. Byron Johnson, D.J. Parker and I, our bodies clad in camouflage clothing and our faces covered with camo masks, sat near Douglas firs.

But for us, it was gobblers, gobblers everywhere and not one come to our calls.

We were surrounded by gobbling toms that weren’t interested in Parker’s excellent renditions of young, sweet turkey hens.

It was the first few hours of the 1999 turkey season. “D.J.”, an earnest young man who is the father of 2- and 5-year-old boys, had parked his compact pickup truck at 5:15 a.m. and we had hiked to trees where turkeys were roosting. Johnson, a retired Spokane anesthesiologist, an avid bird hunter, fly fisher and superb shotgun shooter, and I waited for daylight. Parker, who makes realistic hen turkey music with his mouth call, was about 50 feet behind us.

We listened to the gobblers for about 20 minutes and then they and the hens decided to come down from their trees, but they didn’t come toward us as we thought they would.

As the flock moved away from us, we began following them, carefully picking our way around sticks and low bushes to avoid making noise. Eventually, we caught up with them. Suddenly, there were three gobblers near two or three trees. Johnson and I raised our shotguns, aimed and fired. My gobbler flopped a couple of times and then vanished over a cliff.

I had loaded my Browning automatic with two three-quarter-inch magnum shells packed with No. 4 copper-coated shot. Maybe, I thought, there weren’t enough pellets in the shell. Perhaps the range was a little too far.

Later, my friend, John Newbury, offered to let me use his turkey cannon, and I accepted. His turkey gun holds three half-inch shells. We could hear turkeys gobbling in the timber across the canyon. Maybe, we thought, Dick Odell and Derek Brons, hunting with Newbury, would fill their turkey tags. We heard gobbles coming from the area where they would be hunting.

We stayed in the area for an hour, hoping to find a wounded turkey, but finally left. One or two pellets may have stunned the bird for a few seconds. Still, I regretted hitting and not killing the bird.

Later, a little discouraged, we drove to a restaurant, where Newbury and Odell were. Afterward, we decided to rest for a couple of hours at Newbury’s house.

“The turkeys will resume gobbling at about 4 p.m.,” Newbury assured us. “We’ll get a couple of gobblers.”

He was right. When we arrived at a place where he said we’d tag a turkey or two, several gobblers quickly answered our calls. Johnson, TJ and I started hiking down an old logging road. Newbury and Odell went into the timber several hundred yards above and beyond us.

After Johnson, TJ and I had hiked several hundred yards, I suddenly saw three hen turkeys moving through bushes and 3-foot-high fir trees. TJ gave a “come hither” hen call. Gobblers above us quickly responded.

We hid behind a pile of tree branches left by loggers and waited, our guns ready.

Three gobblers emerged out of the timber, moving toward us. For a moment, I thought we were going to be assaulted by sex-crazed gobblers. Then, they were 35 yards away.

Johnson and I fired almost simultaneously. Then I saw two gobblers flopping on the ground.

Less than 5 minutes later, Newbury and Odell appeared. Seeing Johnson and I holding gobblers, Newbury raised both hands high, a victory salute.

The gobblers Johnson and I had killed weighed about 20 pounds each.

We filled out our turkey tags and took 30 to 40 pictures. As I took pictures, I became aware that my hands were still trembling a little, the first time in many years that I had reacted that way to the killing of a game bird or animal.

Why? A big, wild turkey gobbler is a magnificent bird that will take handouts from farmers during winter months but quickly revert to his wild ways as breeding time approaches. He’s as wary as a ringneck pheasant and has earned the respect of all serious, ethical hunters.