Unexpected Turkeys: the Sequel

What is it about deer hunting that seems to bring out the turkeys?

One minute, you’re sitting in your stand, gazing around the sendero through your binoculars at any movement or remotely deer-shaped shadow in the brush; the next, a flock of jabbering turkeys trots into the pasture like a pack of smaller, less toothy velociraptors.

They poke around the corn, strutting their stuff, puffing up their feathers, and flapping their striped wings like they know they’re beautiful. And to be fair, they are.

For several years, when my husband, Court, would take us deer hunting, I would groan a little bit when a bunch of clucking hens would wander under the feeder. We were hunting deer, after all! It seemed that every fall, at some point during one of our sits, those turkeys would walk out and we would giggle at their bobbing heads and catwalk struts.

It wasn’t until we devoured a smoked wild turkey breast covered in a bacon lattice on Thanksgiving one year that I understood the whole turkey hunting thing; I immediately had turkey fever.

Well. The thing most hunters don’t tell you is that turkey hunting is hard. Deer will give in to hunger, fall into a routine, or make silly mistakes during the rut; even the smartest deer will eventually slip up.

But turkeys are different; they’ll play mind games. They’ll lull you into a false sense of confidence as you cluck at them and they gobble back. Their gobbles will eventually draw closer and closer to where you’re at; your hopes will carefully rise with each response until you can hear him just around the corner from you…

And then he’ll go silent. When he finally responds, further away than ever, it’ll sound like laughter through the trees because he knows he’s won.

Ever since I caught the turkey hunting fever, I have never seen a legal turkey during turkey season. Not a one.

So when we got permission to harvest a mature tom at a friend’s property, I was grateful for the opportunity to be humiliated by a turkey again. We had never seen turkeys at any deer stands on this property before, so I had no expectations. That’s Rule #1 of turkey hunting; have no expectations of seeing or hearing anything.

We packed up my .270 and prepared to bring home some venison; after all, we were heading out to a stand where I’d had great luck in the past.

As expected, as soon as our ride vanished into the darkness, deer started emerging from the shadows and nibbling the corn left in the truck’s wake. The wind brushed the tops of the trees, but it was otherwise silent.

At around 7:00am, the feeder went off loudly in early morning quiet; Court and I both brought out the binoculars as more deer spilled into the open. Straight in front of us, the deer scattered at a thunderous sound through the trees.

No less than thirty turkeys dropped gracefully out of the trees to feed on the corn. My heart skipped at least a couple of beats; it couldn’t be real. At a stand where there had never been turkeys, there were thirty. Sorry, thirty-three; we actually counted them.

Court and I swung our binoculars to the giant flock of feathered velociraptors and searched for the toms. Despite one bearded hen, there was not a single tom in the entire flock.

Thirty-three hens and there was not a single tom in sight! Typical turkey hunting. Laughing as the hens poked through the corn, we turned our attention back to the deer on the other side of the stand.

I had a new monocular with me that I was dying to try, so I rigged up my phone and started practicing filming the enormous flock of hens. Even if they weren’t the birds we were looking for, it’s hard to beat watching them in their element, completely unaware that we were there.

At about 7:10am, I heard a quiet gobble to our right, taunting us from the trees. “Did you hear that?” I whispered to Court, and he confirmed the gobble. “Figures he would be smart enough to wait in the trees.” With the gobbler quickly fading from my mind, I turned back to the deer.

By now, the hens had congregated to the left of the feeder; I took more videos and pictures with my monocular and had just lowered it to make some adjustments when I noticed a lone, bearded turkey further out to the right. It was sauntering slowly towards the larger group, almost like it was sneaking up on them. Something looked different about this one, though, and suddenly I saw it; a big red and blue head and a huge beard.

“Is that a tom??” I whispered to Court.

“Holy… yes! Get your rifle up!” I grabbed my rifle, managing to bang it on probably any and every surface in the blind. “Aim low on the neck,” he quietly reminded me as I finally got my rifle up and into place.

I slid the safety off and coaxed the crosshairs onto its neck. His head wasn’t tucked all the way into his body, but it wasn’t exactly extended, either. This would be a tricky shot and I was mentally prepared to miss.

“Should I wait until he extends it a little further?” I whispered. When there was not response, I turned to look at Court, and he had his fingers in his ears.

I quickly turned back to the scope, willing the turkey to completely extend his neck. He had moved a little closer to the hens and I knew that if he joined the group, it would be almost impossible to make a shot.

He jutted his little blue head a little bit more and I decided to take my chances.

BOOM!

All I saw through my scope was an explosion of feathers as the others turkeys flapped away loudly. As I slowly lowered my rifle, my entire body started shaking in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. I just shot a wild turkey, I thought, scarcely believing it was true.

I looked at Court and he beamed at me. “Good. Job,” he whispered and somehow I managed to fist bump him. “Let’s go get him.” He started climbing down the ladder of the stand and it was all I could do even try to move to follow him. The ladder shook violently as the adrenaline pounded through my veins.

We walked up to where the tom lay on the ground and I couldn’t believe it. There he was and… oh no!

If you’re not familiar with ballistics, the .270 round is meant to take down animals that are over 100 pounds, like a deer or a wild pig. Big game. And I just shot at a bird that weighs anywhere from 17-21 pounds… You can imagine the kind of the damage that can do.

Without going into gory details, I saw that the bullet had certainly hit its mark, but there was a pretty good chance that some of the meat was damaged. “Do you think the breast was damaged?” I asked, laying a tentative hand on the tom’s feathers. He really was so beautiful up close.

Court laughed at me. “You just got your first turkey! Don’t even worry about that.”

We took a couple of quick snapshots and carried it back to the stand so we could continue deer hunting. It was only when we were back in the stand, settled down and looking for deer again that Court ranged the small pile of feathers still laying on the ground; one hundred yards.

It’s absurd. I spent a couple of years waiting in stands during deer season and wandering through the brush calling into thin air during the spring in the hopes at having a shot at one of these beautiful birds. And when the chance finally came, I would take one with a 100 yard neck shot using a deer-hunting rifle.

But that’s turkey hunting, I guess.

It’s so much work and so difficult to harvest one of these birds. I have major respect to the hunters out there that are able to harvest one every season; I’m for 1/3 for so far! And despite the heartbreak and toil of a few seasons, I’m already hooked for life.

On December 31st of 2022, I finally fulfilled a New Year’s Resolution that had eluded me two years by harvesting my first turkey. Time for some turkey tacos, y’all.

P.S. the breast meat wasn’t damaged! What a way to end the year.