I’ve been impatiently waiting for my turkey season to arrive. All the youth photos and the first season photos from my cronies have primed the pump. In other words, I’m really looking forward to my season. I can hardly wait. It’s not little kid Christmas excited but it’s close.

It seems a little crazy to look back and think that the first time I turkey hunted was literally 33 years ago. At that time, you were lucky to draw a tag every two to three years. That’s a huge contrast to today when you can purchase multiple tags for the spring seasons.  

Another interesting thing about those early seasons was that when I went hunting, I didn’t have the benefit of years of experience to draw upon. I didn’t have my dad or grandfather to pass down their knowledge and experiences because they didn’t have any. It was all new to everyone. If I had to go through those early years again, I would have probably practiced calling turkeys even if I didn’t have a tag.  

I learn how to do a lot of things by watching YouTube. The problem with that is back then there was no YouTube. Everything I learned was by word of mouth and the opinions of those lucky few who drew the coveted tags in those first seasons. Success was rare and turkey calling was more a trial-and-error proposition as opposed to using tried and true practices. 

All this is just the long way of saying that when I drew my first tag for this area in 1996, I didn’t go out with a ton of confidence. I remember from that hunt that I didn’t even know if there were any turkeys in that particular spot. The reason I went to that open pine meadow was because someone had seen a tom strutting there the previous week. I was that desperate to use intel that was at least a week old because I had no other options.  

That first day of my season wasn’t full of Christmas morning excitement and great expectations. In the pre-morning darkness, it was all about hope and prayers that I was even in the same township of some birds. When a tom gobbled at my first messy attempt at a hen yelp call, I about jumped out of my hunting boots. I didn’t see him fly down but I saw where he landed. Only a few small pine trees and about 100 yards separated us.  

We remained in that stalemate for what seemed like forever, but it was probably only 15 minutes. What happened next was unexpected and a little crazy. A shot rang out and to this day I don’t know if another hunter shot and missed or if a neighbor was shooting at a woodchuck. Either way it caused the tom to take flight and he came straight at me landing 15 yards off the ground. It looked like a feathered 747 airplane gliding towards me. Back then I didn’t know that you weren’t supposed to shoot at a flying turkey, but I did know that I shot my share of ducks and this looked a heckuva a lot easier than shooting a whirling blue wing teal going 100 miles per hour. When the tom was directly overhead, I gave him a short lead and fired. The bird folded and sailed back to Earth. When it hit the ground, it sounded like what I guessed a 30-pound bag of sand would sound like if it made the same drop. It landed with a thud and an instant later I was holding my bird and was proud as all get out.

That was a long time ago, and I wouldn’t take that kind of shot today because, well, I know better. My point is to live and learn along the way and have fun. Did I already mention that I’m really looking forward to my hunt? 

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