In early May, a season we wait for all year long is upon us. Spring turkey season is a favorite season of many hunters. There is almost nothing that compares to the thrill of calling in a big gobbler by hand, and if you have ever hunted turkeys you know exactly what I am talking about. Turkey hunting is challenging, and it takes a lot of skill, patience, hard work and determination to bag a bird. First, you have to find where they are spending the night(roosting). Next you must wake up early to get into position to call one of these birds in, set up the decoy, cluck, purr, yelp, and do everything else in your power to bring those big toms away from their hens and to you. Some days you don’t see a bird, and others there are so many you could catch one in a butterfly net. Unfortunately, the day we were out was NOT one of those incredible days. We worked hard from the moment our alarm went off. We threw on our camo, got our decoys out, and headed to our first spot just down the road from our house. At this time I was using my trusty 12 gauge Remington 1100 shotgun with number 4 shot. We reached the spot after a few quiet minutes walking down the damp clay-dirt road and the anticipation hung so thick in the air you could have cut it with a knife. The crew for the morning consisted of my dad, my friend Matt and myself. We had not had the time to roost birds this year, so we walked around calling and waiting for responses. We got no responses after walking the entire perimeter of a sopping wet and muddy cow field that is generally loaded with turkeys, so we headed home to get in the car and try the next one. It was the same story at the next location, as well as the next one, and the next. Cold, wet, muddy, and turkey-free seemed to be the continuing pattern. At around ten O’clock we looked at each other and decided that we would try “Spot X”. We arrived at Spot X at 10:30, loaded up, walked into the woods and tried a couple calls. Boom, an immediate response around a a quarter of a mile away… Then two more. I looked over at Matt and saw the gleam in his eye as the morning sun reflected off the gun barrel and lit up his spring green camo. Once again energized we set off towards the gobbling toms at a steady pace, weaving in and out of briars and skunk cabbage. We jumped over one stream and watched the tiny brook trout scoot out from under the overhanging bank toward a deep, leaf stained pool. We trudged on, stopping every now and then to relocate the toms. We reached the base of a hill and immediately knew that they were on the flat top of it, where I had shot a turkey the year before. It was Matt’s turn to shoot so we set up with him in front of me, and my dad a couple yards behind us clucking and purring to the toms. The decoy was set just over the crest of the hill, in the perfect location for a shot if the toms came toward it. We called and called and called until we got the biggest of the birds to come down the hill and walk only feet in front of my dad and then back up without giving us a shot. Next, we saw a second bird peek his head over the top of the hill for a split second before disappearing back into the tall grass to tend his hens. They never came back and when we poked our heads over the hill we saw the hens and gobblers going onto somebody else’s property where we couldn’t pursue them. We were forced to give up the chase and try one last spot. We arrived at the spot where we began the day to say hello to the land owner and maybe do another quick spin if we had time. As we pulled in I looked at the clock, which read 11:40 AM. In Massachusetts you are only allowed to hunt turkeys until 12, so with twenty minutes to go I looked up to see what we had been looking for all day. Mr. Turkey was sitting on the edge of the field about 100 yards from the little road and stepped into the brush as we pulled in. We started to talk to the land owner, and Matt and I asked if we could try to go call that turkey in, and attempt to harvest him with my compound bow. She said that we could and we ran over with the call and my bow to a stone wall which stood about chest high and was covered with gray and green lichens and crawling beetles out enjoying the warmer weather. I yelped once and immediately got a response from the tom who was about 200 yards away. I called while peeking through the cracks in the boulder wall and got him within 40 yards at full strut before I stopped calling. I gave a couple clucks with my mouth to get him to cover ten more yards and then seized the opportunity to stand and draw my bow while he disappeared behind a tree a couple feet wide. He appeared again standing broadside and I gave one cluck and he stopped. I squeezed the release and let the arrow fly to a spot right above the leg where the vitals are located. The arrow flew true and hit the bird exactly where I had intended for it to. He ran 20 feet into a patch of blackberries before we lost sight of him. I looked at my phone, the clock read 11:56. We ran over to the berry patch and there he was, laying with wings out to the side as the shot had made a humane kill almost instantly. Matt and I glanced at each other, unbelievably stoked and stunned with what had just happened. I picked up my arrow from the ground and we carried the bird back to my dad and the landowner. The bird had a beautiful beard and good spurs and weighed in at 19 pounds. An amazing hunt with an even better ending to share with a close friend. Spring turkey season is truly unbeatable. This hunt will remain in my memory as long as I live.(PICTURE BELOW)
Cast and Blast with Tucker 