Ode to Turkey Huntin’ Buddies
It has been suggested by wiser men than I that “two can be a crowd in the turkey woods” (Tom Kelly), and turkey hunting is an excellent “one-man game” (Kenny Morgan). I wholeheartedly agree that there is something pure about a mano y mano matchup with the wild turkey. So, too, is there an appeal and need to share the experience through mentoring? But for me, it does not have to be one or the other. I simply must have both solo time with turkeys and some buddy hunts. Except for the most misanthropic recluses among sportsmen and women, I would submit that any time invested in the pursuit of wild turkeys with a friend makes one richer for the experience.
There have been a good many tributes to huntin’ buddies by better writers than I, so I only wish to reinforce those merits. A good companion can share the load, impart knowledge, and add an element of safety. Two hunters don’t even begin to do the odd in a duel with one wary old bird; however, it provides a chance for new strategies and challenges. If you don’t have friends you regularly hunt with, I would encourage you, after reading this, to find some. Like it or not, our right to bear arms and to pursue fair chase hunting are all at risk in a world with increased urbanization and dependence on grocery stores and fast food for nourishment. If you don’t buddy hunt for yourself, mentor a hunter to secure your future.
Enjoying a successful turkey hunt is wonderful; sharing the experience with a friend is priceless. The best part of many grand turkey hunts is the brothers-in-arms bond created with a huntin’ buddy. This is especially evident at the climax of the hunt, where two are better than one for an appropriate celebration. Upon a successful harvest, an impossible shot, or the execution of a perfectly brilliant plan, one needs a huntin’ buddy to celebrate with. Back-slaps, high-fives, and hugs require a party of two, lest one sustain an injury attempting these maneuvers alone!
Some support for the value of a huntin’ buddy is even manifested post-hunt. It is an unspoken yet generally recognized fact that turkey hunters are allowed a little embellishment to acknowledge their achievements. The fraternity of hunters is closely related to our fishermen brethren when it comes to ‘the one that got away.’ And there is an interesting phenomenon of how time can increase the size of the quarry. For instance, an emaciated gobbler taken at the end of the breeding season 15 years ago, while at his fighting weight, may balloon to 25 or even 30 pounds after years of reminisces! A huntin’ buddy certainly can keep us honest (and the best ones might even add a pound!).
I am blessed when it comes to turkey huntin’ buddies and have several such compatriots. They, almost as much as the turkeys, know my vices and virtues. They are certainly more forgiving than the turkeys! When I’m on my best behavior, I might even be claimed by some few as being their huntin’ buddy. I’ve introduced many friends to turkey hunting, and some have become bona fide buddies. My brothers, wife, and children are especially esteemed. My father and his contemporaries that I grew up hunting with and who mentored me, are venerated above all.
Randy Buren is a turkey huntin’ buddy of mine. Randy and I have shared some memorable deer and duck hunts, and each of us has been gnawed on pretty egregiously by the turkey hunting bug. We can hunt in each other’s company comfortably as equals, neither the teacher nor the student. We can appreciate the hunt and not be pressured to simply fill a tag. The enjoyment is in the process itself, and when and if ‘the celebration’ does occur, it is a thing to be savored. I recollect a hunt in which Randy and I made our pre-dawn trek to a pre-determined spot, enjoying the brief hike in the crisp, still semi-darkness. Carefully moving aside the leaf litter, we settled against neighboring trees, sitting perpendicular to one another. I learned long ago there is value in being able to see your huntin’ buddy, considering safety and the nonverbal cues one can pick up on. Now was the time to let heartbeats and breathing slow and to let the noise pollution from the walk in to fade away.
These moments to share the outdoors with both the creatures that rule the night and those that belong to the day are among my favorites. The steady peeping of frogs in wet ditches, the cacophony of owls endeavoring to find a mate, and the mournful refrain of coyotes gradually give way to the salutation of songbirds, a crowing pheasant, and scurrying squirrels. Some hunts are enhanced with unexpected and delightful moments, and on this day, that occurred when two whitetails were having a dispute on pecking order. They ran at each other and reared up on their hind legs to box with their forelegs. Just before the rising sun fully pierced the darkness, we were greeted by the eruption of a throaty gobble. In spring, nothing is as much a herald of the dawn as a wild turkey singing this chorus most revered by turkey hunters. And once you are witness to the majesty of a turkey gobbler in spring, nothing else will quite compare.
We were on a knoll facing a field enrolled in Iowa’s Conservation Reserve Program, meaning it was essentially grassland. We sat in a fencerow that had ample cover to break our forms and a wooded ravine jutting out to our right. It was at the far end of the ravine to our front, maybe at 300 yards that the bird gobbled right where he was expected to be. Pre-season and pre-hunt scouting is nearly an obsession with me. While I love the discovery of new ground and the thrill of the unexpected, I also love the advantages of what Cuz Strickland calls MRI (most recent information). On this hunt, we were set up where we believed this bird wanted to be after fly-down. He was henned up, and his harem had the habit of foraging for spring’s new insect crop and green shoots in the CRP field.
We were content to begin the conversation from our location, which we did by scratching out some tree yelps. Although we started with a long-distance relationship, our pleading yelps assured him of our amorous intentions. As is often the case in such open terrain, we were pinned down. We sat, and he stayed put with his hens, who likely didn’t appreciate our advances. Randy and I alternated at calling, called at the same time, and at times just sat silent. The ground around me was littered with various calls…I will never be accused of being stingy with the number of calls I pack in!
Ultimately, Randy and I agreed on getting aggressive on our calls; we were competing for his affection, after all. Although I’d like to think our prowess at calling was the key to success, the exit of the hens from the field was more likely our biggest boon. Randy was on deck as the shooter. I had tagged out and was there for the joy of the hunt and his company, grateful for another day afield with turkey call in hand. As the tom neared within 50 yards, we still couldn’t see him due to the gentle swells of the terrain, but his gobbles could now be felt as well as heard. If you’ve been there, you know what I’m talking about! Randy had already abandoned his calls and shouldered his gun, and his slight nod gave me confirmation when the bird came into his line of sight.
As ungulates sport horns or antlers, and predators tooth and claw, so is the wild turkey cock in the spring resplendent in design. This bird was no exception, and his arcing tail fan rose over the hilltop, followed by his shimmering robe of feathers and vividly colored red head. As when any wild creature falls to feed and clothe me, I have a momentary and respectful reflection. Randy shares my view of the right and responsibility of man to enjoy and be a good steward of God’s creation. We both appreciate the hunt itself and are thankful for the life of any animal that enriches ours. We can also both execute a perfect ten on a huntin’ buddy celebration! Years ago, my grandfather sagely stated that “he was glad his grandsons were shooting game instead of shooting up drugs.” Amen. And I can’t imagine a high to compare to the thrill of the physical exertion, mental challenge, and joy of success that comes from a successful hunt.
The weight of a turkey and the length of its beard and spurs are statistics that interest turkey hunters. My records show this particular turkey weighed 23 pounds & changed in 2009 when harvested. I guess Randy and I have kept each other honest, so this bird never gained any weight in the intervening years. The spurs were sharp, and the beard was long and thick enough. But the real measure of that hunt, and in others like it, was in the warmth of friendship, broadness of smiles, and depth of memories created. Those have aged pretty well and need no embellishment.