April 25th, 2015. 4:30 Saturday morning could not come soon enough. After some coffee and Special K, my father and I set out for a special day: my last Youth Turkey Hunt. It was a bittersweet feeling, but I had taken advantage of many youth-hunting opportunities in the past and my last one was going to be fun, no matter what the outcome was.
We walked outside into the crisp morning air. The sunrise painted the tree line bright shades of magenta, orange, and blue. It was the last week of April and below freezing. My freshly applied mascara seemed to freeze and my lip gloss felt frosty on my lips. But my excitement overpowered the cold. My father and I stepped ever so softly into the woods, and walked slowly and lowly to avoid spooking any turkeys that might still be blissfully unaware, and asleep in their roosts.
(The strategy behind turkey hunting is to imitate female turkey calls in order to lure male turkeys in. Springtime is when they mate, so the whole hunt revolves around these turkeys’ love interests.)
A few hundred yards down the woodsy road we heard an owl call. He and my dad called back and forth many times. We were hoping it would spark a gobble from a freshly woken turkey, but the owl just wanted his lover. "Anna, call to him," my dad smiled. There are only two species who's flirting I will interfere with: the wild turkey, and of course human beings (my dad only approves of the former). I let out a feminine hoot that my dad laughed at. But the owl was aroused enough to overlook my amateur calling and reply. Okay, make it three species.
We walked far and wide through puddles that were glazed with icy geometric patterns. The soft woodsy floor was covered with little ice crystals that shot up out of the ground like miniature skyscrapers. It was a beautiful April morning. We heard a few calls here and there, made sure to stay hydrated, and walked nearly four miles to try to set up the perfect situation. It ended with four turkeys frantically flying away. I was devastated, because I had been looking forward to the hunt for months. But in order to be a successful hunter, you need to have a little hope. My dad and I decided to take a little break and recharge before trying to find another bird. There was a Nature Valley granola bar calling my name and as excited as I was to be in the woods, I was a little tired.
Shortly after our break my dad and I heard a turkey, however we couldn’t agree on what direction the bird was coming from. I normally question my dad’s middle aged ears, but he can magically hear perfectly when it comes to hunting, so I decided not to challenge what he claimed to hear.
Sure enough, a few minutes later a gobble was let out only about 200 yards ahead. And before I knew it a beautiful long beard was in sight. My dad coaxed him towards us, gently purring with his call, while the turkey was puffing his chest and looking around for his lady friend. With some perfect calling the bird was at the right spot, and my dad and I both agreed it was time to shoot. At 10am my pink painted finger nails pulled the trigger and my Remington shot gun let out a deafening boom. My turkey, about 20 yards away, was down. "You got him Anna. You flattened him." The turkey weighed in at 16 pounds with an 8 inch beard and 1 1/8 inch spurs. He had a fan that I'd find attractive if I were a female turkey, and his feathers displayed every color of the rainbow.
It was the perfect way to end my youth career. I really felt like I made my dad proud and I also felt like it was a good way to remember my grandfather, who I know I’d be hunting with if he were alive. As we approached the turkey, I teared up. I said a little prayer, and promised to respect its carcass and take all the meat I could take. In my book, turkey hunting trumps any other type of hunting. It is a true test of your eyes, ears, physical shape, and motivation. When taking part in spring turkey hunting, you are interfering with the mating process of the wild turkey. This is a vulnerable subject for any species, and to see these gracious birds in hot pursuit is incredible.
Anthropologists from UC Santa Barbara have recently conducted a study, determining that when men leave the woods after hunting, the same hormones, testosterone and cortisol, are released from their brain as when they are romantically involved. I believe some variation of this has to also true for females. Additionally, the animal I am hunting is following his instinct to mate (I assume he finds pleasure in this activity). So a large amount of turkey testosterone is racing through his little brain while he chases down a lover. So in a way you can say the hunter and the hunted are going through a similar cycle. We are so in touch with nature, and I think that that’s something our society does not recognize.
Nor do we recognize the millions of dollars hunting licenses bring into animal and land conservation. Or that there are parks and game lands that can not be built on because of the income the state receives from hunting and fishing licenses. Or the fact that hunting is something we derived from. The first human beings on this Earth had to hunt. Today, no one has to hunt (contrary to what men tell their wives). My father could bring home venison from Wegman's. But instead, the meat I eat is from the wild, and not from a farm that has little care for the animals’ quality of life. My dad has touched my life in a way no one else has. He has taught me how to hunt.
The turkey fan I have hanging in my room is nothing. What matters is the long conceptual conversations my dad and I have shared in the woods. It is the laughing fits we have. It is the extreme weather situations we get to experience. It is the 4 mile walks through hills and brush. It is the friends we make along the way. One nice perk is the guys who suddenly become more interested in me when they hear I hunt (sorry Dad). It is the love of nature-the purest thing on Earth. These are the things about hunting that matter to me. I hope one day I can touch somebody's life in this way. Whether it be my own son or daughter, or possibly even my future husband, I hope to scratch the surface of what my father has introduced me to. So thank you Dad for putting up with my pink nail polish and taking me hunting.
