Turkey Fever

Turkey Fever
Sheila Bishop

It was about nine years ago when Jeff, my husband, and Brad, my Dad, came down with an illness. The illness was called “turkey fever.” The two men in my life began showing many strange symptoms of this fever. They started waking up in the very early morning, covering themselves from head to toe in camouflage attire and then hiding for hours in a bush to watch turkeys fly out of the roost. They would tell us girls about how they needed to “put the turkeys to bed” at night. This had us worried if the guys would ever snap out of this crazy fever. When they got home they would strut around the house, clucking and gobbling as if they were a turkey themselves. The turkeys they were hunting were even labeled with names like “Brush Beard” and “White Ghost.” These two turkeys have since joined the family and are mounted on our wall.

You can imagine my surprise when Jeff informed me one cold January evening that I had drawn out on my first turkey hunt. Dad and Jeff were so excited to get me out turkey hunting, but I have to admit that I was a little worried that I might catch the turkey fever myself. At the time, I was nine months pregnant with our little boy, so that made it even more difficult to muster up too much excitement. Jeff was also a little concerned and wondered if I would be feeling up to hunting six weeks after the baby would arrive. I decided that I would probably be feeling better by then, and I assumed that there wouldn’t be too much hiking involved.

Our son Huntington arrived in February, and we all settled into our new life with another little one in the house. It was very nice to draw out on a hunt that was close to Mom and Dad’s house. While we were caring for a newborn, Dad was out doing all the work for me. He spent countless hours “putting the turkeys to bed” in their roost and watching them fly down from the roost in the early morning hours. He knew all about the flock’s feeding patterns, and he had even picked a perfect bush for our set-up. Thankfully, Mom was willing to watch the new baby and our two-year old, Brooklyn.

The afternoon before the opener, Jeff decided that I should practice shooting the shotgun. I had been on several big game hunts, so I felt comfortable shooting a rifle, but a shotgun was a different story. It did give me some piece of mind to know that my target would hopefully be on the ground, not flying in the sky. We stopped at the gravel pit before leaving town. I shot two shells. Jeff must have been satisfied with my pattern because after that we were on our way to my parents house.

Opening morning seemed to come too early, especially after several feedings with the baby in the night. I did feel some excitement running in my blood that morning as I layered on my Mountain Shadow camouflage. As we drove up the hills in the truck, I sat between my two favorite men. I felt lucky to be spending some one-on-one time with them in the beautiful mountains. I was starting to feel a little nervous about the kill shot. I apologized in advance to them if I missed the shot. I knew Dad had spent a lot of time spotting for me so that I could have a successful hunt. I also didn’t know if we would be able to make it back later in the season to hunt. Opening day might have been my only chance. They reassured me that it was all about the fun of the hunt, not just shooting a turkey.

We parked the truck and started walking in the dark with our flashlight down ravines, over rocks, and around fences. It seemed a bit crazy, but I was getting excited as my heart started to beat faster. After climbing up a big side hill, we descended into a huge valley on the other side. In the cool crisp air I could see Dad’s breath as he explained and pointed to the large cluster of trees where he watched the turkeys fly up to roost the night before. I was amazed at how quiet we had to be. I wondered if the turkeys really had the kind of intelligence and sight that my Dad and Jeff tried to convince me of. We spotted which bush we thought would be the best location for our set-up and then started crawling through the frozen ground and bushes, being as quiet as possible. All three of us positioned ourselves under the bush.

The dim light of the early dawn was starting to faintly show the beautiful green-tinted mountainside, we didn’t have much more time. It wasn’t long before we heard, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.” One gobble after another, some from behind us, then more to the side. I knew one thing for sure, there were a lot of turkeys roosted in the huge maple trees near us. As Dad and Jeff became very excited with all the turkey calls, I enjoyed the view of the valley below us. The patterns of farm fields, roads, water, and farm houses made quite a sight. It was neat to be above it all, glancing down.

The turkeys became louder as the morning light glowed throughout the beautiful valley. I had one of the best turkey callers around right next to me, Jeff. He started some soft yelping and the turkey continued to gobble. I don’t know if I was prepared for what would happen next. Suddenly, the large turkeys started flying out of the huge maple trees and landing fifty yards in front of us. I could tell Dad and Jeff were dying of excitement, and I was getting pretty nervous and hoping for a good opportunity to shoot. Luckily, I had my gun propped up on a stand and I was prepared. There was only a small window where I could move my gun and see down the barrel because my gun was pointed up toward the hillside. There was a dozen or so birds gobbling, strutting, and spurring each other right in front of us! They were rapidly getting closer as they responded to Jeff’s calls and started to chase each other around the decoys. Their purple, green, and brown feathers glimmered in the sunlight and, for the first time in my life, I thought a turkey was pretty. Dad and Jeff whispered to inform me which of the turkeys were jakes and mature toms. One tom appeared to have a really long beard. The flock started to scatter a little bit and headed for the ridge quite quickly. As the big tom separated slightly from the rest, he stopped for just a second only about fifteen yards away on the ridge line. He then started heading to the other side of the hill when they both said, “Shoot him!” I tried hard to squeeze the trigger slowly, but I knew I only had a split second before the tom would be out of sight and over the hillside. “Boom!” I shot and then saw feathers flying in the air. Dad and Jeff said, “You got him, you got him!” They were yelling, hollering, and hugging me with excitement. They were so excited for me to bag my first turkey, and so was I. It was 6:30 a.m. on opening morning and we already had a turkey down! It was over so fast, just like I wished so many of Jeff’s hunts would have ended. I thought to myself, “That was easy.” To make things even better, when we got up to examine the tom it was a really nice one. It was pure luck. It just happened to be the biggest tom that gave me the best shot. He had a ten-inch beard! We were able to spend some time enjoying and watching the rest of the turkeys feed and strut around across the valley. The rays of sunlight were now highlighting the dew on the grass, bushes, and trees and we had plenty of time for some great photos in our Mountain Shadow.
We hiked out with the beautiful tom over our shoulders and headed for home. Mom was surprised to see us back so early. It was a successful hunt, and we had a lot of fun together. Thanks Jeff and Dad! Although my symptoms are a little more mild, I must admit I think I caught a little of the “turkey fever” myself!

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