Long Line of Tradition

I have my grandfather, David Lovelace, to thank for my deep passion for hunting and fishing. From taking me fishing since I was 4, to giving me my first gun at 8 to begin hunting. That spring after my 8th birthday is when my obsession with turkey's began. Going out and roosting the turkey's right above the blind he strategically placed for my first hunt the night before. Waking my 8 year old self up at 3:30am to make me breakfast and head out. It turned out to be a hunt neither one of us would forget. 

We silently slipped into the blind in pitch black. My grandfather left me alone in the blind to set up the decoys. Daylight broke and there was a very mature gobbler just 80 yards away, sounding off from the roost. We were grinning ear to ear every time he'd gobble. Papa would sweet call to him, and he'd cut off the call.  "He's going to come to us, just be patient." 

*WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH." 

We watched him fly down about 65 yards away from us on the other side of the small pasture we were in. He was on high alert. Not sure if he didn't like the blind, or the decoys, but this was every bit of a 5+ year old bird who knew something wasn't right. Papa told me to get the little .410 single shot up, cock the hammer, put the bead on him, and squeeze. Pumped full of buck fever, I squeezed the shell off. I hit him, but he didn't go down. Papa reloaded me 2 more times and each time the pellets were bouncing off  him. After all, he was well past 60 yards. He ended up walking off,  never to be seen again. No, he was not hurt or died from our attempts. 

We just looked at each other and laughed. The biggest turkey my grandfather had ever seen to date, and the biggest one I've ever seen in all my years hunting, just peppered and got away. Never the less, I was hooked. 

I have been waiting many years to be able to take children of my own to the woods. The spring before my oldest's 8th birthday, I was finally able to. 

While every hunt we went on resulted in interruptions from planters, dogs and coyotes, the smile he made the first time he heard a gobble made it all worth it. Much like my very first season, we didn't walk away with a bird. We did walk away with the birth of my daughter halfway through the season, though. Best of both worlds. 

The past few years I've spent more hunts with friends that haven't, or have barely hunted turkey's with no luck. I nearly enjoy seeing the success of others with a little help from me, more than bagging them myself. The most memorable one, was when I took my father for his first "big game" hunt. 

After getting into a turkey filled timber after the morning fly down, we hiked nearly 3 miles around this property looking for the birds. Up and down the ridges, crossing the river twice, we were defeated and decided to head back to the truck. 

We reached the starting place where the timber met the pasture where we went in. Low and behold, there was a flock of 6 Jakes and 2 hens. We hid behind a monster of an oak tree until they slipped into the timber. We set down up against that oak positioning my father at the area they went into the woods, with myself beside him, just off his shoulder. I began to call to the Jakes. It didn't take much to have the entire flock come running out of the timber, right back to the spot we saw them at. "Pick one, put the bead on his head and squeeze, then give me the gun." I told him. A short moment later, he picked one out and pulled the trigger. Little did he, or I, know  had the gun too high on his shoulder. When the round went off, it sent the 12 gauge right off his shoulder, into my lap. I picked it up and shot the closest Jake to me on the run. Not only did he bag his first turkey, but we were able to double up on birds. It might have just been jakes, but that was a hunt I will forever remember.