Huntin' with Matt

As many of you know, I live in the deep south.  

And it's a "right of passage" if you will, that you take heed to the opportunities given to you year-round like fishing and hunting. I have hunted since I was 12 years old. It's been a "love language" (if you will) of my dad's to teach me the trade of hunting. Now, while some of you may not understand this post - I should forewarn you that hunting is a way of life around here. It is planted like a seed into children, and it grows as great as an Oak by the time they're fully mature as humans. Hunting has been a way of bonding for my family, as many all of our Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, and Fourth of July conversations somehow always wind up with the men demonstrating the way a turkey gobbled, or the way a deer creeped into their field. 

My dad and brother took it amongst themselves to introduce me to turkey hunting at a young age, and I took well to... er... deer hunting. It's always been my favorite. Turkey hunting, on the other hand, has not. I did not enjoy waking up at 5am to go and walk my legs off in the woods in search for a strutting turkey. I wanted to sleep and wake up when I pleased. After all, it was the weekend, and as a 12 year old I lived a hard life. Tisk tisk. 

Matt usually wound up aggravated at me because I "stepped on every stick and into every mud hole that I could find, causing me to sound like Big Foot's child running from a bear". Those weren't his exact words, but if you asked him about it I'm sure he would say something similar. So, I got frustrated with him bossing me around that early in the morning, and I quit going. I didn't enjoy it anyway, and I had never been struck with the Turkey Plague, so I wrote myself off the "turkey huntin' goer" list.

The Turkey Plague is a complicated and addicting one. I hear that it happens without one realizing it. One minute you are sitting against a tree, clucking and purring in hopes of seeing a turkey, and the next minute there is one in front of you, standing straight down the barrel of your shotgun - and suddenly you're hooked. They say once you've been "struck", you can never return back to NOT being a turkey hunter. 

I wouldn't know. 

But, last week Matt texted me and asked if I would like to tag along on his turkey hunt. I was taken back by his gesture, but I had secretly been wanting to go snap some photos of gobblers strutting in an open field, so why not? 

I agreed to go, and we geared up and left the house around 4:00. 

After an 11 year hiatus of turkey hunting together, Matt never warned me about "being quiet", nor did he instruct me on how to act during the hunt. The only thing he requested was that I "not slam the door" when getting out of the truck. I don't think Matt was expecting me to have taken to all the things he and Daddy had showed me so long ago. I'm now a hunter myself, and I've earned the title because of what they've taught me... but you know men.

 They think we never learn. 

So, we walked in a little ways, and I placed my feet in Matt's tracks, sometimes altering my steps to avoid deep holes in the mud. We walked, whispered some, and before I knew it Matt was stopped dead in his tracks in front of me - and I mimicked his action. 

As I stood behind him, I couldn't see what was going on, but Matt was in front of me, standing guard like a soldier at Buckingham Palace, with his fist clinched beside him, and his other hand grasping the strap of his gun. 

I waited for him to tell me what was going on, and he turned slightly & whispered, "There's a turkey right there. Do you see it?" I peeked my head to see around his knightly figure, but there was no bird in my vision.

He then instructed me to follow his lead to a pine tree that was about three feet away. So, we dropped down on our hands and knees, and I crawled using one hand to hold my camera, and the other to lead myself. Once Matt situated himself against the tree, I dodged an ant bed and situated on his right side. 

We waited.

Matt "clucked".

We waited some more. 

Matt "purred". 

My heart wasn't racing, but I knew Matt's was. His adrenaline was pumping, and he was excited. I secretly like to think that he was excited that I was about to get a few photos of a gobbler, but I know that he was really just excited to see a turkey.

Again, we waited.

Finally, Matt turned to me and said that the turkey had exited the field, so we tiptoed down the hill and kept on with out hunt. Not long after that, Matt stopped to blow on a crow call, and immediately a gobbler responded. Matt's eyes glowed with possibility of our chances to see (and kill) this bird who had just sang himself into making himself known. 

Matt turned quickly, facing me, and said "Did you hear that? He's right over there! C'mon!" 

So, my adrenaline began to pump. It pumped until we found another spot and sat down, realized that place wasn't good for us, and got up to relocate. 

It was during this time that I almost reverted back to my 12 year old ways. You see, traveling through a thicket of briar bushes can do that to a girl! Although I had those thoughts, I knew Matt was excited, and I didn't want to ruin his fun. So, I picked through the briars, ducked under limbs, slid beside big pines, tip-toed over tree branches that laid dead on the ground, and tried to find places to step where no leaves would crunch beneath my feet. 

Sound like a lot to think about? 

It was. 

And I was trying to keep pace with Matt who seemed to be hovering over all of my obstacles. I guess that's to be expected when he has practiced every day of the season, and even weeks before as he scouted since he was 5 years old. 

Finally, we made it. We sat down, and there was still a bit of brush in front of me - I knew I wouldn't be able to get any good photos because of that, but I decided to just enjoy the time I had to watch Matt in the woods as he turkey hunted.

He clucked.

Purred.

Clucked.

Purred.

Yelped.

Yelped.

Cluck. 

Pur.

Nothing.

This went on, with intervals, for about an hour. All there was to do was wait. Matt said several times that he thought he could hear them rustling around in front of us, and maybe even hear him strut on occasion, but I never could tell if I was hearing them or the squirrel that sounded like a wooly mammoth behind me. 

Regardless, I sat still.

So still that my leg began to fall asleep, and I was scared to move it for fear that Matt may take it upon himself to amputate it if it caused me to be too loud. 

However, I eventually took my chances and moved it anyway.

He didn't say a word to me about it.

We sat there a little while longer, and Matt finally removed his mask and said, "Well, oh well." 

We chatted about what may have happened, and he walked me over to where he thought the turkeys were.

He showed me different things on our way back, like where this hen had scratched around, and why they scratch in the first place. 

He explained that this was a turkey's way of taking a bath. They "throw dirt on themselves" in order to rid themselves of bugs.

We continued to walk until we made our way back to the truck. Even though we didn't kill a turkey, and I didn't even see one, I enjoyed being "in Matt's element" with him for the afternoon. The boy literally has turkeys strutting in his veins. He lives and breathes and doesn't eat this time of year. He's always distracted by thoughts of what went wrong (or well) today, and thinking about what to do in order to better himself for tomorrow's hunt. 

He's been taught by some of the best: our dad & our granddad. They too have lived and breathed turkey hunting, and it's was and is a way of life for both of them. Matt can't help but be eaten up with the Turkey Plague. He was struck by it at 5 years old, and he hasn't turned back since.

Once we got home, Matt revealed that he was quite impressed with my hunting abilities as of today. He said that I was "quieter than he was", and "didn't break a stick that he heard". 

Of course, I was glad that he was proud of me, 

and I knew he meant it when he offered for me to go anytime I wanted to.