Turkey Fever – Part One Of Three

The whole thing kind of started by accident. It was a clear, starry night in mid January, and we were looking up at the planets in the night sky. My family was sitting around the big fire pit at the Home Place drinking hot chocolate and coffee, everybody except for my oldest brother Matty, that is. This was his first full year being away at Georgia Tech, and it made everybody sad he wasn’t with us. Me and my two other older brothers Luke and Mark, and my sister Charlie, were drinking hot chocolate. Mama and Papa were drinking coffee. It’d been several weeks since we’d seen our friend, Mike Stringfellow, the local game warden, when his green DNR truck pulled up in the driveway. A younger man none of us knew got out with him.

“I thought y’all might be up to no good out here tonight,” Mike Stringfellow said in his usual cheery voice as he and the stranger walked up to the fire circle. As soon as we saw the man’s dull green DNR uniform, we knew he must work with Mike Stringfellow as a game-warden.

“We were just looking at the planets,” Papa said. “It’s unbelievable this time of year when so many are visible at one time.”

“Come to think of it, I do remember hearing that most of the planets are out tonight,” Mike Stringfellow said. He looked up. “There’s ol’ Jupiter in all her glory.”

“And over there is Mars,” Luke said pointing toward the east.

“Ah, the red planet,” Mike Stringfellow said.

“Only it looks more orange tonight,” Luke said.

“And just above Jupiter you can barely see Uranus,” Papa added.

“And over to the right, if you look real close, is Neptune,” I chimed in.

“And those two below Neptune are Saturn and Venus. If we had a telescope we could see the rings around Saturn.”

“Didn’t know y’all were such stargazers,” Mike Stringfellow commented.

“It’s all Mama’s fault,” Charlie said. “Mama always keeps track of which planets are out and she makes sure we know too.”     

Mama had gotten up and gone into the house to get our guests some coffee.

“Want y’all to meet a special friend,” Mike Stringfellow said. “Everybody, this is Corporal Hoyt White. He’ll be working a several county area around here with me, including here in Meriwether. I’ve known Hoyt since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. He always wanted to be a game warden, and I’m mighty proud of him for achieving his goal. He knows all about the notorious St. John clan. He’s hopelessly addicted to turkey hunting, but he’s also quite fond of big-antlered bucks, and he wants to hear all about Mr. Majestic straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“I think we can arrange that,” Papa said with a grin. “No better place to tell a few tall tales than around the campfire.”

“From what I’ve heard about Mr. Majestic, I don’t think there’s too much you can exaggerate,” the young game warden said with a smile.

He was tall and muscular and his face was well tanned. He had deep blue eyes and brown hair. He was probably in his late 20s, and he had a pleasant expression on his face. I liked him immediately, and I could tell right off that Charlie thought he was handsome.

“Welcome to our humble camp house,” Papa said to the newcomer, shaking his hand. “Let’s give Hoyt a cordial introduction to the St. John renegades starting with you Rusty. Stand up and tell Mr. Hoyt a little about yourself.”

Papa caught me by complete surprise, and I stood up and sort of stammered my way along.

“Well, I’m Rusty St. John… I’m the youngest… I’ll be 13 pretty soon…this past season I got to hunt by myself for the first time… I didn’t get anything, but it was a great season ’cause I love to deer hunt.”

In a genial tone, Hoyt said, “Mike tells me y’all have several fantastic hunting leases around here.”

“That’s right,” Papa asserted. “You’re standing on 22 acres we call the Home Place. This is sort of our headquarters. We’ve been remodeling the old house…” He pointed back to the house as he was talking, “into a hunting cabin, and we just about have it the way we want it. We also have 80 acres not far from here where Rusty and Charlie like to hunt and 220 acres known as the Allison Place just a mile down the road where we caught up with Mr. Majestic.”    

Mr. Hoyt nodded his head and turned to me. “I guess it’s just a matter of time before you cross paths with a super-big buck, Rusty,” he said. “You ever do any turkey hunting?”

“I’ve always wanted to but never have,” I answered. “We do see plenty of gobblers during deer season though.”

Papa jumped right in. “We’ve talked about it quite a bit, Hoyt, but we stay so busy with food plots, checking cameras and doing all the other chores around here we never have time. Audrey and I did a little turkey huntin’ years ago when the kids were younger. And like Rusty said, we do see lots of turkeys during deer season. Huntin’ ’em would be a real treat for the family, but there are only so many hours in a day.”

“I understand that,” Hoyt said. “But since your turkey population is way above average around here and turkey season is right around the corner, if y’all decide to squeeze out a little extra time this spring to chase some of those bearded bandits, I’d be glad to help out any way I can.”

Mama came back and put a steaming mug of coffee in both their hands and they thanked her.

“He means what he says,” Mike Stringfellow said, sipping his coffee. “I’ve never seen anyone infected with turkey fever more than Hoyt White, except for me maybe.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to call, but I don’t even own a shotgun,” I told Mr. Hoyt.   

“Me too,” Charlie said. “I’m game to learn.”

Luke nodded his head, as well. Mark was the only holdout, saying, “I see turkeys all the time where I hunt near the swamp. Seems to me they’d be pretty easy if you really wanted to kill one.”

“We can rustle up plenty of guns for anybody who needs one,” Hoyt said.

Mike Stringfellow looked at Mark. “I know it seems like gobblers are pretty dumb when you’re deer huntin’ in the fall, but they’re a different critter altogether in the spring when you’re trying to call ’em in close enough for a 25-yard shot. A big ol’ longbeard can sure make a fool of a man in a hurry.”

Mark wasn’t really buying it, but then something happened that got his attention. Earlier we’d been roasting marshmallows over the fire, and I was making crinkling sounds with a plastic grocery sack that Mama had brought the marshmallows in. Hoyt White put down his coffee mug and took the plastic bag out of my hands.

“You mind?” he asked. “I wanna show you something.”

I didn’t mind a bit, even though I had no idea what he wanted to show me. He held one end of the bag in each hand and stretched it taught, and then he started moving his hands in and out very fast sort of like an accordion, and the bag made a kind of swishing sound.

“You say you don’t know much about calling turkeys but that’s exactly what you were just doing,” Hoyt told me. “Anybody wanna take a wild guess as to what this sounds like in the turkey woods?”

“A bobcat jumping on a turkey?” Luke said, half kidding.

“No but you’re getting hot,” Hoyt said.

“Somebody shaking a plastic bag,” Mark offered, trying to be cute.

Hoyt shook his head. “Charlie, Rusty, either one of you have any idea.”

“It definitely sounds kind of like some kind of big bird flying,” Charlie answered.           

“You got it!” Hoyt exclaimed. “It’s the sound of a big turkey gobbler flying down off his roost first thing in the morning. He’s flapping his wings to slow down just as he lights on the ground. And if that ol’ gobbler on the roost hears that sound, he might just fly down right in front of you.”

He looked at Charlie. “You win the grand prize, young lady. This ol’ grocery sack just shows you can use all sorts of simple things that don’t cost a dime to fool spring gobblers. The Cherokees in north Georgia were masters at calling ’em up with a blade of grass.”

“What’s the grand prize?” Mark asked.

“Could be a turkey hunt with me as your guide in a few weeks when the season opens,” Hoyt answered.

“I’d really like that,” Charlie said. “It would be so neat. Rusty and I saw a ton of turkeys in the woods this past year, and I also wanna learn how to call up a big gobbler.”

“Would you hunt with your bow?” I asked her.

She looked at Hoyt with questioning eyes.

“A bow would make it a lot more difficult, and it’d be a real challenge, but anything’s possible,” he said. “Mike told me all about the beautiful buck you shot in November with your recurve. What’s his name?”

“Slim,” Charlie answered.

“Yes, Slim,” Hoyt said. “Congratulations. Isn’t he a 10-pointer?”

“Yes. He’s got a narrow spread, but he’s a real trophy to me. I’m getting him mounted.”

“I guess so,” Hoyt said. “Any time you shoot a buck like with a recurve it’s quite a feat. Actually I’ve killed three gobblers with a handmade hickory-wood longbow, and I know how hard it is.”    

“You killed three gobblers with a longbow?” Luke asked in amazement.

We were all in awe. I’d never heard of anyone doing that.

“I’ve been at it a while,” Hoyt sighed. “Leon Scott, a dear friend of mine up in Blue Ridge, made my longbow for me about 10 years ago when I was just out of college. He’s killed a bunch of mountain gobblers with a longbow, and he taught me how to hunt with one. Everybody needs a good teacher, and he’s the best. After Leon came Mike. When it comes to calling in cantankerous old longbeards, Mike’s also about the best teacher a slow-learner like me could ask for.”

Mike Stringfellow said, “I’ve been telling your dad for years the St. John renegades need to be huntin’ turkeys in the springtime. Only problem is, if y’all start turkey huntin’ now, you might just get so obsessed with it that you’ll forget all about huntin’ big bucks next fall. Noisy ol’ gobblers have a way of doin’ strange things to unsuspecting folks who try to draw their blood.”

“I don’t think that’ll happen to any of us,” Mark said almost defiantly. “We’re pretty dedicated to our buck hunting, especially after Papa just got a deer like Mr. Majestic.”

“You’d be surprised what spring turkey huntin’ can do to a normal man,” Mike Stringfellow allowed. “There are no words to describe how you feel when you hear a grand ol’ gobbler on the roost let loose with several earth-shaking gobbles. You’re a goner after that…”

“There’s no cure for it,” Hoyt said matter-of-factly.

“That’s right!” Mike Stringfellow agreed.

Those two were sure making a believer out of me, and I could tell Charlie felt just like I did. Luke was excited, too, and I think Mama and Papa were already juggling some of the possibilities of making it a new family adventure. Mark was trying to act like he wasn’t interested, but I knew he was.

“What’s the most exciting turkey hunt you’ve ever been on,” Luke asked Mr. Hoyt.

“Great question,” Hoyt answered. “What I always tell people is my most exciting turkey hunt is the last one I was lucky enough to survive.”

The word ‘survive’ confused us all.

“You see,” Hoyt continued, “when you’ve been stricken by the fever like we have, each new hunt is better than the last because each hunt you get to go on is a blessing from above…”

“Especially in our line of work,” Mike Stringfellow said. “Hoyt and I have to punch that ol’ clock just about every day during deer and turkey seasons, and the days we get to sneak out into the woods and chase thunder chickens for a couple of hours are few and far between.”

“You can count ’em on one hand,” Hoyt added. “But even though it’s a blessing to get to go, more times than not those ol’ thunder chickens tend to whoop up on you pretty hard.”

I loved the term ‘thunder chickens’ but I still wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘survive’ and ‘whoop up on you pretty hard.’

“Can you tell us about your last best hunt?” I asked Hoyt.

“I’d be delighted, my man,” Hoyt said. “My most exciting hunt last year was also the most memorable in my life. It took place three days before the end of the season. I had to be in court that day over in Pike County to testify in a deer poaching case that had been dragging on for several months. After I’d wasted most of the day sittin’ in a room by myself waiting to testify, they finally adjourned court about 2 o’clock that afternoon. I couldn’t get out of that place fast enough.

“A doctor friend of mine owns about 400 acres over on the Flint River, and I put the pedal to the metal and headed for the turkey woods. I usually keep my bow, shotgun and huntin’ gear in the truck, and I was in the woods by 2:45 carrying an old double-barreled .410 that once belonged to my daddy. Since the season was almost over, I decided to gun hunt that day. Doc Richards doesn’t allow much huntin’ on his place because he raises some high-dollar cattle, but he likes having me look over the property once in a while. I’d seen several nice gobblers in a field near the river with about 20 hens before the season so I decided to go in there cold turkey…” he winked at me and Charlie at his play on words. “…and set up on the edge of that field and put out a sweet little hen decoy I had never used before.

“I no sooner got back to a big pine in the edge of the woods where I planned to sit when I looked across the field and dang if three big gobblers weren’t walking out into the open as pretty as you please. They started pecking around, and I slowly sat down, got my face mask and gloves on and got my shotgun positioned on my knee. All it took was a few soft clucks from my box call and I had their attention. They spotted that irresistible decoy and they came a runnin’.

“Funny thing happened though. They got about 60 yards out and stopped dead in their tracks like they’d run into a brick wall. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what was going on. It seemed like my irresistible little decoy had suddenly turned into some kind of feathered werewolf. I looked around to see if maybe an ol’ coyote was trying to sneak in but nothing seemed out of place. I gave a few more soft yelps and those three gobblers just stood there like granite statues.

“I was totally befuddled. About that time I sensed something right behind me and my heart skipped a couple of beats. A gobbler was drumming and strutting only a few feet behind the big pine I was leaning against. I was amazed he didn’t see me using my box call, but I guess that big tree trunk saved the day.”   

“What’d you do?” Charlie asked.

“I wanted to look back so bad but I knew I couldn’t. I just sat there and tried not to breathe. That big ol’ gobbler walked right by me no more than 5 feet away. When I finally saw him out of the corner of my eye, I was shocked. This was the kind of boss gobbler you dream about. He was a gift. I hadn’t worked for him; I didn’t deserve him; but now he was about to be all mine. He was so focused on that decoy that he never even glanced in my direction.

“Did you shoot him?” I asked.

“They say a blind pig gets an acorn once in a while, and I sure got mine that day,” Hoyt answered. “At first, he was so close I couldn’t shoot. I had to wait for him to get out to the edge of the field so I could draw a bead while he was strutting and drumming. Finally, he raised his pretty head straight up and I squeezed the trigger. He wasn’t more than 20 feet away.”

“What did the other three gobblers do?” Charlie asked.

“They just stood there watching.”

“How much did he weigh?” Luke asked.

“I reckon he weighed somewhere around 23 or 24 pounds,” Hoyt answered. “Definitely the biggest gobbler I’ve ever seen in the woods! I figure he had a 12-inch beard and inch-and-a-half spurs. He was my idea of Mr. Majestic for sure, only he was wearing feathers and a beard instead of a huge set of antlers.”

We all looked at each other wondering if Mr. Hoyt was a little off his rocker.

“Why did you say you reckon he weighed 23 pounds and you figure he had a 12-inch beard?” Luke blurted out. “Didn’t you measure it?”

“That would’ve been hard to do,” Hoyt answered.

“Did something happen?” Charlie asked.

Hoyt nodded. “Even after the firing pin in my shotgun clicked on an empty chamber, that ol’ gobbler was so obsessed with that hen he never even flinched. He was still dancing around and strutting toward that bewitching decoy.”

“You mean you forgot to load your gun?” I asked.

“It happens to the worst of us,” Hoyt said. “Good thing is, after it happens just once, it’ll probably never happen again because we are supposed to learn from our mistakes. Now do you understand why I told you my last hunt was a lesson in survival? But it was still my best hunt ever.”

“How can say that when you didn’t even kill your gobbler,” Mark asked.

“Because I wouldn’t trade that experience for all the gold in Fort Knox,” Hoyt answered. “I’ve never had a better afternoon in the turkey woods.”

I couldn’t believe a topnotch hunter and game warden had done that very thing that I was always afraid of doing myself. “Did you try to load your gun after that?” I asked.

“You bet I did. But as I quietly tried to open the breech of my gun, it made a slight metallic sound. The next thing I knew he was halfway across that field putting and running and half-flying toward those other gobblers like an out-of-control Roman candle.”

“I would’ve been sick if that happened to me,” Mark offered.

“I was, but the spectacle he put on while I was watching him puff up and strut is something I’ll never forget.”

Papa jumped right in. “Sometimes killing something isn’t always the best outcome, son,” he said.

“That’s right,” Mike Stringfellow said. “Mud and blood is a big part of hunting, but the things we get to observe in nature are often the things we cherish the most.”

“Wow,” Charlie said. “That almost sounds like scripture. I’d love to go turkey hunting this spring and try to shoot one with my recurve.”

“Me too,” I said. “But with a gun.”

“Count me in,” Luke said.

Mark never spoke up but I could tell he was thinking about it.      

“That can certainly be arranged for anybody who wants to go,” Hoyt said. “I have a few vacation days coming, and I’d love to spend some time with the St. John renegades.”

“Let’s set a time to meet out here in a week or so and we’ll have a ‘turkey day’ in January,” Mike Stringfellow said. “Hoyt and I will bring some targets and turkey calls. Between us, we have plenty of shotguns to practice with and we’ll show you all a few of the basics about trying to outwit a couple of stubborn ole gobblers. We’ll see if any of ya’ll catch the fever.”       

“Are turkeys really that smart?” I asked.

Hoyt thought about that for a minute. “Let me put it this way… Turkeys have amazing instincts. Smart may not be the right word. They’re tricky, elusive, unpredictable and always alert. They’re humiliating and maddening. Matching wits with an old gobbler and winning the contest is a real achievement.”

“Their survival instincts are uncanny,” Mike Stringfellow added. “That’s why they’re so darn frustrating to hunt.”

“Instead of ‘smart,’ let’s just say they’re one of God’s most complicated creatures,” Hoyt threw in.

We were all enthralled and excited. Mama’s face beamed with a happy grin when she saw the looks on our faces. Papa just sat there and shook his head. I’m sure he was wondering where all of this excitement and talk about turkey fever was gonna end up.

“It can’t be all bad,” Mark said with a sigh.