Hunter’s Journal – May 2021

By Shawn Lumsden

The morning starts no different than any other morning in the turkey woods. My wife Chelsea and I wake up much earlier than need be, gather our gear, brew a pot of coffee and prepare for the morning hunt. We are beyond excited to begin the second weekend of Georgia’s 2019 spring turkey season.

I introduced Chelsea to turkey hunting the year we met in 2014, and she has been hooked ever since. After harvesting several gobblers during afternoon hunts throughout the past few years, she has learned the basics of turkey hunting. Her primary goal this season is to get one in the morning when they are most vocal.

Walking out of the cabin, we navigate to a grassy overlook allowing us the advantage of listening for prospective gobbles from a higher elevation. Temperatures are in the low 40s with clear skies. We relax in the dark, drinking hot coffee patiently waiting for the woods to come alive. As dawn begins to appear, we hear a gobble in the far distance to the east. Thinking there’s an above-average chance that turkey is off our property, we wait patiently for another gobbler to sound off. Minutes roll by and I decide to try to make something happen. Using my trusty, wooden owl call Dad passed down to me several years prior, I hoot a “Who cooks, who cooks for youuu” cadence. A turkey fires up just north of our favorite food plot named Big River Bottom, because well you guessed it, it’s a big open bottom bordering the Flint River.

We quickly grab our shotguns and travel down a worn dirt path until we reach a small wooded hill, closing the distance by 300 yards. We listen from our position until we hear him sound off again. Good news—he is still on his roost. We use the terrain to our advantage while methodically stepping through an old growth pine forest attempting to close the distance another 100 yards. This land has been in my family for seven generations. I know it well, which speaks volumes in getting to where I think we need to be to have a chance at calling this turkey in.

Up ahead lies a flat shelf on the side of a hill, providing us with the perfect set up. I quickly stake my hen decoy in the broom sedge where this tom would be able to see her from 50 to 60 yards out if he decides to come this way. As Chelsea picks out a tree to sit against, I begin a calling sequence of soft yelps. The gobbler cuts me off. I smile—game on. I look over to Chelsea, and she is changing positions because she doesn’t like her setup. She has been taught that a proper setup is about 80% of the reason you are successful in a turkey hunt. It makes me proud she was using this education to her advantage. As she gets settled in at a higher elevation, I call again. The turkey has cut the distance in half. I whisper to Chels, “He’s coming in.. get ready.. GET READY!”

Straining my eyes in search of a red, white and blue head, I catch movement. Gobbler. Big Gobbler. Running straight at us, beard flopping left and right. He slows down as he approaches the decoy and starts spitting, drumming and strutting. I remember thinking, “Man, this is what it is all about. How blessed are we as hunters to experience such a remarkable show in the natural world.” He circles the hen decoy, refusing to come out of strut. After a few minutes pass, he raises his head and I hear a ‘click’ from Chelsea’s gun. She waits a second and tries again… ‘click’. I try to shoot… ‘click’. NOOO! In our excitement of hearing this turkey’s first gobble in the pitch dark early this morning, we had forgotten to load our guns! Biggest rookie mistake in the book!

I am sitting there sick to my stomach. We have blown Chelsea’s chance of getting a turkey. From my position, 8 yards to her left, I didn’t have the option of walking her through loading the shotgun. At this point, my only choice was to try and load my gun to kill the bird. Miraculously this turkey had gone back into strut. When he was in the open, I quickly loaded a shell. As you can guess, his head goes straight up, staring me dead in the eyes. I aim the beads of my shotgun, slowly exhale, and squeeze the trigger. The turkey goes down.

I glance over to Chels and her head is in her hands, sickened by our mistake. She had this turkey dead to rights at 15 steps. It is such a bittersweet moment, but at least he had not gotten away. We walk up to the bird noticing he had about 1 1⁄4-inch spurs and an 11-inch beard. For better or worse, we knew this was a hunt we would never forget.

Unwilling to accept the fact my wife had missed out on her chance at a morning gobbler, we went straight back to hunting. After all, we had shot this bird very early.

With one tag filled, we hike up to the same overlook where we began our hunt this morning and owl hooted. Low and behold we hear a gobble in the opposite direction. We circumnavigate the area we think he is, knowing if we approached from straight on, he would more than likely get hung up on the other side of a creek that was between us.

As we reach an old dirt road, I do a quick crow call in an attempt to pinpoint the location of this gobbler. Sure enough, he gives us a loud gobble in return, less than 100 yards away. Chelsea runs over to the closest pine, which is kind of in the open but the trunk is much wider than her shoulders, providing enough concealment. I sit at the base of the next largest pine behind her and let out a soft yelp on my box call. The turkey cuts me off. I wait 30 seconds and yelp again. He has already closed half the distance, just like our first bird this morning. Before I could yelp a third time, he comes strutting down the dirt path in all his glory. Knowing Chels was going to seal the deal on this one, I yelped a little more hoping to entice a gobble out of him so she could witness a turkey gobbling at 10 steps. He let out the loudest gobble I’ve ever heard with his breath showing clear as day in the cold, spring morning air. Seconds later, he comes out of strut and Chelsea drops him. Ecstatic doesn’t even begin to describe her emotions. She was shaking uncontrollably. We walk up to the bird and say a prayer thanking the animal for providing us with clean, unprocessed meat and a memory that will last a lifetime.

Moral of the story: never, ever, ever give up. Turkey hunting is a game of highs and lows. It may not always work out in your favor, but one thing is for certain, you can’t kill them back at camp. Spend as much time in the woods as you can because we all know how quickly these spring mornings pass us by each year. And if possible, bring a loved one out hunting with you. You will never regret it.