The Dawn Of A Legacy: A Father’s Greatest Hunting Memory

Madeline Fuller, 6, of Watkinsville, took her first turkey in Warren County on the opening day of the 2025 youth season. The turkey weighed 22 1/2 pounds, had an 11-inch beard and 1 1/4-inch spurs.

As the crisp, clear, moonlit night gave way to the grey light of dawn, our breaths became visible. It was a memory in the making. My 6-year-old daughter sat on my lap looking down the barrel of her .410 shotgun. Her whispered words carried a nervous excitement, “When will we hear them?” It is Saturday, March 22, 2025, better known as the Georgia Youth Turkey Opener.

To tell the story of that day in March, one must go back to January. It is her birthday and the newly christened 6-year-old follows me as I gather a few supplies for her party. Unexpectedly, the question I have been waiting for since becoming a father arises from behind me.

“Daddy, now that I am 6 can I be the one who shoots this year?”

I turn to see her inspecting the turkey fans on the wall. She has sat beside me on hunts before but has always been more interested in the snacks than the hunting. But now, there is a twinkle in her eye. Trying to mask my internal enthusiasm, I assure her that I will take her the first chance I get.

The next two months are spent learning gun safety, accuracy, patience and wild turkey identification. At times there were tears. At times there was glee. Everything in between was a slow mixture of successes and failures leading up to March 22. During this process, I watched her grow in confidence and determination. The week leading up to March 22, the classroom now behind her, was full of excitement. Her bedtime routine now included turkey hunting videos. Together we dreamed of a magical morning, and as the morning of March 22 played out, that is exactly what we experienced.

“Soon, very soon” came my whispered response, “try and be still.” She was growing restless. Fortunately, the cacophony of sounds that an awakening morning holds broke loose. Her eyes widened, she paused and took in all the exciting sounds of the new morning. We listened to the whippoorwills give way to the cardinals and other songbirds. The previously grey, formless field shined golden-green as the first rays of sunlight mixed with the morning frost. Daybreak had arrived. She strained to hear each sound hoping for the gobble she had heard in her nightly videos. Then it happened…

An owl let loose from the far end of the field and the sound that followed wiped all other sounds out of her head. Spring thunder filled the air. Once the first gobbler broke the ice, one after another, multiple toms answered each other. My daughter’s heartbeat was nearly as loud as the gobbles that surrounded us. We were able to pinpoint five distinct gobblers. We were directly in the middle of the morning symphony.

I gave a yelp. A volley of gobbles replied along with an onslaught of jealous clucks and yelps from a harem of hens roosted nearby. From the soft tree yelps and purrs to the climatic fly-down cackle, each sound we heard was distinct and new to her. Suddenly, it all stopped. My daughter quickly turned with questioning eyes.

“Get ready. They are on the ground now,” came my reassuring response.

As she peered down her barrel, we caught movement out of the corner of our eyes.

“Be still! Let them come! Move your eyes, not your head,” I whispered trying to calm the shaking leaf in front of me.

Two large jakes and a hen popped into the field at 20 yards. They needed two more steps to clear a branch.

“Daddy, I see a beard!” her knuckles tightening on the foregrip. “Can I shoot?”

“Wait until they clear the branch,” my voice shaking more than hers.

As if by some sixth sense that only wild game possesses, the turkeys stopped behind the branch, which was the difference between their life and death. Suddenly for no reason, the birds turned and vanished back into the brush line. They had been inches away, but those inches are what make hunting so captivating. The number of things that must come together to successfully tag an animal is staggering. Some of them skill, others luck. I have felt the letdown of bad luck countless times, but seeing it darken the face of my daughter was devastating.

As I quietly tried to console her, we sat in each other’s presence sharing the same silent disappointment. One of us experiencing it for the first time, the other in a newer deeper way. I finally cut loose a series of yelps and achieved my goal. One of those jealous hens from before fired back her own sassy response. After a few exchanges, several other hens joined in.

My daughter caught sight of it first. “Daddy, I see a fan!”

Sure enough, through gaps in the field edge a strutting tom was sporadically visible. Her vigor now restored, I watched as she remounted her gun and waited. Another cluck from me and suddenly, they were on us. A mob of hens raced from the treeline. I watched as she froze while the hens stampeded toward our position.

“Hens… do not shoot!” I quickly instructed.

My immediate thought was that we were going to get busted. Seven hens now milled around our blind between 5 and 15 yards away. One let out a loud series of yelps and the strutting tom in the treeline stepped into the field. To our delight, he was joined by two other longbeards. All three raced toward the harem in full strut and larger than life. Their large black bodies shimmered hues of green and purple in the morning sun.

As they closed the distance, I heard the soft click of the safety. Instantly I knew everything we had worked on for the past few months was about to be tested. With the toms now at 15 yards, I whispered for her to pick one out and wait until he broke his strut. She was in the zone, and there was little I could do. It was a small microcosm of her growing up and parenthood. I had put the effort into teaching her and training her, but now it was in her hands.

Now at 8 yards, you could hear them spitting and drumming. I quietly asked if she was on one, and she gave the slightest nod. I knew she was ready. The tension that she and I felt was matched by the tension among the birds. I gave a quick yelp trying to get them to drop strut. Their heads lit up like the Fourth of July. Vibrant red, white and blue flashed through their heads, and all three let out a monstrous gobble. It was the kind of gobble that reverberates in your chest. It shakes you. It is the reason you turkey hunt. To my amazement, it did not rattle her. She was locked in.

The lead bird’s head was now completely pale as he dropped his fan. I tapped her on the back, our sign she was clear to shoot.

Instantly, flash, BOOM, feathers whirling, wings flapping, staccato putts, hens flying… in short, pure chaos. The best part of the chaos, however, was the flopping. The pale-headed tom had been knocked off his feet flat on his back! He was doing the familiar flop that signifies a successful shot.

As birds scattered, the excited squeal of accomplishment came from my daughter. “I DID IT DADDY! I DID IT!”

We were both caught somewhere in the middle of disbelief and exhilaration. The recently locked-in and steady 6-year-old was a trembling mess and I, the experienced hunter, was shaking more than she. As the adrenaline surged through us, we shared an embrace that I will remember for a lifetime. Both our eyes were wet with emotion. Her eyes from a sense of accomplishment and mine from a fatherly pride.

She continued to repeat her mantra, “I did it. I did it. I can’t believe I killed my first turkey.”

The only response I could muster, “Yes you did, I am so proud of you.”

As we emerged from the blind, I counted off eight steps to where the King of Spring now lay motionless. I watched as the true nature of my second-born child came out in full display. She leaped and danced around with every joyful motion she could imagine.

She then knelt and stroked the feathers now glowing in the early morning sun.

“They are like little rainbows!” she stated introspectively.

The image of her kneeling and inspecting that turkey is my favorite hunting memory to date. As I knelt beside her, we examined it together. The wings, the waddle, its 11-inch beard, its full beautiful fan and its 1 1/4-inch spurs, we took it all in. We admired God’s creation and gave thanks for His provision.

After some pictures, I gladly assisted in totting her success over my shoulder back to the truck. The girl that I walked into the woods with that morning was not the same girl who now led me back to the truck. Sure, she may have been the same age and looked identical, but the little girl who walked alongside me in the dark was now different. Where once she clung to my hand, gripping it tightly, and hesitantly walking where I lead her, she now strode unencumbered by fear or self doubt. She was confident, accomplished and proud of herself. What changed?

She had experienced an adventure and conquered a challenge that relatively few people ever do. She had proven to herself that she was resilient and that she “could do it.” Any doubt she previously held onto had evaporated and the swagger by which she held herself was awe-inspiring. The beauty of that transformation was that it was so familiar. That feeling of accomplishment is renewed each time I hunt and am fortunate to tag an animal. A conquering of the wild. A besting of a beast. Watching my child experience that for the first time changed me. Seeing it all unfold for her made the sounds sweeter, colors more vibrant, gobbles more vibrato, emotions more tangible, and a father’s pride and love deeper than I knew possible.