Gobbler Quest For The Rest

By Deborah Wallace

Having accomplished our Grand Slam for turkeys in the United States, my husband Paul and I went to Mexico to pursue the World Slam by hunting the Gould’s turkey. We arrived in Hermosillo, Sonora where we spent the night. 

We were picked up the following morning by our guide, Nigel, for a four-hour drive to the foothills of the Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains. There we were met by Lillian, our cook for the hunt, Cowboy, a camp helper, and Tellelo, our other guide. We thought we were near the camp but found out we were only half way there, having to then spiral our way through the Sierra Madres for four more hours to reach the camp. The strain on the truck’s engine caused it to over heat. Nigel had a gallon milk jug in the truck and luckily there was a stream nearby where he got a gallon of murky water for the coolant system.  

Upon arriving at the camp, which was called Rancho de Guadalupe, we discovered it was an old Catholic mission camp built in 1945. It is still used today for worship, can accommodate 40 people and has a separate building with an altar. The buildings were made of plaster with concrete floors. There was no electricity, but a generator was provided for lighting. The water was piped from a spring off the mountain and heated from an outside stove pipe kindled by a wood fire. Our beds were collapsible wooden frames with a burlap bottom for the mattress. We were given sleeping bags for covers, a pillow and two towels. The windows were made of vertical planks that opened like French doors and were shut with a bent, rusty nail. After getting our gear put away, Lillian made us a hearty lunch of homemade tostados with hot salsa.  

After lunch, we were driven back up the mountain to hunt. We did not bring our shotguns because of the red tape involved in bringing firearms in and out of Mexico. Nigel had taken four shotgun shells for me and four for Paul from a plastic grocery bag in the console of his truck. He probably had a total of twelve shells in the bag.   He did not have turkey loads, just a mixture of  different 12 gauge shells. Nigel drove while Tellelo rode in the back of the truck.We stopped and got out to walk and climb to listen for the gobble, and Tellelo and Nigel called the toms with box calls.

When we heard a tom answer the calls from a distance down the mountain, Tellelo pointed for me to sit down by a tree and placed Paul at a tree behind me. Nigel and Tellelo kept their calls going and finally I saw the huge tom coming up the mountain. I nervously watched him until he got in shooting range and took my Gould’s turkey! 

Tellelo asked, “Did you get him?”  I answered, “Yes”. We all jumped up and down and hugged. Paul and I put him in the back of my vest and carried him down the mountain.  

Heading back to the camp, we heard a whistling noise, which indicated a flat tire. I was hoping we had a spare, which we did, but no jack. There we were at the peak of the mountains where I estimated it would be a three-hour walk back to camp. Not to worry, however. Nigel and Tellelo procured some nearby logs, drove the wheel over the logs and dug the dirt from underneath the tire to enable the spare to fit on the rim.  While they were busy doing this, Paul and I spotted a huge rock that looked just like King Kong. Nigel later told us Americans named the rock King Kong.  

With the tire back on, we were ready to head back to camp. Tellelo soon banged on the truck to let us know he had spotted more turkeys, so we stopped. They began calling, and the tom immediately answered. We were at the base of a high cliff, so Paul was instructed to sit at the edge of the road since the tom would likely come over the top of the cliff. Nigel, Tellelo and I were on the opposite side hugging the cliff.  As soon as the tom strutted to the edge of the cliff, Paul took his Gould’s, also. As Nigel was asking if he got him, the turkey tumbled off the mountain, landing at our feet, which made for easy loading. We all got a laugh out of that. None of us could believe we would take our birds the first afternoon.  

We arrived back at camp where Tellelo began the process of skinning the turkeys on the kitchen table. We would take our skins home for our taxidermist to mount, and we gave the meat to Lillian. I noticed a plastic Ziploc type bag filled with water hanging from a rafter in the ceiling and asked Lillian what it was. She said it was to keep flies away. They saw their reflection magnified, and it scared them away. I had never heard of that theory! After the skinning process, we had another Mexican meal and headed for bed since it was about time to turn the generator off.  

The next day was spent walking and climbing mountain after mountain listening for gobbling. It was a very windy day and hard to hear the birds. We chased a few gobbles but didn’t get one. We hunted in the mountains all day with only cookies and water for lunch. Telleo and Nigel took a siesta on top of the mountain, then we hunted the rest of the afternoon.

On the way home, Nigel asked Paul if we would like to leave early the next morning and go mountain lion hunting back in Hermosillo. Paul has wanted a mountain lion, so he readily agreed. It seemed one of the ranchers was having a problem with a large female lion eating his very expensive, elusive desert sheep.  

That evening back at camp we had our meal outside by campfire. Lillian cooked all our meals on a campfire with blue tin pots and pans. That night we heard a tom gobbling on the mountain right at camp, so we decided to hunt him the following morning before we left camp.

We didn’t hear the generator start up the next morning, so we dressed in the dark and went to the campfire where we usually had breakfast each morning. Nigel said they didn’t turn on the generator so we could hear the tom gobble and pinpoint where he may be roosting. Since the turkey was near camp, we started out by foot for him. After climbing yet another mountain, Nigel positioned me, and Tellelo took Paul on up the mountain. We heard one gobble after another, and about an hour later I saw the tom soar across the mountain to the other side. We assumed he knew where the hens had roosted and was determined to meet them at the foot of the mountain. Anyway, we were done for sure. We decided to pack up and maybe hunt one on the way down the mountain.

Sure enough, Tellelo spotted some strut marks in the road. He got out of the truck and called with his box call. A tom answered immediately. We climbed hopefully the last mountain. I was positioned on a tree with Paul again behind me. I heard the tom drumming and spitting nearby and suddenly saw his beautiful fan coming over the mountain. He would spin and dance behind a fallen limb, and I couldn’t get a clear shot. Soon he suspected the hen wasn’t acting right by not coming to him, so he turned to go back where he came from. Nigel and Tellelo couldn’t understand why I would not shoot. Paul told me to shoot him, so even though I thought he was out of range, I took him.

While we were hunting, Cowboy and Lillian were digging in the dirt road for some medicinal root said to comfort stomach problems. Nigel pointed out an aloe-looking plant called the blue agave plant, which tequila is made from.  

Tellelo lived in the first town down the mountain, so we stopped at his house where he skinned the tom on a rustic table in his back yard and his family appreciated the meat. His wife was very cordial and with Nigel translating asked us into their home to look at some of Tellelo’s hunting pictures. His home was a happy family setting with a “Heinz 57” breed of dog in the dirt yard. The dog was thrown the turkey innards for a quick meal. Chickens cackled and crowed in a makeshift pen and small children contentedly ran underfoot. Here we said goodbye to Tellelo and Cowboy and started our last leg down the Sierra Madres. 

It took us 10 hours to get back to Hermosillo just in time for the cougar hunt. We stopped to get Nigel’s hounds for tracking. Upon arriving at the desert sheep ranch, Nigel released his hounds to track the lion. We heard them howl on scents for about two hours, and Nigel thought they were on a javelina trail. Giving up the lion for that night, he proceeded to call his hounds back to the truck kennel with a loud vocal, “Who-haw-haw” call, which is the way he trained them to come to him. He repeated this sequence several times before the dogs were finally rounded up.  

On the way back into town, we came upon an Uzi-manned road block. The officer looked at Paul and I in full camo. He wanted to know what we were doing and where we were going. Nigel tried to explain we had been turkey hunting. Paul had already pulled his mask down from his cap to try to communicate to the officer that we had indeed been hunting. However, the officer was still skeptical. Nigel could not find his box call to further prove we were hunters. Paul happened to have a mouth diaphragm call in his pocket. He put it in his mouth and began calling turkeys. The officer finally nodded that he understood and pointed his Uzi in the air pretending to shoot turkeys. I certainly breathed a sigh of relief. 

I have to say that this hunt is the toughest hunt Paul and I have been on. Experts say the Eastern wild turkey is the hardest to hunt. I agree that it is harder to call an Eastern to you, but the hunting is not as rigorous as Gould’s hunting. The Sierra Madre is a rugged wilderness totally shut off from civilization. It is a land touched by God’s hand with its vastness and beauty. It is home to the Sierra Madre Occidental pine-oak forests, known for their high biodiversity and large number of endemic species. It is also home to the largest wild turkey—the beautiful Gould’s, which Paul and I are honored to have taken from this land.  

Paul told me I was a tough woman, but I don’t know that I agree with that. There was no use in whining about the ruggedness and inconveniences of the hunt since nothing could be done about it. It is not a hunter’s demeanor to whine or complain. I appreciate the opportunity to hunt as our forefathers did without the modern conveniences that we so often find on most hunts.To me this was real hunting—a game of chess where most often the prey won.

We have taken the Eastern in Georgia, the Osceola in Florida, the Rio in Texas and the Merriam in South Dakota. The Gould’s is next to last in our quest for our World slam.  That leaves the Oscillated, which we will pursue next spring in the Yucatan.  

Editor’s Note: Send Georgia Hunters On The Road stories to [email protected].