The red budding of a maple, green grass growing tall in a ditch, sweet smells of a blooming honeysuckle, chirps of spring peepers from the vernal pools of an old block of hardwoods; my mind starts to slowly forget about the state of our lands a month ago. It was a seemingly featureless, gloomy and wet march here in the Delmarva peninsula. When I say not much happened, I really mean it. Ill work on my March planning for the coming years. But for now it is Turkey Time!

Our morning started early. We sipped a cup of coffee and exchanged hopeful words despite our unsuccessful scouting mission the night before. All we had was a collection of pictures accumulated from dad’s well placed trail cameras. He and I have dove deeper and deeper into turkey hunting over the years adding a few new tricks to our pre season approach.

A dark rainy morning ride delivered us to our spot, a lot passed down through our family. I spent many of my early years learning about the lands and waters of the Chesapeake Bay through these fields and woods and they remain a cherished part of me. Needless to say any hunt here means more and more to me as I continue my journeys in life and to be able to share yet another one with my dad is very sentimental.

With rain and temperatures down 15 degrees from the weeks average, we knew the turkeys would be a little stale. The early hours of the morning were spent in a brushed in ground blind on a bucket for me and a rubber made lawn chair for dad. Calling started with soft high pitched tree yelps and purrs. I held my self to thirty minute intervals and somewhere along the lines snuck a ground nap in there. By about 9:20 the skies started to lift and so did the tones of my calling. I went ahead and deepened my notes coming from the diaphragm style call I generally use and started cutting hard. My thought was that the birds are near by and ready to finally come to life with the good weather they were about to feel.

As soon as I ended the last note of a series of cutting clucks it happened. Two heavy gobbles sounded back to us. Naturally dad and myself looked at each other with huge eyes bulging from our tired faces. We began to giggle with excitement but I had to interrupt and say “grab that gun”. It was go time. I learned a lot about over calling last year so I held back for another five minutes. With some more yelps and cutting notes I got them fired up again, now just a bit closer. All this was around a hundred or so yards behind us in the woods. I meticulously scanned the forrest floor out of the small window cut out of the rear of the blind hoping for a visual.

Dad got my attention and slowly pointed over my shoulder as he sunk into the darkness of the blind. Two jakes were coming out of the tree-line steadily making their way towards the two hen decoys of the spread. I turned to watch. After checking out the hens, they then headed to the jake decoy. They made quick work to establish the pecking order before heading back to the hens. They both claimed a decoy. The closer of the two began by standing a foot from the decoy in a full strut position. He studied her for ten minutes while he was completely still. The one in the back was doing spastic things, to lets say get the “upper hand” on the poor feeding hen decoy. Finally the strutting Jake made his move. Just like a lost teenager at a movie theatre, he hesitantly put his wing around his date. To really impress this decoy he began to send her into a spinning tango of a dance. For forty minutes this continued.

We watched in amusement while hiding our chuckles. The spin count of the one Jake with his quarry was lost and later was estimated to be at least a hundred or so spins. Needless to say that hour of watching these two jakes work their magic was purely entertaining. The Jake in the back was not impressed with the decoys lack of communication and emotional feedback, so he as most young boys do when figuring out the complexities of life, got distracted and walked away. On his walk of shame to the woods I did however witness him snatch a hopper out of mid air that he kicked up about five yards from the blind. We remained still and quiet in hopes of more turkey to come join the party.

These jakes were not responsible for the gobbles we had heard as earlier mentioned. Jealousy eventually overcame our wary Tom. With a full head of steam the wary bird was convinced it was his turn to win over the hearts of our decoys. he trampled out into the field right for the Jake decoy. Before even sizing up his match he left his feet for a flying kick headed to the base of the decoys head. Success! the bird fell over with the decoy. They both bounced back up and more kicks were delivered. The entire hunt we questioned how far I actually drove the steaks of the decoys into the silty clay ground. I did a good job but eventually the Tom won.

With the jake decoy finally on its side, dad waited for the bird to slow down and put his head up. I finally decided to put the call back in my mouth and make some cutting notes to get the Tom’s attention. Right as those confusing sounds reached his bird brain, he lifted his wrinkly scalp and received a well delivered left hook from the barrel of dad’s 12 gauge.

The dust settled and with a few knuckle bumps and some congratulating dad’s second Tom of his life was ethically harvested. With a twenty yard well placed shot there was a definite downed bird in the decoys. We wrapped up our belongings and bags and proceeded to meet our bounty. To anyone thinking a turkey is just some ugly prehistoric looking dinosaur chicken I will reserve my thoughts. To me they are a regal, beautifully colored creature and are deserving of my highest regards. With the iridescence of its cape hitting my eyes from the sun just now creeping itself through the stratified layers of clouds, I gaze in awe.

This is why we do this and I hope anyone reading this who also shares these feeling can agree. It is one of the best animals to chase between the sights, sounds, and smells. We did it again, the old man and I get to ride off successfully and proud. We stopped and picked some wild asparagus out of the ditch for mom. Truly its turkey time here on the Eastern Shore.