My twin 12-year-old boys aren't identical. From their sleeping and eating habits to their personalities and demeanor, they're totally different. So I guess it should come as no surprise their outdoor experiences might be different, too. Their turkey hunts this week proved it.
Brandon and I slipped out Wednesday evening to the same spot where Cody had a picture-perfect hunt last Saturday. It was warm and smoky as the Flint Hills were apparently ablaze. We tried calling a few times once we neared the timber but got no response. We decided to sit for awhile and see what transpired.
We sat for 90 minutes before finally hearing a gobble across the river. A couple more got my hopes up. But a shotgun blast from that direction doused those feelings. We kept calling and later had two birds pop into the field. They cautiously eased our way. I reasoned their reluctance was due to the fact they were likely the two surviving jakes from Cody's encounter.
They crept into shotgun range but got behind some brush. Brandon couldn't see them well enough to shoot. I put him on my lap trying to get him a higher vantage point. He still couldn't get a clear shot.
Finally, the birds started to move off and he could see them. At the shot, one turkey flew away and the other was hit hard but headed for the river. Another shot didn't work and I grabbed the gun and we took off towards the river. We peered across the river but didn't see his bird and my heart sank. But a few "putts" caught my attention and the young gobbler was at the edge of the grass near the water's edge. I handed Brandon the gun and he finished him off.
Now the dilemma was the river crossing. I contemplated stripping down to my drawers and wading/swimming across and Brandon seemed amused by this option. However, better judgement had us go to the truck, back out to the highway and down the other side. It was a rodeo of sorts, but Brandon's bird got a ride home in the back of the truck.
I guess nobody said it would always be easy.
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