Best hunting memory thread
- Thread starter Alan
- Start date
turkeymanwade
Active member
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2025
- Messages
- 27
My first time
Our story begins in the Walmart parking lot, that’s where I made my first turkey sound. Now the
proud owner of 4 brand new turkey calls, a Lynch World Champion 2 sided box call and a Penn Woods
mouth call 3 pack. Like the big kid that I am, I couldn’t wait un)l I got home. Those first pitiful sounding
yelps and clucks caused an addiction that’s lasted 17 years and continues. I already had a gun I thought
would work. A Mossberg 500 pump gun. Years before I had done quite a bit of goose huntng. Back in the
day, Mossberg had a promotion: if you bought a shotgun and sent in proof of purchase and jumped
through a few more hoops they would sell you an extra barrel for cheap. For under $200.00 I had me a
3” 12 gauge shotgun with a C-Lect choke barrel and a 30” full choke barrel. The C-Lect choke didn’t work
out too well but that’s another story. There were also some 3” magnum #6 shotshells leftover from the
days when we could hunt waterfowl with lead shot. Putting some camo tape on the old warhorse turned
it into a turkey gun.
That first turkey season I did some preseason scouting and found some birds in a farmer friend’s
field. Not knowing what to really look for or even for sure what wild turkey tracks looked like. I had spent
most of the morning walking and looking. On my way out of the field, the rearview mirror of my old
Toyota pickup literally filled up with turkeys. The next morning I was back, hiding in a ditch and had
turkeys feeding within 10 feet of me. There I was, hiding in the cattails, loving every minute of it. A new
turkey hunter was born that day. This was the weekend before opening day. I had trouble sleeping every
night for the next 6 days.
During that week we had 5 or 6 inches of rain. On Saturday, opening day the swamp and parts of
the field were flooded. This limited my access and I think maybe changed the turkey habits. I did hear
some gobbling before first light but that was all the action there was.
Lucky for me Curtis, my boss, had given me Monday off. Before day I was back, the toms gobbled
in the same place but again didn’t answer my limited repertoire of turkey sounds. This was a hot and
muggy spring day, I’m guessing that the extra water helped to raise the humidity, and by 10:00 am I had
runned and gunned, I had sat and waited, I had waded swamps and I had clawed my way through briers.
I was tired, busted and broken down as well as sweaty and bleeding. Thinking “maybe I should rethink
this turkey huntng thing.” With no idea what to do next, I headed to my pickup. With all the rain the
field was wet and I couldn’t drive very close to the woods so tired and disgusted or not it was to be a
long walk.
It was then that a pileated woodpecker flew across a small field making its staccato call “cuk,
cuk, CUK, CUK, CUK, CUK, cuk, cuk, cuk.” With that, a tom turkey shock gobbled and the game was on.
My energy level at least tripled, double-timing it to the field edge I got out my mouth call and put it in
my mouth. Sneaking to the corner, I let out my best yelps. The tom answered right away. There he was in
full strut about 100 yards away. He answered every sound (noise) I made but just strutted back and forth
like a soldier guarding the grave of his fallen buddy and not coming any closer. Now what the hunter
needed was a winning strategy. Using pruning shears I cut me a little tunnel through reeds, vines, small
saplings and thorns. Crawling as I cut I was getting closer to my prize. Now, on the same field edge as the
bird, all I had to do was call him into gun range. Just like before, he would gobble at all of my hen sounds, but still wouldn’t come any closer. Just when I was getting frustrated again a hen came in the field and
lured my tom away. They both went into the swamp and I’m sure, did what turkeys do in the springtime.
Looking at my watch I decided to give him an hour before I went home. Taking advantage of the empty
field I slithered out on my belly and set up my 1 decoy, a hen. In no time the tom was back in the field.
When I yelped on the mouth call that he seemed to like the most he turned, saw the decoy and headed
my way. “Please Wade don’t screw this up, just sit still and let him come.” He would stop and strut and a
few times he turned 90 degrees and made a few steps before turning and heading my way again. 15
minutes later the Mossberg 500 barked and my first turkey lay flopping on the ground. I thanked the
good Lord for giving me the opportunity and the turkey for giving his life. He had a 10” beard and 1”
spurs. See above about a turkey hunter being born. What a way to do it outdoors.
Our story begins in the Walmart parking lot, that’s where I made my first turkey sound. Now the
proud owner of 4 brand new turkey calls, a Lynch World Champion 2 sided box call and a Penn Woods
mouth call 3 pack. Like the big kid that I am, I couldn’t wait un)l I got home. Those first pitiful sounding
yelps and clucks caused an addiction that’s lasted 17 years and continues. I already had a gun I thought
would work. A Mossberg 500 pump gun. Years before I had done quite a bit of goose huntng. Back in the
day, Mossberg had a promotion: if you bought a shotgun and sent in proof of purchase and jumped
through a few more hoops they would sell you an extra barrel for cheap. For under $200.00 I had me a
3” 12 gauge shotgun with a C-Lect choke barrel and a 30” full choke barrel. The C-Lect choke didn’t work
out too well but that’s another story. There were also some 3” magnum #6 shotshells leftover from the
days when we could hunt waterfowl with lead shot. Putting some camo tape on the old warhorse turned
it into a turkey gun.
That first turkey season I did some preseason scouting and found some birds in a farmer friend’s
field. Not knowing what to really look for or even for sure what wild turkey tracks looked like. I had spent
most of the morning walking and looking. On my way out of the field, the rearview mirror of my old
Toyota pickup literally filled up with turkeys. The next morning I was back, hiding in a ditch and had
turkeys feeding within 10 feet of me. There I was, hiding in the cattails, loving every minute of it. A new
turkey hunter was born that day. This was the weekend before opening day. I had trouble sleeping every
night for the next 6 days.
During that week we had 5 or 6 inches of rain. On Saturday, opening day the swamp and parts of
the field were flooded. This limited my access and I think maybe changed the turkey habits. I did hear
some gobbling before first light but that was all the action there was.
Lucky for me Curtis, my boss, had given me Monday off. Before day I was back, the toms gobbled
in the same place but again didn’t answer my limited repertoire of turkey sounds. This was a hot and
muggy spring day, I’m guessing that the extra water helped to raise the humidity, and by 10:00 am I had
runned and gunned, I had sat and waited, I had waded swamps and I had clawed my way through briers.
I was tired, busted and broken down as well as sweaty and bleeding. Thinking “maybe I should rethink
this turkey huntng thing.” With no idea what to do next, I headed to my pickup. With all the rain the
field was wet and I couldn’t drive very close to the woods so tired and disgusted or not it was to be a
long walk.
It was then that a pileated woodpecker flew across a small field making its staccato call “cuk,
cuk, CUK, CUK, CUK, CUK, cuk, cuk, cuk.” With that, a tom turkey shock gobbled and the game was on.
My energy level at least tripled, double-timing it to the field edge I got out my mouth call and put it in
my mouth. Sneaking to the corner, I let out my best yelps. The tom answered right away. There he was in
full strut about 100 yards away. He answered every sound (noise) I made but just strutted back and forth
like a soldier guarding the grave of his fallen buddy and not coming any closer. Now what the hunter
needed was a winning strategy. Using pruning shears I cut me a little tunnel through reeds, vines, small
saplings and thorns. Crawling as I cut I was getting closer to my prize. Now, on the same field edge as the
bird, all I had to do was call him into gun range. Just like before, he would gobble at all of my hen sounds, but still wouldn’t come any closer. Just when I was getting frustrated again a hen came in the field and
lured my tom away. They both went into the swamp and I’m sure, did what turkeys do in the springtime.
Looking at my watch I decided to give him an hour before I went home. Taking advantage of the empty
field I slithered out on my belly and set up my 1 decoy, a hen. In no time the tom was back in the field.
When I yelped on the mouth call that he seemed to like the most he turned, saw the decoy and headed
my way. “Please Wade don’t screw this up, just sit still and let him come.” He would stop and strut and a
few times he turned 90 degrees and made a few steps before turning and heading my way again. 15
minutes later the Mossberg 500 barked and my first turkey lay flopping on the ground. I thanked the
good Lord for giving me the opportunity and the turkey for giving his life. He had a 10” beard and 1”
spurs. See above about a turkey hunter being born. What a way to do it outdoors.
Native_Tarheel
Member
- Joined
- Sep 22, 2025
- Messages
- 15
Great, well written story! Felt like I was along with you.
My favorite is more about the after hunt than the hunt. We were part of a rabbit hunting group in the Wendell, NC area. My dad loved the sound of the dogs barking on a chase. One hunt he took his compact tape recorder and recorded several of the chases. At the end of the day when we were putting the dog up in the kennels in the back of the truck, he played the tape foe=r one of the other hunters. Needless to say, the dogs heard the sound and bolted out of the c=kennels that had not yet been closed. It took almost an hour to get the dogs rounded up and back in the kennels. I think that was about the most embarrassed my dad had ever been in his life. He took a lot of good-natured ribbing from the group for several years after that. He, my brother and I laughed about that one for years and years. It became one of his favorite stories to tell.
