The Shared Richloam Gobbler

It started out with all the makings of a text book turkey hunt. I was set up in a cypress bottom that made a narrow funnel along a big marsh pond. I had missed a bird here on opening morning when I impatiently took a long shot. I was determined to be more patient if given the opportunity again. I had a gobbler responding to my call and his gobble was getting louder and louder.

I was doing a good job of keeping my cool until they emerged out of the cypress roots in front of me. Two big gobblers, strutting and putting as they worked their way towards me. With my heart pounding out of my chest I put my scope to my eye and kept it on the bigger bird as he strutted his way back and forth at about 40 yards. I was telling myself, "Just wait Josh, just  wait." but my finger wasn't listening. As he stopped with his big red head in my cross-hairs I could bear it no longer. I squeezed off the shot and watched him drop and flop.

I jumped up and began the victory dash towards him as I put another shell in the chamber for insurance. This is when the text book turkey hunt took a turn towards the chaotic. As I was running up to prevent his floppy attempt to escape, another shot rang out, but it wasn't from my gun. Then I heard an angry shout from the palmettos behind the turkey, "You shot me $%*&@$ %&*(#$!"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Who was this and was he shooting back at me? I've never experienced a change of emotions so drastic and fast. It started out as a victory dash to retrieve my bird and then turned to a rescue run to help this angry man, half expecting to get shot. When I got to him I found that he was a true old timer and he was standing over the dead turkey. "Are you okay?" I asked with an awkward and shaken tone (this was my first time shooting someone and I wasn't quite sure what the proper procedure was for this kind of accident; I wondered what Dick Cheney said)?

Thank God, he was fine. One pellet had hit his ankle without puncturing his pant leg much less his skin. "Well, at least I got my turkey" was his response. Now I was really in a pickle. I had called these birds in, watched them strut, shot one and was running up to retrieve it when this old guy stepped out from behind the palmettos and put my bird down for the count; but I wasn't about to argue over a turkey with a 70 something year old man whom I had just peppered with a 3 1/2 inch magnum load. I figured he had earned it as a consolation prize for getting shot.

We were standing next to a big cypress tree with a wooden sign nailed to it that said, "In Memory of Robin." When he looked up and saw that the turkey had fallen under that tree he began crying. Now I was really feeling awkward. He explained that Robin was his best hunting buddy. They had been turkey hunting together at this honey hole since the 1970s. Robin died a couple years ago and his friend nailed up the sign to commemorate him. He turned out to be a really nice guy and shared his knowledge of 40 years hunting this off the beaten path spot at Richloam WMA. He said it was a strutting zone where for years gobblers have visited late in the mornings after they lose their hens. I believe him because both mornings I have hunted there I've seen gobblers around 11 a.m. and they were gobbling and strutting like crazy.

He offered to give me the meat and he would keep the long spurs and 10 1/2 inch beard. I declined, content with some pictures. I was just thankful that he was okay and I made a new friend in the woods. I probably have more years of turkey hunting left than he does and I think he was glad to share his knowledge of the area with me and know that the secrets of this honey hole wouldn't die with him and his best buddy Robin.

Not every hunt turns out with a text book ending; but every hunt does write a story in my memories and this is one I'll never forget: The time I shot two old Florida birds and luckily only one died. It was also a  startling reminder to try to be as safe as possible, especially on public land. It's probably not a good idea to stalk up on gobbling birds on public property when there's a good possibility that there's a kid with an itchy trigger finger on the other end of the string that is causing the birds to gobble.