Turkey Hunting, in the Rain, with a Twelve Year Old. Part 1

The Friday before Columbus Day weekend was an in-service day for the teachers and staff of Thetford Academy giving the students the day off. Rain pelted the tin roof while the heavy cloud cover kept the morning in perpetual dawn. Only large patches of any color could be distinguished in the paltry light. With a lack of a brightening day, my internal clock just stopped and only an overpowering need to relieve myself had the ability to force me out of bed. Rain shuts down the outdoor work of landscaping so my day was free to spend at home with the kids and maybe get in a bit of turkey hunting.

Nathan at full draw

Nathan, my twelve-year-old son, can finally pull enough draw weight on his compound bow to generate enough kinetic energy with an arrow to make turkey hunting an ethical pursuit. Shotgun season is still three weeks in the future and in defiance of the rain we suit up and head out the door.

A decade ago my 1985 Yamaha FJ 600 was sold off but I kept the rain suits since they kept me dry traveling through the wet at highway speeds. They should be just fine for stalking turkeys and two suits are stashed in the trunk of the car; one for me, the other for Nathan. If we’re dry we should be warm or at least not too cold.

Rain suits keep water at bay with a trade-off; the suits make similar sounds I recall from my days attending elementary school in the 70’s when corduroy was all the rage. With each step the wale of the material rode past each other producing a staccato, brrrrrip, brrrrip, brrrrrrip. Between classes at the height of corduroy mania the cacophony of walking students was pretty overwhelming. Now, wearing the rain suits, each step had the flared legs rubbing past each other making a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh just loud enough my hope is the rain in the trees will the sound of our movements.

The plan is to spot and stalk the local corn field which have just been cut.  Getting into a car to hunt turkeys is a bit of a bummer when the house is surrounded by fantastic terrain for hunting. Fantastic terrain for hunting vocal gobblers but not so great for locating the more silent birds of autumn.

Five minutes down the road we come to a lake. Not great hunting for turkeys but the valleys with streams and small rivers which drain into the lake provide farmers with rich soils for growing corn. Fresh cut corn usually means feeding turkeys and this morning is no different. Three toms, one toothbrush jake following two legitimate longbeards through the corn stubble. The undulations of the field provide topographic cover. Skulking through the rolling field we take a guess which way the gang will turn when it reaches the treeline. A small creek runs along the field twenty yards inside the trees with the only walkable crossing being a small culvert bridge to the south. Another cornfield covers the valley to the ridgeline once across the creek. We skulk along the creekbank sometimes crawling, other times slithering beneath the brush and reeds of the riparian corridor.

Reaching the bridge Nathan glasses the field to locate the gang which he spots 150 yards up creek of our set-up. All three birds scratch at the bare ground stopping occasionally to look around before continuing the search for kernels having escaped the combine. Soon the gang is 160 yards away. More scratching and moving to 170 yards. We’ve guessed wrong and sit patiently but frustrated at our bad choice of location. We let them move out of sight hoping not to spook them and head up the fields back to the car. Nathan removes his rain suit allowing the car’s heater to better reach his chilled skin.

The turkey drive, as we’ve come to call it, passes two adjacent farms with large paddocks containing the dairy herds. The land is not posted but hunting in a farmyard has the potential to frighten the livestock so we keep moving past a flock of an estimated 50 hens and yearlings picking through cow dung and yard muck.

At the head of the valley the road takes a hard, uphill turn to the right and through the conifers before crossing the ridge. The next valley is a bit tighter with less open cornfields. The terrain more suited to grazing then growing. Coming over a rise the field on the right side of the road contains a small flock of hens. We drive past scouting the fence-line seeking a concealed route into the field. We park 200 yards from the birds. Nathan impatiently exits the car leaving his rain-suit wadded up on the backseat floor. The rain pounds at the windshield turning the outside world into a wavy mirage of trees bisected by the dirt road. Pulling on my vinyl suit before grabbing my bow will keep me dry. By now, having entered the woods, Nathan must be soaked through to his skin. From the roadside I can see the flock and catch occasional glimpses of my son  doing his best to sneak up on the feeding birds.

Nathan has been wanting to go turkey hunting for a few years. He’s been out during the spring with a 20 gauge, single shot, break barreled Winchester  Sitting and waiting for turkeys wasn’t really hto his liking. He really enjoyed the run and gun style of pursuit. Being 12, his need to always see the quarry is understandable even if it’s not the best way to move into bow range of the more docile autumn birds. Today, with wind moving branches and shaking the brush along with heavy rain to soften leaves and alter the wood of dry branches so they yield rather then “crack” under his feet, the odds of his straight forward approach just might work. Successful or not, there is great joy at watching the boy on the hunt.

By some stroke of beginner’s luck or divine intervention, Nathan manages to move past the flock and find a hiding spot behind a small group of honeysuckle still holding its leaves. The flock moves past within twenty yards of the boy. Nathan draws the bow only to let down a moment later. The birds walk off and into the next field, the property line adorned with bright yellow Posted signs. Diplomatic immunity and sanctuary are bestowed upon the birds. Nathan cuts straight across the field to the car.

“No shot?” I call across the field.

“No. I had a shot but wasn’t sure of the distance. It looked about thirty and my pins only go to twenty and it just didn’t look good so I let down. It was pretty fun getting up on them.” He opens the car door setting the bow into the back seat. “I’m kinda cold and wet. I forgot to put on my rain gear.”

A still warm engine brings up the heat pretty fast. Wet bodies, cool outside temps and a small car bring have the windows fogging up in short order. We head home for a hot cup of tea and change of clothes. There is a lot of daylight left in the day along with plenty of rain to keep on hunting.