When you come into the great room of our house, one of the first things you can’t help but notice are the critters that adorn the walls way up high. Each one has a story of Pop’s adventures in the wild. But of all the big ‘uns he’s pursued, his real passion is huntin’ turkeys. He says that’s mainly because turkeys are way smarter than most folks. Here’s his story of a jungle trek that had him thinking of what Indiana Jones might have seen on one of his adventures.
“All wild turkeys are very wary. Some more so than others. Rio Grandes and Merriam’s, for example, seem to be a bit more habitual and are a little easier to hunt. Easterns are probably the most wily of them all and, up until I went to the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico to hunt the Ocellated, I figured the hardest.
My dear friend, Warren Price, and I needed only this last species of the six North American wild turkeys to complete our world slam. We had hunted together for years and were blessed to conquer the Eastern, Osceola, Merriam’s, Rio Grande and Gould’s (the other Mexican bird).
Warren and I had an awful experience hunting Gould’s turkeys in the Sierra Madre mountains. Our outfitter was sub-par which resulted in nothing but pure luck affording us opportunities to tag-out there. And bringing a firearm into Mexico was a real pain. So, we decided for the ocellated hunt we would utilize shotguns the outfitter offered to provide. (I would later learn that the rusty antique I was given stood a better chance of killing something if it had a bayonet on the muzzle.)
And off we went to Merida and then to the Campeche province where we were immersed in a whole new world of turkey hunting. I spoke very little Spanish (and none of his primary Maya dialect) and my guide spoke no English at all. That was obstacle number one to overcome. We simply “spoke” with a crude, mutually understandable, sign language.
We would hunt near planted fields that backed up to dense jungle where the birds hung out except to feed. My guide created expedient blinds where we would wait hour upon hour for a bird that didn’t even gobble (they “whistle”) so there was no calling involved. We arrived so early in the morning it was still pitch black and the sky was filled with brilliant stars. Once I pointed out the international space station flying overhead and tried my best to communicate the peculiar object my guide obviously did not comprehend.
The Ocellated toms also have no beards as do the other species. That makes them extra tough to judge as they traipse into view. They’re smaller, too. Typically 8-10 pounds. Hour after hour, day after day, the turkey hunter patience I had learned and developed over the years of hunting with Warren was put to the test. Eventually we were both rewarded with a solitary bird who cautiously took deliberate steps towards our positions. When mine was close enough that I figured I could’ve hit him with a rock, I eased off the rusted safety and pulled the trigger.
With the exception of a peacock, the Ocellated turkey has arguably the most beautiful feathers imaginable. God worked overtime when he came up with these gorgeous creatures. But showing that even God has a sense of humor, He put these awful orangeish warts on his pale blue head that makes him resemble a leper. Otherwise, his vibrant plumage is spectacular.
The Mayan ruins we toured were cool and the hunt much better than the one in Chihuahua. But nothing was ever better than sipping amber liquids in anticipation of a hunt and in celebration afterwards with a dear friend.”
Pop and I don’t hunt together which is fine with me. Patience is not one of my virtues so I just admire the deer, turkeys, coons, rabbits and possums that occasionally wander through our place. Remind me sometime and I’ll tell you the story of my first encounter with a gopher tortoise. Man, those guys can scoot!