As I sat in the airport emotional from leaving my parents and the most beautiful place I know, the family farm, I could not help but reminisce about what a great weekend I had despite not killing a gobbler opening morning. As I discussed in one of my previous posts, it is not solely about success in the outdoors. We need to sit back sometimes and think about the little things that make our hunting excursions so enjoyable. Little moments like the car ride through the mountains where I was able to discuss upcoming business with my dad and get some "fatherly" advice that somehow always seems to be right on point. We were also able to reflect back on memories from past trips and discuss some strategies for the next day's hunt. In the past I have taken some of that advice and some of those trips for granted. As I grow older and slightly wiser, I have realized that those days are not always going to be here and you have to cherish everyone like it is the last.
We arrived at our final destination I knew that I would barely be able to sleep. I had one day to get the job done before heading back to the real world in Baton Rouge and it was going to take a lot of skill and a considerable amount of luck for us to kill a turkey without much scouting. We built a fire, cooked a few steaks covered with some fresh morels and laid down to watch the latest installment of whatever reality show seemed most likely to put us to sleep. We dosed off not sure of what the next day may bring and to our surprise, we were not disappointed.
With a strong taste of Maxwell House on my breath and my dad fumbling for his coffee mug we set out from the cabin porch at what seemed to be the middle of the night. As I walked through the darkness on a muddy tractor road I could not help but think about what the next few hours would produce. Would we be swimming in strutting toms or would we be back at the cabin napping without hearing so much as a yelp from a hot hen? As our luck would have it, the birds did not let us down.
We sat in the dark, listening for whippoorwills when sure enough a gobbler let out that unmistakable wake up gobble. We both looked at each other as his competitor gobbled on the opposite side of the property. We waited to see what would happen and sure enough the first bird started up again. We devised a plan of attack and set out toward the first tom as my heart rate began to climb. My dad stood up and we decided to drop down into a hollow between the bird and our position that would allow us to move quickly into a good spot without being seen or heard. We setup on a point between an alfalfa field and a grove of evergreens and began some soft calling. After about thirty minutes and some lackluster gobbles, another bird began to fire off about five hundred yards to our right. My dad and I chose to split up and I would chase the new competitor on my own. Little did I know that this decision would lead to one of the most unforgettable, intimate moments that I have had in the outdoors.
I placed myself under an enormous, rugged oak tree a few hundred yards from where I heard the last gobble. As I watched a jake feed out of range I tried a few yelps and cuts with limited success. I figured I would try and inch my way closer to the gobbler, so I got up and began to work my way down the trail. As I did, something to my left caught my eye that I will not soon forget. At first I thought it to be a dying fawn, possibly from injury or disease. Upon further investigation and some video, I realized it was an old coyote laying there with its eyes closed struggling through its last few breaths. Could this be? Did I just catch the apex predator napping? This is an animal synonymous with stealth and killing. These animals have been so hard on turkeys and young deer and here I am just twenty yards from him in the middle of the day. As I stood there in amazement not sure of my next move, I could not help but feel sorry for the old dog. I felt like I was in the final scene of "Old Yeller." Here lay the Alpha Male, out of breath and out of time. His days at the top of the food chain had past. I was sent there to put him out of his misery and it was a moment that was hard to forget. As you watch an animal like that struggle it is hard not to feel some sympathy. This would be my first coyote kill yet it did not feel quite right taking him like this. But this dog's day in the sun had past. He was where he wanted to go, on a beautiful wooded trail in the middle of the territory he once dominated.
While I texted my dad some pictures and informed him of what just happened, a feeling overtook me that was hard to put into words. All of the time leading up to the hunt I was anticipating a perfect morning. Two gobblers fanned out with my father by my side and a great picture to put on the mantle above the cabin fireplace. But as is the case so many times in life, I was led down a different trail, to be taught a much more valuable lesson. Every dog has his day in the sun to run wild and dominate his territory. You can only hope that those days are long and plentiful. Our time will come to pass the torch to our next generation.
So I ask, how will you remember your hunts? How will you remember the times you spent with family and friends? Will you remember the tines on your biggest buck or the spurs on your trophy long beard? Or will you remember the advice dad gave you, or the day that you learned that life really is one big circle? Cherish all of it. Don't get caught up in all of today's social media and all the numbers that the hunters of today are so worried about. Get lost in the process and in the journey.
Good Hunting.
If you have not had the privilege to hunt spring long beards in the state of Pennsylvania it should be on your bucket list. There is nothing that I have experienced quite like being in those rolling hills while the trees and wild flowers are blooming chasing one of the most elusive creatures in North America. PA has been ranked in the top five states to hunt turkeys in the US and is worth the trip.
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