BY DUANE ADAMS
This article is part of a new series for W2, a series that follows and recalls the adventures of a man devoted to a quest to harvest a turkey in all 49 states that have them. A number of hunters have attempted this feat and an elite few have accomplished it. We hope to bring you the story of another Virginian to do so. It is our hope that you enjoy these articles, and they inspire you take up your own passion whether it be turkey hunting or achieving Master Angler status, upland hunting or even hiking the Appalachian Trail. Please meet Duane Adams and enjoy his turkey hunting story.
“Did you getcha a bird?” “Do any good this morning?” These are probably the two most frequently asked questions of any turkey hunter after returning from a spring morning in the woods.
While the goal of any hunting trip is to harvest the animal that you’re after some of the greatest experiences I’ve had in the spring woods did not involve harvesting a turkey. I’d like to share two of those stories with you.
As an April baby, I’m lucky enough that Virginia’s spring gobbler season falls on my birthday about every seven years. One of the most memorable I’ve ever experienced was on my birthday, opening day in Virginia, with my wife.
That opening day was cold for early April particularly for Virginia. When we headed out to get in the truck it was a brisk 26 degrees!
As usual, we arrived about 90 minutes before legal shooting light and we made our way along a narrow field, bordered on one side by a small stream and the other by a hardwood ridge. We set up towards the back end of the field. I placed a decoy about 30 yards in front of us, not too far from the stream and we sat down and waited.
It seemed like the minutes ticked by very slowly toward legal shooting light, I’m not sure if that’s because it was the excitement of opening day or because it was 26 degrees, but we patiently waited to hear the first gobble of the spring season.
As the minutes ticked past 6 am, there was no indication of any turkeys from the woods or the field. The stream edge was dead quiet. The minutes turned into a half an hour, then into an hour, then into two hours. The temperature was slow to rise as the sun was starting to melt the frost off of the grass in front of us. At 8:15 my wife said it’s your birthday, we haven’t heard a bird and it’s cold. Do you want to go get some breakfast at a local restaurant? I said, “Well at this point, let’s give it till 9 o’clock. We’re not going to get any colder. We’re not going get any more hungry, and I know they’re birds on this farm.
At 8:30 I decided to hit a box call and almost immediately across the creek in front of us two separate Toms sounded off. At that point, I noticed that the sun had melted the frost right up to the edge of my boot, but suddenly neither one of us were worried about being cold or hungry anymore.
I waited about five minutes and called again, and again those birds sounded off, but one was moving further away while the other was moving closer to our left. I didn’t call again for about 10 minutes, but when I did, we were surprised that the bird was in the hardwoods behind us. Somehow, the bird managed to cross the creek and the narrow end of the field and get behind us without seeing him. But now he was fired up gobbling on his own and working his way through the woods towards our location, as we slightly turned to our left, I told my wife he’s going to come through the hardwoods see that decoy and step out about 10 yards in front of you and you’ll have a perfect shot.
Finally, we could hear him drumming about 10 yards behind us in the hardwoods our view was blocked by some vines, but I again told my wife get ready. He’s going to give you a really close shot. My gun was lying beside me on the ground as I knew my wife was getting ready to harvest a bird on opening day,
I could hear him walking through the leaves and suddenly my wife whispered, “He’s right behind us.”
I was a little surprised to hear her say that because that had been obvious from the spitting and drumming that we heard, but suddenly to my right I heard the loudest spit and drum of any wild turkey I’ve ever heard. I slowly turn my head and was more than a little surprised to see this Tom fanned out standing two feet beside me, looking directly at me. When he and I made eye contact, he tied his head, gave me a very quizzical look and turned and started walking away. I slowly move my hand toward my gun and thought I might have a chance to go unseen, however, though he was 10 yards away and going straight away from me at that point, he caught that motion, picked up the pace darted hard right into the hardwoods never be seen again.
At that point, I couldn’t contain my laughter anymore realizing that a wild turkey had snuck within two feet of me came to full strut and was as surprised as I was when what he must’ve thought was a bush turned and looked him in the eye. My wife told me later that when she said he’s right behind us, he literally had to step around a tree to get beside me. We didn’t harvest a turkey that morning. But we had a great hunt and the bacon and egg breakfast that followed capped off a great morning in the spring woods.
Now, let me tell you about a turkey that we nicknamed “The Ghost”. The ghost lived in Texas and was a big mature Rio Grande Tom, who seemingly could slip in and out of a field without a trace. This hunt took place in 2016. I was hunting with friends and we knew where there was a mature Tom. having put him to bed the night before.
We left at 4 am in order to make the 45-minute drive and get set up well before daylight. Just as expected we heard that Tom gobble from the roost a little bit after 6 am. After he flew down with hens clucking and purring moving towards him, he went silent, however we knew we were in a good spot and stayed put for the next three hours.
Around 9:30 am a few soft yelps on a slate call elicited a strong gobble directly across the field in the hardwoods. Within a minute he gobbled on his own. I completely expected him to step into the field, see our decoy set up and strut over to the Jake we had placed that morning. However, there was nothing, just total silence.
Thirty minutes later my buddy said “Hard, hard left.“ To my surprise the Tom was standing in the field 60 yards away looking at the decoys. I gave a soft purr, but he turned and walked away. The big question to all of us, was how did he get in the middle of the field without us seeing him? We slowly backed out and spent the rest of the day hunting with a friend who harvested a nice turkey, but I was determined to try “The Ghost” the next morning.
We returned to the field the next morning, and I decided to sneak across and set up in the branches of the fallen, dead cottonwood tree. I set up no decoy, just let the turkeys work the field like we suspected they were every morning.
Right on schedule the hens started tree yelping and a few minutes later, The Ghost gobbled. He was to my left where he’d been roosted the morning before, and I felt like I had a good set up. The hens flew down, came into the field and started working my way. However, the Tom was nowhere to be seen or heard. A few minutes later, I heard him gobble behind me still on my left but about 60 yards away as the hens worked their way up the tree line. This, I thought, is going to work out.
That morning, I literally had a hen step over my legs as I was nestled in the dead branches of that cottonwood tree. She along with her four sisters continued to work their way up the field, but there was no sign of The Ghost.
About 10 minutes later, I saw the boss hen raise her head and look straight up the field. To my surprise there in the middle of the field stood The Ghost who immediately fanned out drawing the hens to him and wandered back into the woods.
Now not only was I confused, I was a little frustrated. How had that bird managed to get in the middle of that field twice without me seeing him or my friends who were set up on the other side?
I walked up to the field to the spot where he showed up both mornings. To my surprise I found a small drainage ditch that you couldn’t see from my vantage point but in its sandy bottom were gobbler tracks. The Ghost was using this drainage ditch as his path in and out of that field to avoid danger. I hunted the smart bird that evening and the next morning, but I never saw or heard him again. As his name implies, he vanished from my life and as far as I know died a natural death.
But to me, The Ghost remains one of the most challenging and interesting hunts I’ve ever experienced.
