Today, I am starkly reminded of my blessings in this life once again while roaming in the great forest of the turkey woods.
Lee, my wife of nearly 23 years, had spotted a large spring flock of two dozen+ turkeys in a field just off our property an hour before roosting time last evening. The flock would head up into our place to fly up for the night. This was particularly good news as it has been some time seeing what used to be an expected scouting event each season not so long ago. I was working late, and it is our practice to always be looking for helpful clues for each other as we do hunt separately as well as a team, especially on opening days.
Lee would not be able to head out in the morning, and I could give it a few hours before heading into my office. Although I knew I would be within 150-200 yards of the known roosting trees on our place, I would not gain the slightest clue from the flock. No gobbling, no tree talk, no wing beats from fly-downs. For my efforts to get in long before daylight, I saw one hen glide out over a field and sail a half a mile down the hill. I was amazed at all this as it was a beautiful morning, the air was still, and as the turkeys were, the smaller creatures were also silent in their presence. Could not buy a gobble and had no idea where they went. Just the same, I was far more grateful for being there to witness the morning unfold in all its splendor.
Given this generous serving of solitude in the turkey woods, I had a lion’s share of these few hours before work to ponder and take it all in. 19 months earlier I had been in a coma, intubated, clinging to life by a thread, and given far less than Vegas odds to ever pull through. I had not forgotten being reduced to the bodily functions of a toddler which is an instant shot of humility. 61 years old at the time, it is a shock to the system and one’s psyche.
The weeks it took in recovery to even stand, much less walk, all the while tethered to an oxygen tank. There was no fall turkey season for me that year. I progressed enough to sit in a blind for deer season, eighty yards from our home the woods. Near the end of deer season, I could manage an ATV ride. Long walks were still far too much to ask for at the time. As one who espouses hunt all the way in and all the way back, it was a bit of a mental test to be limited this way. There were shot opportunities, but each one presented difficulty in long walks to retrieve. Not disappointed, as I was thrilled to be there. Each milestone in walking distance came with much effort, and I recall each in stark detail. Our place is in the hills of one of the seven valleys of Cortland, the northeastern leg. It is picturesque, one might claim breathtaking, and I do make that distinction. Point A to point B anywhere on our place involves a hill.
This morning in the cool, still air, of my own accord, I descended to a creek below our home and worked up the other side in the direction of my roosted quarry. Over the next three hours of the hunt, I covered a bit over a mile in hilly terrain, with no oxygen tank, in full confidence in going wherever I wanted to roam. Being given another chance at life, these moments are poignant, to be recognized how good it is to spend time in the turkey woods whether the gobblers participate in the chess match that day, or not.
In recent years and with the decline of the turkey population in our town and especially on our ranch consisting of 138 acres, I literally haven’t spring hunted our place in four seasons for a lack of sightings or any gobbling. I would check it in the fall, only to decline filling a tag on a minimal-sized flock. I recently checked my notes and surprised myself by realizing that I haven’t taken a bird off our place since 2013. Since that time, the hunts there have been an exercise of melancholy, and to see how the flocks were doing. With a large flock spotted and thought to be in play, it is exciting to hunt our own place as it was twenty-some years ago.
Forever grateful…
-MJ
© 2023 Mike Joyner- Joyner Outdoor Media
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