“I’m going to Disneyland.”
He wasn’t dressed in a loincloth and covered in goat’s blood last weekend when he hit the woods but nonetheless, he is officially a hunter/gatherer. The tribe must now accept him as such. Rights of passage are now upon him and he has passed the first stage towards manhood. Just twelve years old, young Tyler has procured meat for the fire. It’s not as ritually animalistic as I tend to embellish but regardless I couldn’t be more proud to be right there with Tyler on Sunday morning when he dropped the hammer on a turkey for the first time.
I wasn’t picked in the Spring Turkey lottery and wouldn’t have had the chance to chase them if Tyler hadn’t been drawn in his first year of eligibility. I still recall that quick trip to Gander Mountain back in December with Brent and Tyler to get our applications in. Of the three of us, Tyler was the only lucky one drawn. Perhaps it was destined from the start. But believe me, our patience was tested along the way.
Hunter Safety became increasingly elusive with the young hotshot’s busy schedule. Luckily, the Minnesota DNR devised an Apprentice Hunter Validation system in order to provide first time hunter’s more opportunities before making a life-long commitment to the outdoors. (A learner’s permit – so to speak.) I regularly concern myself with the ins and outs of the sporting world and figured that the Learner’s Permit/Apprentice Validation would throw a curveball to the folks at the Wal-Mart Sports counter when we went for snacks and our licenses Friday evening. I couldn’t have been more spot-on. They cringed at the thought of a kid without a Hunter Safety Certificate. I had done my homework but even with my prior planning and printed copies of the license code, it must have taken Tyler, Logan and I forty-five minutes to an hour just to walk out of there legal.
I was hoping that the difficulty with the licensing process wasn’t an omen of the 2 abbreviated days we would have to hunt. Uncle Jeff and Vanessa were about to take the sacred vows of marriage Saturday at high noon and Michele said that the Kirby Krew would need to leave for the church by 10:30 a.m. I knew that Saturday was going to present some timeline hunting challenges for Tyler and I but I also recognized the seriousness of being punctual to such an occasion. No turkey in the world could make us miss the ceremony of the century with our favorite 42-year-old bachelor finally taking the plunge. That is not to say that the turkeys didn’t try to throw the hunters off schedule.
Saturday wake up call came at 4:45a.m. Although the songbirds gently chirped through the darkness, Tyler noticed that the rest of mankind was yet to wake. We dusted off some English muffins as we optimistically discussed strategy on the lonesome ride to Rush City. After parking the TrailBlazer, Tyler and I finished outfitting ourselves while we sprayed down with bug spray. Before too long we were slipping through the woods trying to sneak in on his first official hunt. I wasn’t nervous at all about Tyler carrying a shotgun in the woods. He’s been in on plenty of past hunts and the only difference this go’round would be the role reversal of tag along and hunter. The leaves crunched and the twigs snapped until we hit the edge of the freshly disked field.
Brent was with me a few weeks earlier to trim up some trees and move around some branches, setting up a ground-blind big enough for Tyler and I. We cut out a few shooting lanes and placed a small log at the edge of the bean field marking the location of the blind. With the soil recently turned over, I wondered if I would be able to find that same log in the dark but sure enough, there it was. Tyler walked the 9 yards to the base of the tree and began to set up while I placed the three decoys at 20-25 yards. Leaning against a clump of trees doesn’t always sound so appealing, however at that point, there was no place in the world I would have rather been. Tyler and I whispered back and forth while the woods awoke. The Square Pond directly to our backs came alive with hundreds of first light sounds. Between the seagulls, geese and ducks we tried to listen for the morning tree-gobble we were after. The rooster pheasant let everyone know that he was in charge with regular booming cackles and then just as we had anticipated, the gobbling started. It’s always reassuring to know that you’re within earshot of birds but these two toms barked at each other well to the north. While I sporadically called to them, a hen walked into view but she brought nothing with her. As I was afraid of, we ran out of time that morning but not before putting a quick stalk on the big boys to the north.
After packing up camp and slinking back to the TrailBlazer, we could see the strutting toms and their subsequent hens out about 150 yards in the north field. Tyler and I dropped all non-essential gear and hugged the tree line, crawling towards the birds. Having closed some distance on them, we spotted an ideal ambush point behind a small hill just inside the woods. From there we could lay and call to them and if they would commit quickly to a challenge, Tyler would have a shot once the reached the trail. To no avail, Tyler surmised that the birds were in fact “chickens” and not turkeys. We did however call in a vicious feline. Maybe on a different day we would have shot that feral cat but this day we just laughed as we scared it out of its skin.
All in all, Saturday was a success. We had enough turkey action to keep us wanting more. Jeff and Vanessa were wed in an intimately wonderful wedding ceremony. The remainder of the day was spent amongst family and friends and we would have another day to hunt.
Saturday evening after witnessing the nuptials, Tyler declined my offer to “run and gun” down at the St. Croix River. The day had turned out to hold bluebird skies and gentle breezes. I love to “run and gun” the river bottoms and was itching for another chance at birds. When Tyler chose the couch over the woods, I had to tell myself that this was his hunt and not mine. Michele sensed my frustrations and reminded me that Tyler was just being a kid. I was not supposed to impose my goals on him. I had to bite my tongue, swallow my pride and set my sights on Sunday morning.
The songbirds were once again there to great me when I let Gunner out at 4:45 a.m. Tyler, on the other hand, clung to the couch a little tighter. I could sense that he was having his doubts in the Sleep vs. Hunt debate. I readied the gear as usual but gave him a little more time and space that morning. Once again, the roads were barren as we plodded towards Rush City and our tree line blind. The ride lacked the same enthusiasm as we had the day before, so I prayed. I prayed a prayer of thankfulness. Somewhere along the line I learned that’s where prayers should start. I was thankful for the not so “pint-sized” partner that was nodding off beside me. Thankful that he was growing into such a great young man, with marvelous grades, tremendous athletic ability and a personality for his parents to be proud of. I was thankful for our family: - their health and happiness. And from there I began to ask the good Lord for some help. You see, I figured that Tyler was reaching a turning point. The way I saw it, the boy had been “putting in his time” on the water and in the woods for quite some time now but at the same time, he had been putting plenty of time into other things like sports and video games. If I expected Tyler to develop any connection with the Wild things, I figured he needed to take that “next step” and do it soon. And that’s what I prayed for – Tyler’s next step. And then I told God how thankful I was for not smashing into the deer that zigzagged in front of us as I slammed on the breaks and Tyler immediately sprang awake. Amen.
I won’t say that he begged but the kid did ask me if we could hunt north on our second morning. Tyler knew the answer before he asked the question. I’ll admit that seeing birds there on Saturday was tempting but without permission I wasn’t about to jump ship from my “go to” spot to the south. As I drove the stake of our first decoy into the dirt, a gobbler lit off from his roost so close that it startled me. I glanced up at Tyler standing there with a surprised look on his face. He asked, “Was that a turkey?” You’re darn right it was and I instructed him to get back to the ground blind and ready his gear as quietly and quickly as possible. With me still hung out in the open placing decoys, the Tom tree gobbled like he was mad at the world. I could see Tyler just inside the woods, doing his best to get situated. I tiptoed in next to him. For the next twenty minutes that bird gave us an earful. He gobbled at crows. He gobbled in search of his hens. He gobbled at the resident pheasant’s morning alarm. And when he shut up long enough for the trees to stop rattling, I tried to let him know we were there with a few soft purrs and yelps. He usually cut me off with another booming tree gobble. When you ride adrenaline for so long, you become aware of how much your breathing patterns change. I noticed Tyler’s initial excitement begin to get under control as he practiced raising his gun down a shooting lane or adjusted some gear at the base of the tree. Tyler asked if there might be two. It was hard to tell but as I’ve come to know, birds roosted in the hardwoods to the south usually mean good things. And just like that, the calling stopped.
Tyler and I sat quiet and motionless for about 5 minutes. Doubt crept into our minds as we wondered where they might have gone. I tried to assure Tyler that the birds were on the forest floor and that it could take them a while to reach the field but then again, they could be coming quick. I told him to be ready and to watch the edge of the woods. The sun had not officially hit the horizon and just like that, there they were. Two turkeys had made it out of the woods and about 40 yards into the field before Tyler or I ever saw them. When we first picked up their subtle movements, they must have been about 125 yards from us, just up the hill. Tyler shifted a bit sensing the seriousness of the moment. I was about to call to the birds when Tyler asked me if it was two hens. Neither of us could tell with the backdrop of black dirt. And then the Tom announced his presence! There was a third bird trailing the two that we had been watching. The big boy sounded off one more time and fanned his feathers out for all to see. Of the three birds that were walking across the field in front of us, the Tom was commanding our attention. I gently hit the call with a couple of purrs, careful not to over call. It was then that the middle bird locked in on our decoys and made a beeline for us.
It was a matter of maybe a minute until that bird was within shooting range. As soon as I could make out that it was a Jake, I told Tyler. The hunter responded, “I know,” as he barreled down the 20 gauge. With a legal bird in his sights and a granddaddy tom putting on a display at about 70 yards, Tyler contemplated the choices before him. A bird in the hand or wait out the mature Tom? Oblivious to any of our doings, the lead bird had made her way nearly across the field from right to left and was picking her way through the plowed rows. It was now clear that the Tom was hitched up with her and that the jake in the decoys was either looking for love or looking for a fight. I tried to get a response from the Tom with the slate call but didn’t want to tip off the juvenile now pecking at our hen decoy less than 25 yards out. I was able to get one more gobble out of the Boss Tom as he continued to strut but he unfortunately stuck with his girlfriend out of range. Tyler was locked on to the bird that he by now had decided to take. I whispered to him to take the shot as soon as he was ready. With the click of the safety, the bird’s head snapped in our direction. We figured we were pegged. Frozen in a stare off, my heart was about to leave its rightful place amongst my other organs. I can only imagine that Tyler’s was doing the same. The barrel of the shotgun traced tiny figure eights in the air while Tyler’s breath became more audible. I could not figure out why he hadn’t pulled the trigger yet. “Anytime you’re ready bud,” I whispered. “I can’t,” was the reply. Not that he didn’t want to shoot but as luck would have it, a few of the saplings we had left standing for cover where doing their job all too well. Tyler didn’t have a shot and then the Jake went on “high alert”.
Pivoting in its place, the bird stretched its head up high and made a couple of sharp PUTTS to the south. By now my heart was in my throat, as I wanted so much to tell Tyler that what he just heard was the bird’s distress call. (Be Ready son.) With Tyler and I both locked in on the Jake in the decoys at just over twenty yards, a coyote had snuck in on us and was creeping through the brush between us and our bird. I almost yelled, “Take ‘em,” hoping Tyler would somehow manage a bird and a dog in the same flurry. But the Jake stood his ground, putted again and off the coyote scampered. (How cool was that!) Now we were back in business. The Jake was still screened by this 2-inch sapling and Tyler was able to lower the gun from his shoulder. I watched as he fumbled to put the gun back on Safe. “Leave it – you’re fine.” The bird took a step to the left. Tyler mounted the gun again. (Why hasn’t he shot? – shut up Kirby -Trust him - let the boy have the stage.) …A putt… A Step…… And a SHOT!
The Jake rolled, gave a flap of his wings, went eight feet airborne and hit the ground running. Without any hesitation, Tyler racked a round, aimed and fired again. There his trophy lay at what we would later count out 45 steps. I broke from my silence in a bear hug of a body roll/tackle. “You did it man! Great shot! I am so proud of you!” I shook with excitement as Tyler trembled searching for the safety. I don’t know if he said a word after leaning the gun against the tree and hitting the field to retrieve his bird. He was all smiles. He walked a little taller. His hands kept coming together in front of him. I gave him some space and tried to take it all in.
In the time that followed those 6:25 a.m. shots, Tyler and I lay in between the plowed rows of the field and retold our sides of the story. We fumbled with the cameras but took multiple pictures. We giggled and high-fived. Tyler kept saying how late he though it had gotten when in reality it was still too early to call Mom and report the good news. With the bird properly tagged I wasn’t about to offer a hand toting it out of the woods. I did carry some of the kid’s gear and when I saw him start to struggle with both the gun and the bird, I relieved him of his weapon. The weight of the juvenile bird hanging over his shoulder was enough to challenge Tyler. As I watched, I felt the weight of the world slip from my own shoulders. Tyler connected with the Wild – he’s been connected all this time. We stopped at the truck and I told the kid that I had already prayed for him twice that morning and we should offer another prayer of thanks. Tyler then confessed that he had prayed yesterday at the church during Uncle Jeff’s wedding for hunting luck to come his way. He’s a good kid – I mean ……. A good young man. A Hunter. A Gatherer.
Personal note to the New Hunter.....
Hey Tippie - wanna know what I'm most proud of?
- how excited you were to share this with your brother and sister. You're their Hero!
