I was having real trouble conveying my love of turkey hunting to my buddy, Josh Kline.
I tried to explain the adrenaline rush I get when a big tom cutsloose with a gobble at first light and when that same bird is locked up andstrutting towards me. Tried to explain my turkey hunting “addiction,” and thehours I’ve spent afield trying to understand turkey behavior, habits, soundsand mannerisms.
All I got in return was a partial eye roll and an, “Yeah, okay.”
“You’re going to find out very soon,” I promised him. “Verysoon. And then you’ll have your own turkey addiction to deal with!”
Josh Kline is an offensive lineman in the NFL. He’s a damn good one with a Super Bowl ring to prove it. He’s also a humble guy, and we talk about hunting, family and various other life subjects.
Josh was all in for a spring turkey hunt in my home state ofTexas. The day before our hunt, we went to the shooting range and Josh hammeredtwo Shoot–And-See turkey targets at 20- and then 40-yards.
The next morning, near Pearsall, Texas, I parked my truck abouta half mile from the tank and walked down a Sendero under the cover ofdarkness. When we were about 50 yardsfrom our spot a bird cranked up to our left.
We knew he was close; so close, we might get busted. I eased the decoys out of my pack and got them ready. Josh got situated in the small brush blind I built a day prior.
I froze in my tracks. A mere 80 yards away, I could see our boyroosted in a dead mesquite tree with another bird. He gobbled again. I creptvery slowly back to our brush blind and whispered to Josh, “We may be busted. Idon’t know if he saw me put the decoys out or not. But we’re gonna find outquick.”
We sat motionless and quiet for the next 20 minutes listening to10 or more gobbles. Josh was frozen and locked on the sounds of the Rio Grandesymphony – turkeys, green jays, scrub jays, cardinals and we even had aKiskadee making a racket nearby. I started to relax a little and then heardthat sound of wind on wings and the thud of him touching the earth. Go time!
Sitting in a chair just behind Josh, I gave him a squeeze on theshoulder and told him to get his gun on the monopod and be ready.
I pulled my striker across the slate of the pot call and let outa string of soft purrs. I could hear the tom drumming and then caught the sightof his fan through the brush.
“Left, 30 yards, be ready,” I whispered to Josh, who was asstill as a statue.
The head of a strutting long beard changed colors from white toblue. Two more steps and he was on the X.
He stopped and looked at the decoys, then looked at us. Someanimals look at you. But, when your quarry looks at you at close range, helooks through you.
This is where it felt like time stopped, though it actually tooka good 15 seconds before the tom stopped staring at us. He took one more steptowards the decoys, no longer strutting, his neck extended, knowing somethingwas up. “You on him?” I got a head nod, “Take him.”
Josh placed the red dot where the feathers meet the waddles. Thebird never knew what hit him.
Josh was cool as the other side of the pillow but elated; I wason the verge of hyperventilating and shaking. I’m not ashamed to admit that I getexcited when it comes to long beards.
I love being a part of “firsts.” One might shoot hundreds of turkeys in a lifetime, but the hunter will always remember the first one. Josh’s first turkey hunt was textbook – I may have ruined him because not all hunts go as planned, but this one did, and I am grateful.
I asked Josh if he would go turkey hunting again and he said “Oh yes!” The smile on his face said it all. Welcome to the addiction!
Related Articles
