“Did you bring the calls?” My brother Steve asked on a wonderfully glorious spring morning in Burnet County Texas.  The temperature was in the lower 70’s, a light breeze coming from the southwest and sunshine so warming to the soul that it would melt an old maid’s heart.

I’ve spent my life seizing the opportunity so when Steve asked if I remembered the calls I couldn’t help myself.  With the straightest face I could muster I said.

    “No, I thought you were supposed to bring them.”

    The desired reaction was quick in coming.  You couldn’t have asked for a nicer shade of pink that instantly covered every exposed inch of skin on my brother’s body.  I smiled and showed him a box call.  I didn’t want to send him to the hospital just over the edge a bit.  Mission accomplished.   The only problem with giving my brother the business is he seldom forgets.

My brother Steve, Chris the only female in our merry band of hunters and I decided this was the morning that we would take everybody’s first turkey.  Mike and Mark the other two hunters that share our hunting lease were making the trek into town for supplies or they would have been there as well.

That’s right none of us had ever hunted turkey.  You have to have a first in order for there to be a second. We’ve hunted mule and whitetail deer, big horn sheep, four species of antelope, hogs, coyotes’, three kinds squirrel, two kinds of rabbits, pheasants, and two kinds of quail, two types of dove, and eleven different kinds of ducks, even a buffalo but never turkey.

In the southwest corner of our 1000 acre deer lease we’d seen as many as thirty turkeys during the later part of deer season.  We all, being dutiful hunters, made a mental note for later that spring.

We being true outdoorsmen and women started picking up items needed to hunt what easily could have been our national bird had Ben Franklin had his way. 

We bought turkey calls of every size, use, color and operation.  We had slate calls, box calls, mouth calls and some we never did figure out what they did.  We had decoys of jakes, hens and gobblers of six different species’.  Some bobbed in the wind others turned like pinwheels still others did nothing but look majestic.  We had one that had metal wings that rotated at what appeared to be the speed of light.  All in all a very festive shooting field met our eyes form a popup blind designed for two hunters. 

There was one more piece of equipment along on the hunt.  For Christmas that year my brother’s wife wanting Steve to have the very best experience money could buy, bought him a Walker’s game ear.  Nice gift.  The rest of us mere mortals had to rely on the hearing our mothers passed on to us.

Before we got to the blind that we’d set up a couple of days in advance, we discussed what we knew about turkeys and how to make this first hunt memorable.  We all agreed turkeys could hear very well, see even better and noticed the slightest movement better than a navy seal.  A lot of good turkey hunters say “if a turkey could smell nobody would ever harvest one.”  We were going to prove the experts wrong by taking a turkey on our first hunt maybe even two.    

Upon reaching the blind, I being the older brother let Chris and Steve take places in the front of the 2 person blind.  I sat in the back using the calls, the ones I could figure out how to use anyway. 

Chris and Steve loaded their shotguns with number 4 high brass hunting loads and sat back.  I then started to call to the elusive bird with my expert calling.  I’d call for a few seconds and stop and see if I would get a response. 

During one of these periods of not calling my brother looked back at me and demanded that I be quiet.  I wasn’t even moving, he had his game ear in and my breathing sounded like a hurricane to his enhanced hearing. 

I rolled my eye like I did when we were 3 and 5.  I felt like saying.

“You can call if you like I’ll be outside pouting and calling mom.” 

Followed up with a nan nan nan nan.  However, what came out was something all too familiar.

”I’m not making any noise.” 

I tried to say it snotty so he would get the message.  Another missed opportunity.  I gave him a look and went back to trying to make a little time with a nice turkey.     

Chris asked. 

“Are you sure you two are related?” 

It wasn’t long before we got a reply to my invitation to come to our party.  Off in the distance we could hear what sounded like a couple of turkeys having a great time conversing with some unknown being.  I continued to call and they kept getting closer.  

As I said earlier, we were in the south west corner of the lease.  Two barbed wire fence lines formed the southern and western boundaries of our lease.  We were set up about 50 yards north of the south boundary fence and 60 or so yards east of the west fence line.    

Every so often my brother would look around and give me a glance that I know our mother wouldn’t like.  All the while the turkeys kept coming closer.

I decided to get creative with my turkey calling.  In the language of these wonderful birds I wanted to say something like.

“Hey big boy why don’t you come up and see me sometime?” 

What I probably said was.

“I’m a first time turkey hunter and I would appreciate you coming over here so I can put your tail feathers on my wall.”  

I was in my own little world thoroughly enjoying this new language I had just mastered.  When my brother patted me on the arm and made the universal sign to shut up.  He then pointed to the exact corner of our lease. 

There on the other side of the fence walked two big gobblers.  Strutting like they knew there was a hen nearby and they wanted to meet her.  With amazement the three of us watched as the object of $400 worth of equipment march up to our decoy spread and look it over for a likely candidate to spend an evening with soft lights and Mel Torme’. 

Grasping the moment, I started to call softly to our amorous visitors. This got their attention so my brother very slowly brought his gun up to his shoulder.  I was working the calls like a man possessed and they were strutting like two turkeys possessed. 

They were showing all the decoys what a real gobbler looks and acts like.  The two bird’s fans were in full array as their heads bobbed up and down like someone doing a chicken dance at a Greek wedding.  Their long dark beards, a full 10 inches long, hung from the base of a neck swollen and scarlet from a surge of testosterone.  These two gobblers were ready for anything that came their way. 

We watched their antics for almost twenty minutes.  After skillfully excited every hen in the neighborhood, they expected the same result from our decoys, when not getting it they seemed to sense it was time to leave.  In unison on some silent order given by one or the other of these massive birds they turned right and walked off deeper into our neighbors lease. I’m pretty sure the one on the right mooned us as he left. 

As they were walking off I went into come back mode with my calls.  They’d seen the best we had to offer and they weren’t having any of it.  After they were out of sight and the frustration subsided I walked over to the fence and determined they could have been ours except for six inches of good Texas dirt and four strands barbed wire. 

For the three of us the disappointment has faded but the sight of two gobblers coming to our calls and watching them do the “dance” will never fade from memory.