Sunrise turkey hunt completes special season for Dad
Sunrise turkey hunt completes special season for Dad
By Tyler Frantz
Some hunting seasons are just special. When my 63-year-old father Steve harvested his 8th career Pennsylvania black bear this past November, it was already the high mark of his hunting year.
A few weeks earlier, he had taken a nice whitetail buck in Manitoba, Canada, and the previous spring- a Manitoba black bear, but nothing tops an elusive Pennsylvania bruin of the northern hardwood forest. To successfully harvest eight of them over a 34-year span is, simply put- impressive.
Admittedly a more experienced bear and deer hunter than turkey caller, my father turned to his two sons, Travis and myself, to help him attain the third leg of his triple crown season.
Though three days were spent during the Thanksgiving holiday pursuing fall birds, my brother and I just couldn’t seem to coerce the turkeys into giving Dad a clear shot. With both of us already tagged out on fall gobblers, we knew the birds were there and we got into them daily, but it never quite worked out for Dad.
That meant we’d be on a mission come spring, doing whatever it took to ensure the old man was in the best position for a shot at one of the gobblers still roaming the ridges of the family farm. It was a group effort, as Travis had their primary roosting location nailed down well in advance of the season. He and our nephew Mitchell were set up the week before the statewide opener for the special youth hunt, and birds were going crazy off the roost but had their minds set on moving off in the opposite direction.
With that key information in mind, our plan was to sneak in quietly before dawn and set up on the flat above the roosting site. That way we’d sitting pretty right between the birds and where they’d naturally want to be come sunrise.
I volunteered to do the calling for my father since Travis had already taken Mitchell out the week before. This would also allow me to film a bit, as I hoped to capture some spring turkey action on video for my Natural Pursuit Outdoors website. The stage was set for an exciting opening morning hunt, and we were feeling optimistic.
As we skirted the field edge and entered the corner of the woodlot, I acknowledged a faint shuffling on the forest floor headed our way. I paused and grabbed my dad’s shoulder, just as the telltale white on black of a skunk became visible.
We stood frozen in place as the animal passed by within mere steps of our position. Though we thankfully didn’t get sprayed, we both hoped that this sighting was not indicative of us getting “skunked” later in the hunt.
Brief tension subsiding, we located a mature oak to settle in against, and I placed my new Avian X breeder pair decoys about 20 paces out near the crest of the gently rising flat we overlooked. With chirping songbirds, cawing crows and hailing geese playing the prelude to dawn’s arrival, it wasn’t long before the first morning gobbles sounded off nearby, adding even more rhythm to the chorus.
Surrounded by the echo of turkey thunder, we were clearly in the perfect location, and it would only be a matter of time before we went from spectators to players in the main event.
Waiting a few extra minutes for camera light to improve, I dug out my “Old Timer” slate from Hornberger Custom Calls and softly began working the birds. A short series of purrs, clucks and yelps instantly grabbed the gobblers’ attention and we soon heard them approaching from the far side of the rise.
My father shouldered his 12-gauge to take aim as a gobbler crested the hill, spotted the decoys and instantly began strutting behind cover. Another came running in from the right, adding even more excitement to the scene.
Seconds later, the two males simultaneously cleared a wide tree in stride before separating briefly, giving Dad his window of opportunity. At twenty-five yards, one well-placed shot dropped the nearest bird, a large jake, right in his tracks. Just like that, my father’s Triple Trophy season was complete. Dad was elated. We high-fived and I congratulated him on earning another triple. He turned to the camera with a big smile and said, “Hey, I’m going to be 64- I don’t know how many more I’ve got a chance at, but this bird- this makes it my third one! Thank you very much- thanks for calling!”
After reviewing the film, we later learned that the second turkey running in behind Dad’s jake was a bigger, older tom, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He was very pleased with the bird he harvested, and that’s all that matters. I’m really happy for him.
In the end, it’s not beard lengths, rack scores or trophy measurements that make a season special. It’s each individual memory picked up along the way. My father may have filled his freezer and most of his tags, but the time spent afield with family and friends contributed an equal share to the bounty. It truly was a season to remember.
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