The Fall Call

As a seasoned turkey hunter, I was apprehensive about the challenges that awaited me in this unfamiliar territory. The brand-new state, region and the perplexing rules of the road concerning hunting turkeys posed a formidable hurdle. However, fortune smiled upon me, and we were given the opportunity to lease a humble, yet promising, 90-acre plot of land from a dear friend in Jefferson County, Wisconsin.

Surrounded by sprawling farmlands and gnarly marshes, whispering tales of mallard ducks and trophy white-tailed deer, it was the turkeys that held a secret splendor. Equipped with a fall tag and a crossbow, my plan was to fill the freezer for the year ahead by harvesting a doe. Little did I know that this encounter would be far from ordinary.

Just before the break of dawn on the season's arrival, Sept. 16, I sat concealed within a ground blind, unaware of the astonishing symphony that awaited me. The tranquil night was shattered as an owl echoed through the ash forest, enticing an unexpected response. The resonating gobble of a turkey, fierce and resolute, pierced through the peaceful morning. I was startled, for turkeys rarely emit such mighty gobbles during the fall season. Yet, what was even more bewildering was the weather — the pressure had dropped, the wind had hushed, and the warm Midwest sun benevolently adorned the land with its golden rays.

Initially disregarding this occurrence as a figment of my imagination, I soon found myself unable to resist the bird’s conversation. The turkey, no more than 200 yards away in the depths of the woods, continued to assert its presence. With no calls at hand, I attempted to mimic a lone hen waiting amidst the fields for her mate, yelping earnestly through my mouth. To my astonishment, the turkey's response was instantaneous. His thunderous gobble interjected before I could complete my third yelp, and my heart pounded in my ears while my hands shook like I was sick.

For the next hour, the turkey paced back and forth in the woods, gobbling violently at each of my yelps. I lost count after he surpassed 50. Suddenly, through the thickets and brambles, a gleaming pure white head emerged, the color and shape of a snowball, dashing through the undergrowth toward me. Standing at a distance of 60 yards, the turkey scanned the field before me. Slowly, cautiously, I tilted my head and emitted one final yelp. He immediately locked in, and time suspended itself as he stared in my direction.

In an electrifying surge of speed and purpose, the turkey sprinted at me with his neck stretched parallel to the ground, thundering forth his final resounding gobble. As I released my arrow, it flew true, finding its mark center mass. The bird soared upward, propelled by the force of my strike, before pitching to the edge of the field. I watched, awestruck, knowing that my shot had been lethal.

I hastily texted my wife, deer hunting in a nearby blind, urging her to join me. As we ventured into the woods together, anticipation mingled with nerves, unsure of what awaited us. Then, amidst the dense brush, Katie's proclamation, "I found him, I found him, he's right here!" reverberated through the forest. A cascade of emotions overwhelmed me as I looked over the fallen bird.

Yet, amidst the wonder of this hunt, there was a revelation even more extraordinary. The turkey carried a rarity that surpassed all expectations — a magnificent double beard. Bursting with emotion, we returned to the field, documenting the turkey, and painstakingly measuring and photographing this exceptional bird. Its magnificence garnered recognition in the NWTF’s Wild Turkey Records, third overall in the state of Wisconsin, and a remarkable 13^th place in North America for all species hunted with a crossbow.

Truly, this was once in a lifetime. It was an experience that awakened my soul, reminding me of the raw and profound connections that I have with the wild turkey.