The Webb Site: The Hunt

"Tell me about the turkey hunt," my mom said, smiling over dinner at Red Robin. I shrugged.

"I don't know...it's basically like every other hunting story. There were some animals, and then one of them ended up dead."

She looked incredulous. "Christine," she said, "You're a writer, and you're telling me you can't muster up some sort of story out of this hunt?" Really, I just wanted to eat my food. I was starving. I'd eaten about three bites of bagel in the entire day. I told her that I would blog the story later, so HERE IT IS: the official and unabridged story of my turkey hunt.

I woke up at 4:30 in the morning last Friday and thought, as I do every morning before a hunt, "Why am I doing this?? This is crazy. Examine your life choices, Christine." I had taken Friday morning off of work to go hunting with my dad and Rex. Rex was amped. He gets more excited before hunting than he does on Christmas morning, I swear. We drove over to my parents' house where my dad was already in his car, ready to drive us to our spot. I hopped in the passenger side, and my dad looked half-human and half-zombie. He said, "When you get up super early in the morning to hunt, do you ever wonder 'why on earth am I doing this?' Because I always do."

See? I knew I was related to that man.

We drove in the darkness to my boss's house (we had permission to hunt on his property). I don't think I've ever felt so creepy as when we turned off our headlights and crept up his driveway. Try creeping up YOUR boss's driveway in the middle of the night - I'm telling you, it's a weird feeling.

We drove to his back field and then had to get out of the car and walk to our spot. We crunched through some sticks and leaves in the woods, trying to be quiet but also basically walking wherever because we couldn't see anything. Finally, we got to our turkey tent. My dad and I sat in the tent while Rex sat near a tree a few yards away. It looked like he was sitting on a toilet - look at this:

We got situated, and then the blanket of quiet that all hunters understand settled over us. Not even the animals were awake yet; all we could hear was the sizzlebuzz of the power lines by our tent. I never realized how loud power lines sound. I briefly wondered if I was going to get cancer or superpowers or something from the power snapping through the lines and radiating to the surrounding area. These are the things I think about when it's five in the morning and I can't make any noise or look at my phone.

Just after sunrise, my dad spotted some turkeys coming over a hill. They looked like moving speckles at first, but they got bigger as they got closer. My chest got tight and my hands tingled - was the hunt going to be over this quickly? I wasn't ready! I carefully grabbed my gun, which had been leaning on the edge of the tent. I knelt down by the windows so that I'd be ready to shoot if they came near enough. As the turkeys got closer, we realized they were all females. None to shoot. The problem was that if they saw us, they would alert all of their turkey friends, and then no one would come near us. The four females walked right past our blind, about forty yards away. They were fun to watch, but they didn't come in too close.

I was about ready to relax and put my gun down when suddenly another group of three turkeys materialized out of nowhere only one ridge away from our tent. Hens again. They were headed straight towards us. "Do...not...move," my dad hissed without opening his mouth.

Thanks, Dad - like I was going to be so excited about seeing turkeys that I would spontaneously start dancing the cha-cha. I've hunted before. This wasn't my first rodeo. The thing was, though, that it was especially perilous here because the turkeys were so close. Turkeys have phenomenal eyesight. They can sense movement dozens of yards away. It's like spidey-vision (which they perhaps got from spending so much time by those power lines). Anyway, one hen in particular was headed so close to our tent that she would have actually run into it if she kept walking straight. She had to turn to walk around it. When she was about three yards away (THREE YARDS, PEOPLE), she stared right into the tent and directly at me. There is no material on our tent windows. I had no protection from the gaze of spidey-vision hen. My eyes were open wide, my heart was trying to escape from my rib cage, and I realized that my ability to keep completely still could make or break this hunt. I couldn't even blink - she was too close.

DON'T BLINK
DON'T BLINK
DON'T BLINK

My eyes started to burn. She cocked her head, trying to figure out what she was seeing. I think I could have punched her - both because she was close enough to punch and because I was mad that she was making my eyes burn.

DON'T BLINK
DON'T BLINK
DON'T BLINK

All of the staring contests I'd ever had in life had prepared me for THIS MOMENT. I thought, "Wow, good thing I'm good at starting contests...wait, am I good at staring contests? I don't remember. I don't think I've had one since I was about ten..." This is seriously what I was thinking at that moment. Finally, after an eternity, spidey bent down to peck at the ground. I blinked rapidly about six times before she put her head up again, and the staring contest was back on. Finally she moved past my tent with her friends, and I could relax a bit.

I don't know how much you know about turkeys, but to see seven females and no males was really strange. This is mating season. The guys are all out trolling for girls, which is why we had our decoy out about fifteen yards in front of our tent. In addition to our decoy, we now had seven live decoys all around us! Still, no dudes. I was confused. If one was looking for females, this spot was the place to be. It was the turkey equivalent of a Celine Dion concert or a yoga class or a sale at Bath and Body Works. You get the idea - chicks everywhere. Where were the dudes?

It was quiet for about an hour after my epic stare down. My dad would use his call, Rex would use his call, and sometimes they would call together. In my mind, their calling together sounded like we had a raging party going on with lots of hot female turkeys in attendance. How could any self-respecting male turkey resist us?? I almost chimed in with my own mouth call, but Rex has told me that my mouth call sounds like a parrot. I didn't want the turkeys to get confused and think we had immigrant birds attending our party, because immigration can be a touchy subject. Hot girl turkeys only - come and get 'em.

I wrung my hands nervously after we hadn't called for a while, and one of my knuckles popped. In the completely still silence, it sounded like a bomb going off. I thought, "AHHH! MY FINGER JUST EXPLODED! Oh, actually maybe that was my knuckle popping. Oops." I stopped wringing my hands.

Maybe my dad took my exploding finger as a signal that I was bored or uncomfortable, because he offered to split a granola bar with me. I said sure. He carefully unwrapped a granola bar (which sounded like it was being unwrapped over the loudspeaker at a Big 10 football game because it was SO LOUD), and he handed me half. I put the half in my mouth and was about to bite down on the macadamia-nut goodness when suddenly we heard a turkey yelp, and it was close. My dad and I looked at each other with buggy eyes, and I dropped the granola bar out of my mouth and into my hand. I grabbed my gun and knelt again, looking furtively for the bird who interrupted my breakfast.

There was a lone hen (making this number eight), and she was wandering around the field. I don't know why she was alone... girl turkeys usually travel in groups (they're like humans that way). Maybe she was the loser turkey, but she was hoping to be included in our party. We accept you, loser turkey! All live decoys are welcome! She putted around as she got closer, and I was nervous she was going to actually step on Rex. I mentally willed him not to move. At one point I heard another turkey call, and I thought, "Is Rex nuts?! The turkey's right here! Why is he calling?!" Then I realized it was actually the turkey making those noises, not Rex. Oops. My bad.

The turkey went up to Henrietta (our decoy), and she tried to talk to her. Henrietta, obviously, didn't talk back. This made the hen mad, and she got cranky for a little bit before moving on again. (The poor loser turkey. I don't think Henrietta helped with her rejection complex). My phone lit up with a text from Rex. I could text now that it was light out. He said, "I think that hen was ready to cage fight Henreitta." I silently laughed and showed the text to my dad. Then we took some selfies. I tried to find my half of the granola bar to eat, but it turned out my dad had already eaten it. Gross. That had been in my mouth. A few minutes later, Rex decided to go pee. I got a text that he almost peed on a squirrel.

Oh, the weird things that happen when you're hunting.

I had to be back at work by 12:30, so I knew we had to start leaving the woods around 11. It was 10:40, and my dad and I had started whispering back and forth about the possibilities of going out the following morning. Suddenly, he whispered, "Turkeys! Toms!" I looked over the ridge and saw three turkeys about two hundred yards away. I leaned toward the tent opening that allowed me to see Rex because I knew he couldn't see the turkeys from where he was sitting. I held up three fingers and pulled my facemask down to mouth "toms." Rex's eyes bugged out, pug style, and I think this was exaggerated by the fact that the only part of him I could see was his eyes. His shocked excitement made me even more nervous. My dad and Rex had done a great job of calling all day - now it was up to me.

The turkeys were still over a hundred yards away, but I picked up my gun and got ready. My dad tapped me on the shoulder, and I thought he was going to give me some profound fatherly wisdom. Instead he said, "I have to pee."

"You're going to have to hold it!" I whispered back. "I'm trying to shoot a turkey here!"

"No seriously," he said. "I really have to go. I'm going to hurry before they come too close."

I could not believe this. I was maybe five minutes away from a dead bird, and he was going to jeopardize the whole operation because he COULDN'T HOLD IT?? Obviously he couldn't unzip the tent because it would be too loud, but it turns out that we hadn't put the zipper all the way down to the ground. There were a few inches left unzipped - what luck. I kept my eyes glued to the turkeys while my dad peed out of the small hole in our tent.

Do you find it strange that I'm interrupting the climax of this story to tell you about my dad's urinary habits? Think of how frustrating it was to actually be there!! I'm on the brink of something really exciting, we are in a life or death (for the bird) situation, and he has to PEE. Ugh. My dad, I tell ya.

He returned back to his chair, and I was knelt with my gun ready to go. When the birds were at fifty yards, they saw Henrietta. I don't know what it is about that decoy, but I'm telling you - she could be on the cover of Turkey Cosmo or something. Guys go nuts for her. They immediately puffed up and started heading her way. I put the gun out of the tent window and started tracking them. "Which one?" I whispered to my dad. There were three, and I didn't know which one was the biggest.

"The third one," my dad said. I aimed squarely for that turkey's neck. A few seconds went by. I really didn't want to miss this shot. I didn't want to let my dad and Rex down, but also one of my seventh graders had shot a turkey just the week before. I would never live it down if my students found out I was beat in marksmanship by a twelve-year-old.

Also, fresh turkey is so, so delicious.

I put my finger on the trigger. "Third one?" I confirmed.

"No wait," said my dad. "Second one."

Second one!? This changed the whole thing! I switched my focus and aimed for the second one. I tried to breathe steady, which was hard since my blood was trying to set a world record racing through my body. How did the turkeys not hear my heart beating?? Second one. Okay. Second one. Got it. The turkeys were moving toward Henrietta. I didn't want to shoot a moving target, because then you have to think of physics and crap. I tried to think of physics and also about breathing and also about keeping my gun aimed steadily at the correct turkey.

My dad pulled out his turkey call and made a small yelp. The turkeys stopped and looked our way, and my dad whispered, "NOW. Take the shot!" I knew this was the moment. I had about one second before they started moving again. I didn't even have time for one more deep breath. Aimed at second? Aimed at second. It was go time. I pulled the trigger.

I heard the satisfying BANG, and I was relieved that the shot was over. Hit or miss, I was done with this intensely high-pressure situation. I was scared to look, but I did. What I saw was a downed bird and Rex exploding out of his perch on the tree-toilet to go make sure it was very dead. "Do you need my gun?" I called to Rex, thinking he might need to shoot it again if I didn't get a good shot.

"No, you got it!" he called back. "Great job!"

I felt relief flood through me. I did it! My dad went to join Rex in examining my bird, but I stayed in the tent for a second and remembered what breathing felt like. I may have also rubbed my shoulder, where I now have a beautiful purple and green bruise from the kick of that gun.

A few minutes later, when the excitement of the shot died down, I said, "Hey, what time is it?" I was going to be late for work! I figured "I got a turkey" was a pretty good excuse, but we still tried to go quickly in packing up and getting out of the woods. We didn't go so quickly that we forgot to get some pictures, though!