Spring in Michigan marks the return of robins and red-winged blackbirds, with their unmistakable songs echoing in our backyards. Another feathered species that brings excitement with its springtime calls is the wild turkey. Eastern wild turkeys can be found in most every county in the Lower Peninsula, and many areas in the Upper Peninsula as well. Hunters take to the woods and fields each spring in pursuit of this wary species that proves to be both exciting and frustrating to hunt. Majestic toms are the focus, and their piercing gobbles fill the woods and roll through the early morning fields in April and May. Through successful management efforts by the state and private organizations alike, the wild turkey is absolutely flourishing in Michigan.
I’ll never forget my first successful spring turkey hunt. It was exactly 30 years ago in Alcona County, and my step-dad was my guide. He had been honing his calling skills for a few years, and had embraced the explosion of the wild turkey population (and hunting season) there with a passion that bordered on addiction. At the time, I was indifferent about it. Deer hunting seemed exciting enough, and I couldn’t imagine a bird hunt would get my heart pumping like a close buck encounter did. I begrudgingly agreed to give it a try.
We hit the woods that particular April morning well before daylight. My step-dad with his vest full of slates, diaphragms and box calls, and me with his Remington 11-87 Special Purpose 12-gauge over one shoulder and a bag of decoys over the other. We quietly set up in an area Dad hoped the gobblers would be heading once they hit the ground. It was within earshot of their roosting trees, and on the edge of an expansive, rolling field. He set a couple of hen decoys 20 yards out in the field in front of us. We heard a couple of distant gobbles early, and then nothing. As we sat there on the ground with our backs against a couple of trees, daylight crept into the sky and very, very faintly we heard a couple of high-pitched gobbles answer Dad’s box call. Now things were getting exciting! Under Dad’s direction, I shouldered the shotgun and rested the forestock on my knee.
Dad glassed the field and saw three birds on the far side of it – nearly 300 yards out – heading our way in a hurry. They vanished from sight as they headed down into a large, rolling depression in the field. A couple more gobbles came – a lot closer this time. My pulse was picking up. Dad whispered “be ready.” And here they came. Three jakes, all with identical 3-inch beards bobbing as they ran up out of the dip and made a beeline for our decoys. My heart was pounding in my throat. I’m not sure I was breathing. I watched in complete awe for a moment as the turkeys jockeyed for position to be the first to the decoys. Dad whispered, louder now, “take one!”. Instinct took over. I picked the bird that was facing me, clicked off the safety, trained the bead at the end of my barrel on the base of his neck and squeezed the trigger. The morning absolutely lit up – the shotgun blast echoing through the morning air, two of the jakes running away with wings flapping, and one laying where he stood a moment earlier. We got up and ran to check out my first turkey. Dad was beaming with pride, and me? I was absolutely hooked on turkey hunting.
Back in 1995 we didn’t carry cameras or cellphones with us. Sadly, I don’t have a picture of that hunt. What I do have, though, is an indelible memory of that morning. Tagging and carrying that bird back to the family cabin. Breakfast in town with Dad. Telling and re-telling the story of the hunt. My passion for turkey hunting was born that morning 30 years ago. I still hit the turkey woods every spring, and most times I carry that same Remington shotgun that Dad gave me. We lost Dad last February, but I will carry his memory with me each and every time I sit in the spring woods and hear the echo of a gobbler in the air.
To view the spring 2025 issue of Partners magazine in its entirety, click here.
