The Odyssey of an Outdoorsman

A Turkey Hunting Story

By Patrick Hunter

Eastern Turkey harvested one spring on our family farm

My brother and I grew up hunting, learning from our dad and both grandfathers. We spent a lot of time hunting deer, duck and quail. Hunting was a family tradition and an extension of our heritage in the Carolinas. Turkey hunting came later in life when we were teenagers. It was the result of an outpouring passion from our grandfather. Papa Pat, our mom’s dad, began turkey hunting in his late 60’s. He was a long-time bird hunter and fisherman, but never cared much for big game. Around 2008, he began turkey hunting on his timber farm in the South Carolina lowcountry. The experience of locating, calling, stalking, and alluring a fired-up “Tom” in to shooting range quickly became an obsession.

Author Patrick (right) and brother Edward (left) turkey hunting

Our Papa took us turkey hunting for the first-time during spring break of 2010. Papa’s style was very much that of traditional turkey hunters. We rarely walked into the swamps and roosting areas to call birds off the limb. We would start hunting after sunrise in a food plot, usually sitting in a ground blind. We set up decoys in the food plot, and we would call every 15 to 30 minutes, listening for gobbles. We would come back to the house for lunch prepared by my grandmother, and then head back out in the afternoon to a different blind. During an afternoon hunt that week my Papa called in a large Tom and a group of Jakes. We were sitting in a ground blind, and I moved to an open window to make a shot. But I moved too slowly, the big Tom walked out of my view. So, I picked out the largest Jake in the tailing group and let off a shot. In excitement I believe my Papa and I flipped the ground blind over and ran out together into the field to recover the bird. We all celebrated the experience, and then shifted our focus on the next morning; calling in a turkey for my brother. At the time, we did not realize the odyssey we had begun.

Jake harvested on our family farm

Like Odysseus, my brother embarked on a decade-long journey in pursuit of a goal, to kill a mature Tom.  Through high school and college, we hunted one week a year with our Papa at his farm. We grew older and wiser and had success in other hunting ventures, but these turkeys continued to elude us. Turkeys would come into sight range but would remain outside the reach of our 12 gauges. We began targeting birds on the roost. One morning we would plan it safe and the birds wouldn't come to us, and the next morning we would bust birds off the tree by pushing in too close. One time we had a group of birds coming to us, but sat down on a fire ant mound hidden in a fresh burn. A man can only take so much of an onslaught of fire ants. We walked, or rather ran away with our tails between our legs, and the turkeys did the same in the opposite direction. One week, it rained every day for all of our spring break. As years went on, we celebrated the success of Papa, family, and friends but grew weary and impatient waiting for an opportunity of our own.

In 2019, our Papa and Mimi’s health began to decline rapidly. Unknown to us at the time, 2019 would be the last spring our Papa hunted. We were able to be at the house with them that spring, and even had the opportunity to celebrate with Papa as he killed a late afternoon gobbler over his favorite food plot. They were unable to make it down to the farm in the Spring of 2020, but the situation allowed us to usher in a new spirit of hope and excitement. Our lives had changed a lot over the last decade. We were both out of school, working “grown-up” jobs, married, and my brother was soon to be dad. Our weeks of hunting now shortened to one or two long weekends, and we had to make sacrifices to take time off to go hunting and be away from our new families. We called in groups of birds all weekend, but never had an opportunity at a gobbler. We walked away from the weekend confident that we had finally figured it out and would be able to make it happen next season.

The last turkey harvested by Papa Pat, 2019

Our Mimi passed in December of 2020, and spring of 2021 didn’t feel right without her there. Our Papa had gotten very sick too, and although we tried to rally and hoped to tag a bird for him, we were unsuccessful. Spring 2021 was somber as we believed this would be the last time we would hunt the turkey farm. Papa passed away in August of 2021, and turkey hunting changed forever. He left us his prized box calls. Once adored in his suitcase of a turkey vest, they now sit on our mantles and dressers. These relics and keepsakes are only parts of the whole turkey legend we loved and adored. We miss them both very much.

By the time spring of 2022 appeared my brother had moved on to hunting in his home area of the South Carolina Upstate. He had killed his first turkey, a jake, in North Carolina the year before, but still was searching for a big Tom. A father of one, and a second baby on the way, his life seemed like the chapter of chasing these swamp birds had closed. I too had had success hunting in other parts of the Carolinas, but no such luck in the Lowcountry. I did not hunt with my brother in 2022. The first time in over ten years we hadn’t walked through pine trees and cypress swamps, chasing these feathered ghosts. It was a strange feeling, almost like a piece of my passion was missing. Nostalgia had taken it’s hold. We spent much of the season talking about past experiences, time spent with our grandparents, the joys and sorrows of the hunt and of life. We decided to make the most of the next opportunity, and so we made plans to hunt in the spring of 2023.

Patrick’s first big Tom. Harvested on a rainy day in North Carolina 

Spring of 2023 arrived with much anticipation and excitement. So much had changed in our family. The estates of my grandparents had been settled, and my mom and dad were set to inherit the ole’ family turkey farm. Excited for the blessing that was coming, we made a plan for opening weekend to go down and resume the quest. Upon our arrival, the three of us, my dad, my brother and I recounted years of memories and experiences spent on the property and in that house. We talked about my grandparents, and family gatherings that had taken place there, but most of all, we talked about the turkeys! I had spent most of February scouting on OnX, marking roost sites and potential traffic areas for these mischievous birds. I had hunted Friday morning with my dad and had heard birds gobbling close to a food plot that backs up into the cypress swamp. This is where my brother and I planned to hunt Saturday morning. 

5:00 AM the alarm sounds and we spring from our bunks into our turkey gear. We pack our gear into the truck and drive down the dirt road. We make our approach to the corner of the food plot under the cover of darkness. It’s a cool morning, and a storm is set to roll in during the afternoon. The air is cool and the sky is clear. The woods are silent, it feels like turkey season! I set up the decoys in the food plot and we tuck into the woods. As the day begins to break the spring symphony begins. Birds and chirping, owls are hooting, and the crows squawk. Minutes later a gobble pierces through the silence. It seems a few hundred yards away. Pretty soon we hear others, all sounding off several 100 yards away. I make a few tree yelps and clucks, but nothing seems close by. A crow squawks behind us to the right, and a bird sounds off. Seemingly still over 100 yards away. We sit and wait for a few minutes, then decide to follow the dirt road to our right deeper into the swamp. I cover the decoys in their bags, and we begin walking down the road.

Old cabin located on our family farm

We get 50 or 60 yards down the road and my brother hears a gobble. We stop and listen, and I let out a soft yelp. The turkey gobbles. We shuffle quickly off the road and set up behind some gum trees and palmetto fronds. I begin to soft yelp with my mouth call, and then cluck and purr on my pot call. We hear another gobble but it sounds closer. I wait a few minutes and then begin clucking and purring softly on my pot call. Suddenly a black object appears on the left side of the road, 40 yards in front of us. I whispered to my brother, “Ed, there’s a Tom in the road. Full strut. Can you see him?” “No.” His response sends me into a slight panic. Concerned that the Tom will become weary before we even get a chance. The bird is in full view of me now. His head white, body fully blown up and dragging his wings. He 360’s. My heart is pumping. Overtop the rhythm of my heart I hear Edward say, “I see him.” My attention shifts as my brother’s heartbeat and breathing become louder and louder. “Dude, I’m shaking! I can’t breathe!” he says shakily. I begin to cluck and purr on the pot call trying to combat the audible excitement between the two of us. Now at 30 yards the bird, still at full strut, does another 360. I say, “Wait for him to raise his head” “I can’t wait, I’M TAKING THE SHOT!”

BANG! The shot rings in my ears, and time stops for several seconds as though the whole world has exhaled. A bird flops 30 yards in front of us and my brother exclaims! He gets up and sprints to the bird. Halfway there he collapses, overwhelmed by emotion. Tears and joy are released. He springs back up and gets to his bird. Rocky Balboa hands are raised, and he cheers again and again. I secure my calls and gun then run to meet him. We hug and begin jumping around the bird like Indians around a fire. The Odyssey is over, we have returned victorious, our quest is complete. We journey we started as boys, but completed as men!      

Edward with his first Tom

An Odyssey has two definitions: one is a long wandering or voyage usually marked by many changes of fortune; the second is an intellectual or spiritual wandering or quest. The pursuit of one’s first mature turkey applies to both. The experience is one of wandering through the woods, periled by misfortune and missed opportunity. Opportunities appear, and then vanish before one has the time to act. Birds metastasize from thin air or are only seen when already spooked. Life circumstances change too over the years. Our families grew, and then also lessened. Life happened, we grew up, and we changed.

This pursuit is also deeply spiritual. A connection has to be made between the hunter and the prey when turkey hunting. A dialogue exists, and it goes beyond fooling the bird. In order for a turkey hunter to be successful, one has to be both calm as the predator and excited and lively when mimicking the prey. Then there is the act of taking the life of one of God’s creatures. An animal that has the respect of the hunter, and the reverence of an equal adversary. The goal is to conquer and defeat the opponent, but the opponent is praised, admired, and coveted.

I can’t think of a better hobby or passion to commit to than that of an outdoorsman. Experiences in the woods or on the water contain some of my most favorite memories. I have learned more about myself, the world, other people and most of all my Heavenly Father by being in His creation. I am beyond thankful to share these experiences with family and friends, but most of all my brother. This is the greatest hunting story I have ever been a part of, and I am honored to tell it and share it. This is why I hunt. This is why we hunt! 

Author Patrick (left) and brother Edward (right) pictured with Edwards first tom