My First Solo Hunt

By Sophia Smith

A Turkey Season to Remember

This year I took it upon myself to plan a hunt from scratch on my own. I started turkey hunting 5 years ago and have been fortunate enough to hunt with people with a wealth of knowledge and skill in the sport. That was a great place to learn, but it was  easy for me to fall into the backseat when it came to understanding the intricacies of the hunt. I never pushed myself to learn the art of calling, detailing the dynamic of a landscape, and understanding my gear to its full potential. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love hunting with others. There is amazing comradery that follows when you hunt as a team, but there is also something incredibly rewarding when planning a hunt start to finish, watching spring wake the forest up around you and understanding that you are the only one responsible for the outcome of your hunt. There is a zone that you enter in a solo hunt where you have to trust yourself to make a call and become receptive to your landscape without the advice or judgement of others. Everything falls on your shoulders, but in a way there is clarity with this type of responsibility, as long as you can trust yourself to respond accordingly. For a long time I doubted myself to make these decisions, second guessing my intuition and always depending on the input of others. This hunt was a milestone for me because it was further proof to trust my intuition and it built confidence for myself in my ability to make such decisions in the intense seconds that hunts winnow into before making a shot. 

I went into this spring turkey hunt with no expectations, but high hopes and the intention that I would give it my all. My first morning was a bust as I I had multiple conversations between birds, but couldn’t get them to close in with other hens in the area and my calls probably not being refined enough. But I read into this as practice and I went back out that day to call in a tom that didn’t want to leave the tree line but kept cutting off my calls. Finally, a pack of aggressive jake’s came running in only for the tom to burst out of the forest and cut them off in a race for my decoy. My heart was racing and I took a shot at the tom, but missed as the movement and intensity of the situation squabbled my aim.

I felt rattled having missed, what I thought was my chance, but I was still in awe of the conversations I was still able to have leading up to that moment and took it as progress. I was able to shoot a Jake out of the cacophony and at least secure some meat, although it was not my ideal bird.

I set out the next morning to try my shot again (and fill my tags). With having one kill under my belt, I felt a slight bit of relaxation knowing I had fulfilled the turkey dinner I promised my family, but I was still eager to snag a big tom. This morning was different. I brought my coffee cup out to my blind, set up my decoy and watched the little dew drops turn into mist as song birds lit up the meadow. Content was an understatement, however, I sent out a few pot calls every few minutes and had nothing respond. I didn’t even see a Jake, which was a huge contrast from the day before and I started to become a little concerned. Then I sent out another tentative call and was cut off by a big gobble in the gulley to the left of me. My blood started pumping and I started to dial in. I sent out another call and then nothing.

I started questioning my call as his responses were pretty sparse for about 20 minutes so I just let it sit to see what would happen. I scanned the horizon and all of a sudden I saw a white head pop up over the ridge line, not 30 yards away. I put down my call and slowly raised my gun to prepare for the shot. The tom was in full fan with his chest puffed out as he strutted straight for my decoy. I let him take a few steps, but because of his angle to my decoy the closer her got to the decoy, the further shot I would have to make. So I lined up my sight and took my shot. His wings beat ferociously but he stayed put and I knew I had killed him. I walked down gleaming in pride knowing I had just got my tom turkey only to later to find it was my PB, weighing 25 lbs with a 9 inch beard. I was so proud I called out, even though I knew no one could hear me, but in the end I was the only one needing to hear myself in that moment and trust my intuition, and I was rewarded for doing so.

Later that day I cooked some of the breasts on the barbecue and enjoyed the meat with my family. While it was hard to explain the feeling to others, it wasn’t hard to see the look of enjoyment on their faces as they consumed the fresh food from the land around them and I am sure the feeling was reciprocated as I beamed in excitement over my accomplishment.