By Lara Abrams
Idaho
As soon as Mary Lynn said her dad would wait out a turkey for a whole day on the Artemis podcast, I knew this was the missing element of my turkey game. I’m the type of hunter who sits down, makes a call, and then moves to another spot, oh, maybe three minutes later when I’m met by silence.
Adult-onset hunters like me often struggle to formulate how exactly a hunt happens. Many of us muddle along, trying to intuit the probable course of events based on what we glean from podcasts and YouTube.
My first morning in the field, I flushed a small flock of turkeys — four hens and two toms. (Maybe jakes?) I paralleled their flight path, hoping I’d intercept them. Nothing.
That afternoon, I sat down in the area where I’d jumped the birds and made a series of 4-5 yelps. Silence. It was raining, so I hunkered down under a tree and scanned the Kindle app on my phone. “Bombshells” by Sarina Bowen had just come out. I’d pre-ordered the book, and there it was… shirtless hockey player on the cover staring right at me.
Maybe I should crack it open?
A quick primer: I’m an occasional reader of romance novels. Aka ‘kissing books.’ Aka smut. I mostly reserve it for the kind of Friday night when I want to do nothing but sit on the couch with a glass of wine and lose myself in a book.
Plus, [fanning self], they’re kind of hot. Especially contemporary romance. These are books where sex doesn’t end until both parties orgasm and the bad guy never gets the girl (because she deserves better).
So, I tell myself to read a chapter. Per usual, I’m sucked into the story. Before I know it, it’s been 10 minutes. Then 20. And instead of thinking, Why am I such an idiot at turkey hunting? Is this even what people do?…. I’m like, Dang, he needs to get over his baggage and realize she’s THE ONE!
I change spots a couple of times throughout the afternoon — issuing a few yelps, reading a couple chapters. The pattern pays. I’m rewarded when a hen yelps back at me. And I realize I’ve been doing it all wrong! She yelps maybe 20 times in a row. So I do that, too.
For a half-hour the hen and I ‘talk’ to each other. She eventually ambles into sight, grazing amicably. And… she thinks I’m a turkey! Nothing about her body language suggests she suspects a human’s nearby.
The things I learn over the next hour will work for me for years to come. In my area, it seems like the flock sticks together in the morning — and then everyone divvies up to go about their day. They start talking in the late afternoon, convening around dusk. (Maybe to roost? I’m still not sure.)
The following day, the turkey action culminates when I have a 20-yard shot at a tom. I utterly blow it because of a moment of ineptitude handling my firearm. (Tears may have been shed.) I know getting a clean, close shot is more than a lot of hunters get.
What got me there was waiting quietly in the woods.
I wish I had the kind of mental fortitude to sit and wait for hours without feeling bored. Maybe that’ll come. But for now, I love being able to lose myself in a story while I do the requisite ‘waiting’ part of hunting.
This season, reading smut became the proverbial ‘secret sauce’ of my turkey hunting mojo. That’s my happily ever after.