Normally the thought of waking up at 3:30am, crawling out of a warm sleeping bag, dressing in a dark, cold tent, and then driving to a remote farm to meet a hunting instructor would seem crazy, or at best not very appealing. Yet, that is exactly how my first experience with turkey hunting started.

Back in February, I attended a NJ OWL turkey hunting basics class that was taught by veteran turkey hunter, and Acting Director of the NJ Division of Fish and Wildlife, Dave Chanda. Dave went over the biology of wild turkeys, the Division's efforts to reestablish wild turkeys in New Jersey, turkey hunting safety, regulations, tactics and the sort of equipment we'd need to hunt turkeys. It was a great introduction, and made me even more interested in giving turkey hunting a try.

We were matched up with experienced turkey hunters who were willing to take new hunters like myself out in pursuit of these birds.

Now it was the first week in May, and I would meet Paul Ritter, Hunter Education Coordinator with the NJ Division of Fish and Wildlife, and now my turkey hunting mentor, at 4:30 am at Brook Hollow Farm, a 175-acre paradise of fruit trees, fields, rivulets, and grape vines. Paul would guide me through this first hunt, which started with hiking half an hour in the pre-dawn light through brush and twigs to a small outcropping of trees behind a stone hedge.

I laughed when Paul whispered to keep it quiet as we hiked in. Right. I sounded like a herd of whatever carrying a 20-gauge shotgun (Paul's daughter's contribution to my experience) and praying I would see well enough not to trip and fall. Every step was a crunch except when I slid through some mud which muted the sound. We eventually found the perfect tree to sit and lean against. Good thing it was perfect because we would be there a long time. Paul took out his arrangement of turkey calls ranging from a wooden "box call," to a round disc (a slate call) and a small mouth-operated diaphragm call which he pressed against the roof of his mouth to make various turkey sounds. He started by making a few short yelps and clucks to notify any Tom turkey that there was something of interest in our vicinity. He would do this periodically throughout the morning.

Dave Chanda

I also had tucked in my pocket a newly purchased "Lynch's Fool-Proof Turkey Call" bought because a name like "Fool-Proof" was a must, especially given the tone-deaf quality of my hearing. And the pocket where I stored the call was part of my newly purchased camouflage suit. My husband wondered why I wanted to blend with the forest, but given the turkey's keen eyesight, wearing camouflage was absolutely necessary. In addition, the suit was great for keeping warm. At 5am it was 34 degrees as we sat down, and we were starting to get chilled from sweaty hike.

Sitting perfectly still, the amazing thing about the next few hours was watching the forest wake-up, come alive. I remember a gentle breeze almost like the sound of waves through the top leaves of the surrounding trees. Then the shadows of the pre-dawn started to dissipate and the edges of each object clarified and sharpened. There was almost a glow as color reasserted itself on the landscape. Little creatures started to move and their scampering over leaves was magnified in a silence broken only by the sound of birds. Lots of birds… but no turkeys!

Mary decked out in camouflaged clothing. Click to enlarge

About 7am the realization that no Tom or Jake would be passing by this area today allowed me the opportunity to learn and practice the various yelps, clucks, purrs, putts, cackles, and gobbles - sounds that a turkey uses to communicate. Later, we packed up and moved to an area within several hundred yards of our first position. Again no luck, but not a wasted effort. Along the way, Paul noted the various types of turkey sign which showed that turkeys had recently been in the area. He pointed out turkey droppings and showed me how they could be used to indicate whether the bird that produced them was either a tom (male) or a hen (female). He also showed me where turkeys had scratched at the ground in search of food. So the morning ended, not a shot taken, but with the promise of one more day to hunt and amazing memories of the forest's beauty

Although the next day started in the same uncomfortable very early morning cold, our hike was easy as we walked along a farm road to set up behind several fallen tree limbs. This natural blind allowed the perfect view of a field. Paul had done some reconnaissance the night before and had an idea where birds were located and where they might fly down to feed.

At 5am Paul let out the first yelp and we were greeted with a response from two different birds, a Tom and a Jake, both several hundred yards away, up a mountain to our left. The next two hours was a play of calls and responses, never knowing what the actual outcome would be.

And then it happened - suddenly, a gobble so close that it was startling. Just out of sight, the Jake had made its way down the mountain and was coming in, but in a blind spot, only his few noises alerting us to his location. Paul whispered not to move and I'm thinking that there is no way I could move even if I wanted to. The shotgun was lying across my lap, my heart racing, and I am wondering how to even adjust to get into a position to shoot. Paul, barely audibly, starts coaching me through the next few minutes of the hunt; "Wait 'til he turns and is looking away from us….OK….now place the gun in ready position…aim…now whenever you want, take the shot..."

Perfect instructions - unfortunately, less than perfect shot placement. The jake started walking away, I panicked, and rushed through and… shot high. The bird actually ducked and looked up and at me. If my reflexes hadn't been on an adrenaline rush I might have thought of pumping the action and taking a second shot. But hindsight is just that. I play the moment over in my mind and wonder how can one miss a bird less than 16 yards away? The take away was an empty shotgun shell and the desire to return in the Fall to try to get the one that got away.

- Mary Vasconcellos