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 After a grueling half semester in college, I was looking forward to my spring break. I had a week off and was going to spend every bit of it away from Missouri. I was headed to one of the most popular spring break destinations for college students, the beautiful state of Florida. A week in sunny, warm, Florida just appealed to every one of my senses. It was averaging around the freezing mark at my home in Alton, Missouri so the Sunshine State was going to be a welcome change. I packed my bags, forgetting my sunscreen, as I would not need it on this trip. I had every intention of being covered from head to toe in Mossy Oak Break Up. I also would not be getting any needed rest on this trip. I would be getting up at 4:30 every morning. (That's 3:30 AM Missouri time!) So my spring break to the typical location was turning out to be not so typical. I would be turkey hunting in the Florida swamps, seeking the much sought after Osceola turkey. If I were successful, it would mean completing a Grand Slam, which is successfully harvesting each of the four subspecies of the wild turkey that reside in the United States.I have had the first three birds in the Grand Slam for a while. I had been to Oklahoma and South Dakota hunting Merriam, to Texas and Oklahoma for Rio Grande, and a hunt for Eastern in my home state of Missouri could be found in my back yard. So, I had only to get to Florida for the Osceola, the fourth and final bird. Unfortunately, my quest to complete a Grand Slam had been halted, as it had grown increasingly hard to take off school for a hunting trip. The times that I did have off school never seemed to coincide with the times that I could get a hunt in Florida. So now, eight years after the harvest of the other three birds, I was finally going to Florida. The hunt dates landed perfectly on my Spring Break. I must say that I was more than excited as I had been anticipating this trip since I was fourteen. I was unsure what to expect as I drove to the airport with my mother who would be going along to video the hunt. Her grand slam had already been accomplished. I could feel the excitement building as I checked my bags. The inspectors had to search my entire baggage and I was lucky to have an inspector who was also a fellow hunter. He inspected my gun and bow cases and expressed how he wished he could be going with me. This would be the trip of a lifetime. The plane ride was an interesting one. I boarded with a coat and warm clothes, which caused me to break out in sweat, as I entered the Jacksonville, Florida airport. It was warm, but raining and something that I would soon grow used to. My mother and I met with our guides at a station near the airport, and followed them to the cabin where we would be staying. The cabin had a gorgeous landscape. There was a small lake with an island in the middle, set in front of the cabin and Canadian geese were honking as they watched us from across the lake. The grass was bright green in the field that surrounded the lake and the cabins and about 300 yards across the lake from the cabin, I could see black dots in the field. I quickly got my binoculars out of my bag to see what they were. To my surprise and delight, I saw a tom turkey strutting around a couple of hens. This was definitely a good sign. After unloading our bags from the rental car, we sat down in the living room of the cabin to get acquainted with the three men who we would be hunting with. Mark, Wayne, and Mike had lived and hunted in Florida all of their lives and told us that they had never taken women hunting before and hoped that they could accommodate us. I was sure we could handle whatever they threw at us. The portable hunting blind that they had set up for us was an Ameristep Doghouse blind. I would need this large of a blind to be able to draw my bow as well as have a cameraman or woman in the blind with me. Also, I was used to this particular blind, as it was the same hunting blind that I used at home. After the overview of the lodgings and ranch, I was ready and anxious to get into the woods. We had just enough time to drive to the blind and spend a couple of hours of hunting before dark. I took my bow and my mother took the camera as we hopped into Mark the ranch owner's Chevrolet truck. We were dropped off at the blind and told that we would be picked up at dark, which was fine with me. My mother and I settled into the blind quickly and began to watch quietly and patiently. The blind had been set up just off an old dirt road that had begun to grow up in grass. We were told that the turkeys liked to use this particular spot as a staging area, strutting, dusting, and feeding before going up to the roost. Calling would not be necessary as the birds traveled this direction often. It was still raining and the soft patter of the water drops hitting the hunting blind made it hard to hear anything else. We sat in the blind staying dry though and were soon excited to see an Osceola walking down the road. After about an hour another movement caught my eye through the right window. My mother was sitting on that side of the blind and she turned the camera on to video the hen and a Jake coming towards us. They moved with quick, jerky movements as they made their way up the road. The blind did not bother them at all, as they fed about fifteen yards away. I was beginning to draw on the Jake when my mother caught my attention. "There's a big gobbler coming," she whispered and at that very moment, greed swept over me and I eased my bow back down. I had an easy shot at the Jake, but maybe, just maybe I could get one at the Gobbler. All he had to do was take the same path as the other two. I watched the Gobbler out the same window I had witnessed the Jake and hen approach through. They were self-absorbed, pecking the ground calmly in front of the blind. The gobbler slowly walked up the road, much more attentive and careful than the other two. Every step was taken with caution as he eyed his surroundings with suspicion. He stepped into a clearing briefly and I could see a good beard hanging down, which had to be at least ten inches. This Gobbler was going to be mine, I just knew it. Strategically, I planned my shot as I visualized him walking right to where the Jake and hen were milling around. It would be a fifteen-yard shot. Unfortunately, these thoughts would be the closest I would come to shooting this bird. I watched and waited as he stood about thirty yards out, with brush preventing any kind of shot opportunity. He stood in that same protective spot until the hen and Jake finally fed back to him and followed him back down the road and away from my blind. What had happened? Could he have seen something in the blind? The other two never seemed to notice or care. My heart rate slowed as I sat anxiously hoping he would return but darkness came, as did the truck carrying our new friends from the cabin. I told them my distressing story as we drove back into camp. "You had better shoot the first turkey you get a chance at with that bow," Mark said. "Then we can worry about a trophy bird." He was right. I had let my grand slam walk around in front of me for about ten minutes, and then watched it leave. More than ever, I was determined to not let myself get greedy the next day. I could kill two birds with my tag and there was no reason to let an opportunity pass me by. That morning, four thirty came extra early as the time change caught me off guard. My guide, Mike, took my mother and I back to the portable blind, where the rain had temporarily stopped. I waited as the sun came up and brought the familiar scene back into view. It wasn't long before I heard a turkey gobble on the roost and I got prepared for another chance at those birds, but that gobble would be all the action that the morning would bring. We were later picked up from the blind and taken to lunch where a new plan was then set into action for the afternoon hunt. I left my mother with Mark and Wayne, and accompanied Mike to a field where he thought some turkeys might be strutting. Slowly easing up the road that led to the field, we looked and listened for any sign of turkeys. Stopping at the edge of the field, I made a few yelps with my mouth call and a turkey answered immediately. It was apparent that he was close, so we set up as quickly as we could in the nearest cover we could find. I had brought my gun along with my bow in case anything went awry and drawing would not be possible. The bird gobbled every time I made a sound on the call, but would not budge from the place where he was gobbling. Attempting to draw the gobbler closer, I quit calling. He gobbled a few more times and then quit. After sitting for a few minutes and listening, Mike spotted the bird coming hard and fast. He would be directly in front of us within seconds. I had no time to draw as the bird would have easily picked out that much movement. Making a split second decision, I decided to try with the gun. I eased my bow down slowly and reached for the Beneli Super Black Eagle that was lying at my side. As I place my trigger hand on the gun, my release clanged on the metal, making a terrible racket. I cringed as the bird putted in alarm and began to run off. I rose up and shot as he increased the distance between him and us, but it was of no use. The bird was gone and I had messed up. I should have stuck with the bow and maybe I could have drawn, or maybe not. The bird had come in so close and so fast that he would have spotted us anyway. Whatever I should have done, I didn't, and that bird was long gone. Mike and I sat and discussed the predicament for a while longer, each trying to think of a way that the previous situation could have worked out in my favor. The walk back to the truck seemed long as I replayed the hunt over and over in my head. With evening approaching fast, we headed back to the blind where I had viewed the turkeys the night before. This time Mike would accompany me with the camera, as my mother was talked into trying to shoot a wild hog with the other guys. The rainfall from the day before had not yet absorbed into the ground and the portable hunting blind was sitting in about two inches of water. It was hot and humid, about eighty-five degrees and the stillness of the air inside the blind made it seem even warmer. To pass the time, we whispered about hunting trips of the past and tried to make the best of the heat. I was still upset about the miss earlier in the day.  An hour after we arrived at the blind we noticed black objects moving toward us from our left. Turkeys were coming from the opposite direction of the birds the night before. My heart began to race, and my breathing grew heavy as I noticed a beard on the second bird. There were four in all and I soon realized that three of the four were jakes. I stayed silent as they moved closer towards the blind. When they were positioned just right so that the blind blocked my movement, I drew. My McPhearson Diva was silent, but as I drew, the jakes stopped. I watched the hen walk through my sights as she fed past the blind. If only one of the jakes would do the same. I waited at full draw, as the jakes stood, unaware of the potential arrow at their next stride. Just when I thought I couldn't hold it any longer, a Jake stepped into the window. I put my pin on his wing bone and squeezed the trigger on my release. The bird did a back flip as the arrow found its mark and I let out a breath, which I had been unconsciously holding the entire time. The Jake was lying on the ground outside the blind as Mike and I emerged from the blind. I had my grand slam, my first Osceola, and it was with my bow.Mike seemed as excited as I was as we examined my new trophy. No, it didn't have an extremely huge beard or long spurs, but it was in fact a trophy. We talked excitedly about the hunt that had just taken place, and watched the video as it replayed my shot over and over. What an experience! With another day of hunting left, we headed back to camp, already anticipating our next hunt and planning our strategy. That night I had no trouble drifting off to sleep. The next morning, we decided to set up in the field where I had missed the bird, as there were other turkeys that Mike knew of that roosted near that field. My mother had decided to remain in bed and try for a hog again later in the day. In the darkness, we made our way down the now familiar road that led to the field. I carried my gun, which I would be using for the second bird. An old blind that had been erected in the middle of the field, in a clump of palmettos, would be our set up. As was expected, we heard a few gobbles in the dark, but as the sun began to rise, the fog rolled in and became so thick that seeing across the field was nearly impossible. We realized our limited vision when a hen flew down about twenty yards from us. Startled, we both jumped at the sound of flapping wings that seemed to come from nowhere. We could barely make out the form of a hen as she walked about fifty yards before disappearing into the fog. Then a misty glimpse of black came from directly behind us. There was the Gobbler, accompanied by a Jake, and they were barely visible in the fog. I watched as the Jake came in within shooting distance, but the Gobbler went in the direction of the hen. Soon all three were beyond the fog, making their way to a place we could only hope to see. As the fog lifted, we realized the turkeys were gone. Discouraged, I once again returned to the truck without a bird. My heart began to sink as I spotted the time on the dash of the truck. I would have to depart for the airport soon, but Mike had another location in mind and we drove to a part of the ranch that I had not yet been. Getting out of the truck onto a sandy road, Mike was hopeful of this new location, which Mike explained was a common strutting zone. The plan was to creep down this road and see if we could hear or spot a turkey. We stopped and called every so often as we watched the sky beginning to cloud up for another rain shower. After walking about three hundred yards, a bird finally answered us. He was still some distance away though and we decided to move a bit closer before setting up. His next gobble was louder and it appeared the bird was coming in. We set up quickly and continued to call. The bird answered us and continued to get louder and louder. It soon sounded like it was only about one hundred yards away. Then, nothing. We sat for a while longer, but the bird had just shut up. What could have happened? We decided that he probably ran into some hens and considered the fact that he could still be strutting in the road where we had last heard him. With time becoming more of an issue, we decided to go to the bird. Slowly, we crept along the brush at the edge of the road, checking the road with binoculars for any movement. When we had gotten to the point where we thought we had heard him last, we snuck out into the road, but found nothing. Suddenly Mike dove across the road into the bushes and I did the same. He had spotted a hen coming around the bend in the road walking towards us. We began to belly crawl along the side of the road, cautiously watching for the head of the nearing hen to reappear. We spotted her again, relieved that she had not seen us and was still in the road where Mike had first seen her. We considered the fact that the lovesick Gobbler was probably still with her. As it turned out, we had crawled right into a mud puddle and the dampness gradually soaked through my clothes. We lay there in the wet sand as we watched for another bird, but the tall grass was making it hard for us to see anything. Then the hen's head appeared, then a red head, and then another and another. There were three other birds with her, a Gobbler and two Jakes. They were coming towards us, their heads only partially visible through the blades of grass, which concealed us from our prey. After the heads disappeared from site, we could no longer see the birds at all and had no clue where they had gone. Lying flat on my stomach, I looked around slowly trying to find any glimpse of the birds, which seemed to have left the road. I then spotted a red head to my far left. They had crossed the road and we were now lying in plain site of the birds and even worse, was the fact that they were walking away from us. I made a couple of quiet yelps that were immediately answered by the hen. She yelped aggressively as she led the gobblers away and disappeared into the woods. We lay still, pondering the situation and trying to decide what to do. We were trapped. If we got up the turkeys could see us, and if we did nothing, we may never see them again.  Five minutes passed and we had heard nothing more from the turkeys. I put my hands at my sides in a push-up position and slowly raised myself to see above the grass. Mike began to do the same, but I stopped him and quickly plopped back to the ground. The gobblers had left the hen and were backtracking. They were now about thirty yards away and closing fast. My gun barrel was already facing in that direction, so I slowly got myself into a position where I could shoot. I could barely raise my gun high enough to shoot over the grass, but I did not want to move any more than necessary. Red heads were bobbing over the grass and I could see nothing but their heads, which were now about fifteen yards away. Mike had a better view than I did and said the first bird was the adult, and that I should take him when I could. I hoped the grass would not affect my shot as I struggled to raise the gun up high enough to aim at the bird's neck.He dropped instantly at the sound of my shot and the other birds ran away as we jumped up to retrieve the fine adult Gobbler lying in the road. My adrenaline was still flowing resulting in me shaking from head to toe. I had never had such an exciting turkey hunt. Those birds came in so close and we almost blew it. The sky opened up and rain began to pour as we carried my beautiful turkey to the truck. It was a good adult bird, weighing nineteen pounds, and having a 9 ½ inch beard and one inch spurs. We proudly drove up to the cabin, displaying my Gobbler and retelling the story for the rest of the gang. We were both soaked and covered in sand, but what a hunt. I left Florida that afternoon, still excited from my hunt. I had experienced a wonderful trip and this was one of the most memorable turkey hunts I had ever taken. I had gotten my grand slam with a gun. I now thought of it as with a gun, because I now only had one more bird to obtain to get a Grand Slam with my bow, which would have to wait. I had to return to school. In fact, I had class as soon as I returned. I walked into my first class to discover the other students nicely tanned from their trips. When my teacher asked how all of our trips went, she was surprised to find out that I had gone to Florida and not managed to get even the slightest hint of a tan. I didn't care though as I had gotten much more than that... I had gotten my Grand Slam! |
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