People can learn a lot about themselves and the world around them while sitting alone in a hunting blind, eagerly awaiting the sound of that solitary gobble that emanates from a hill or field beyond my sight.

For me, that single, solitary gobble can trigger a rush of adrenaline unduplicated by most of my life’s other experiences.  It brings forth an anticipation that a complicated dance is about to commence between me, armed with a slate call, and a bird with a brain about the size of a walnut (spoiler alert: the bird with the little brain usually wins).

There’s nothing in the world like the springtime sounds of solitude one can hear as the only human in the woods.  As the sun peeks over the horizon, there begins a slow eruption of creature chatter as the various other life forms awake from their slumber. It doesn’t take long until there’s a cacophony of noise: birds chirping, squirrels squealing and the occasional trumpet of a swan flying overhead.

My eyes will scan the horizon, but mostly it’s work for my ears, probing deep into the crescendo of clamor, hoping to catch the familiar tune of the gobbler among the hubbub.

I think the thought that encompasses my mind the most during those early morning hunts is the fact that I am an insignificant part of the great outdoors, an afterthought in the vast landscape that is home to Mother Nature.

For me, a big part of the lure of turkey hunting is that it is difficult to find success.  DNR statistics show it has among the lowest success rates of all hunting in Minnesota, as last year there was just a 22% success rate for spring turkey hunters (similar to archery deer hunters but 10% below the success rate for firearms deer hunters).  Historically, this number holds fairly steady dating back to 2005 (28% success).

The spring turkey hunt allows me to unplug from society and to learn a lesson in patience each time that I enter my blind.  There are plenty of decisions to be made, such as when to call, how much to call (less is usually better) and when to just sit and enjoy the silence.  But the consequences for making the wrong decision (which I’ve done many times) is simply the chance to learn from the experience and try to apply it the next time I’m in the woods.  What I usually learn is that if I would have just waited another 10 minutes to (fill in the blank), then that wily tom turkey just might have shown himself and provided a chance at a harvest.

One thing I’d like to point out is that the experience is very similar for people who are armed with a camera instead of a firearm or bow.  The actual harvest is certainly an important part of the experience for me, but everything else that goes into the chase far exceeds that moment when I finally get to pull the trigger.  In other words, even if a person doesn’t like to hunt, they would reap some incredible benefits from staking out a corner of the woods and capturing the experiences on film.  

A person would be surprised at what they would see by just spending several quiet hours in the woods.  In fact, sometimes I think I see more deer when I am turkey hunting and more turkeys when I am deer hunting (I never said I was good at either!).

As a sportsman, I’m also keenly interested in the future of the outdoors activities that I enjoy, in order to ensure that they are sustainable and can be enjoyed by new generations of Americans.

In the world of turkey hunting, there is great news about the future of the hunt.

Last year, the number of permits issued by the DNR to youth hunters more than doubled from the previous year to an all-time high of 14,292.  I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out if there was anything different about the spring of 2020 that might have caused this activity to explode in popularity, but I guess the reason doesn’t matter to me and I’m just happy that more youngsters are interested.  For once they hear their first gobble, they’ll be hooked for life.