Lucky 13
I had been turkey hunting for three years and never actually shot a turkey. Shot at them, yes.
When I woke before dawn on April 13, my 13th birthday, I thought more about it being New Jersey Youth Hunting Day than my special day. After all, birthdays were nowhere near as important as turkey hunting!
I shared this hunt with my brothers, Joe and Andrew. When we headed out it was 60 F, raining lightly and fog blanketed the woods behind our house. It wasn't long before we heard a gobble.
Andrew and I hurried to the base of a huge oak tree and sat elbow to elbow, our guns balanced on our knees. Joe set up a few yards away, and Dad was on his stomach in the wet leaves behind us.
Two hens and a jake came in at a dead run. Unfortunately for Andrew and me, the birds stayed out of reach, but they were close enough for Joe to put the jake on the ground. The shot startled all of us, and the hens scattered.
Disappointment and triumph warred with one another as I watched my older brother fill his tag. Triumph won out. It was still early; there were other birds.
We were taking pictures of Joe's bird when we heard a thunderous gobble echo through the hollow behind our house. My dad snapped to attention.
"It's close," he said. "We'll have to hurry."
Taking a shortcut to the top of the hill, we hit the ground when we heard the bird gobble just over the rise. Dad taught us well. We knew that turkey hunting meant keeping your wits about you, crawling on your belly through swamp muck, climbing up hills until your lungs might burst and reacting to orders in a split second. Don't forget what our patient father repeated over and over walking through the woods, "Pick your feet up!"
We managed to crawl to a hemlock tree covered with poison ivy and thorn bushes. I got into position on one side of the tree, Andrew and Dad on the other. I had my gun up and heard the turkey strutting up the old logging road in front of me.
That's when we saw him. He was huge, puffed up and strutting with his tail fanned. The next move was mine.
Shaking, I took a deep breath, held it, lined up the bead on the turkey's head and squeezed the trigger. I thought my heart would jump out of my chest when the gun went off and the turkey suddenly deflated and collapsed.
I sat in a daze, watching my dad and younger brother race to the turkey. I managed to struggle out of the maze of thorns and poison ivy and walk over to them. I felt a rush of happiness and pride as Dad handed the bird to me and engulfed me in a hug.
Later that same day, Dad called in another turkey for my younger brother, making that three turkeys in one morning. That afternoon at the check station, we entered our turkeys in the annual Youth Day Biggest Turkey Contest, and I came away with the trophy for my 22-pound bird.
I will always remember that as the best birthday ever. — Beka Garris
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