The 2021 Louisiana turkey season was one to forget for the most part. My dad, son, and I had hunted tirelessly each opportunity we had with nothing to show for it. In true turkey hunting fashion, that all changed on a late April afternoon.
April 27… I was at work and in a funk. I’d consider myself a very positive and upbeat person, so this was well out of character for me. I don’t recall what it was, but I just knew I didn’t have an appetite and didn’t want to be around anyone for lunch that day. I head out to my truck around 11:30 a.m., crank up and start driving aimlessly. For whatever reason, it popped in my head that my grandfather had some hunting land in a neighboring parish. I typed it into my phone to see how far it was… 17 miles. Away I go. Mind you, this is a property I have only been on once in my life over 20 years ago, but I remembered the road name and what the camp looked like. Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting at the camp gate and decided to go look for turkey sign.
Since it’s hunting season, my back seat is fully stocked with most of the hunting gear required for a moment like this. I’m wearing khaki-brownish pants, which I think will blend in okay; I shed my polo and put on a camo shirt. I wore my steel toe work boots, strapped on my vest, grabbed my gun, and headed behind the camp. Time: 11:55 a.m.
As I’m walking through the field at the camp, I notice fresh boot prints. I had no clue whose prints these were, but it gave me my first clue that turkeys must be on the property. Meanwhile, the gnats are destroying my face and neck, so I know this trip will be short lived. I walk about 200 yards beyond the field into the hardwoods and decide I can’t take them anymore. I decide to call before I exit.
I grab a mouth diaphragm and let out a loud cutting yelp. As I’m swatting gnats, I think I hear a faint gobble. I gather my composure and make one more yelp and BAM he cuts me off. I get a good bead on the direction he is and try to determine how I want to approach this bird. As I’m standing there, he begins gobbling every breath and I’m in total shock. There is NO WAY this could really be about to happen.
I move in and get within 200 yards of him in the hardwood bottom. The turkey has remained in the same place but is absolutely losing his mind gobbling. I sit against a large tree and start sweet talking him. Gobble after gobble, he is cutting me off every sound I try to make but he is not coming any closer. Any old turkey hunter knows this next technique; it’s one of my all-time favorites… the silent treatment. So, I shut up, and after a few minutes so does he. I know what this means; he is coming.
I get my gun aimed in the direction of his last gobble and within seconds I see him making a beeline for me. Once he gets to 75 yards, he cranks up again and starts blowing the bark off the trees gobbling. His course is taking him to my right, so I make one subtle call and he does an about face and comes straight to me.
He gets to 35 yards and stops behind a group of large pine trees and hangs up out of sight. He gobbled nonstop trying to find his new girlfriend but would not budge. Once again, I went silent, and waited. Was he going to come out on the left or the right? I had no clue. After about 50 more gobbles, I hear him walking to the right; I quickly reposition and then he appears.
As he hits the first opening, I cluck… he stretches his neck out perfectly so I drop the hammer. He goes down like a sack of potatoes and I immediately sprint over to him. I’m a bundle of pure nerves. Shaking, I call my dad. As I’m standing over him, I see just how big he is and tell him “You won’t believe what I just did… I just killed possibly my biggest turkey EVER at Papaw’s camp.” Time: 12:36 p.m.
My second call was to my boss, and he was even more dumbfounded than me at what I had just done. I asked him to meet me to take some pictures at a remote location as I figured cleaning a turkey in the papermill parking lot may cause some unwanted attention. We snapped a few pictures, breasted the bird out, and I was back in my office by 1:30 p.m.
My lunch break lasted about an hour longer than usual, but it was exactly what I needed that day. One single 30-minute hunt totally changed my season from being a complete bust to a total success. Needless to say, I was out of my funk for the day.
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Dusty McGehee is a native of Downsville and a 2006 graduate of Louisiana Tech University with a bachelors in wildlife conservation. He is currently employed by WestRock and serves as an environmental engineer at the Hodge Mill. Dusty is an avid hunter and crappie fisherman, fishing crappie tournaments with his son when he is not in the woods. He and his wife Rachel have three young outdoorsmen/women: Anders (9), Ridge (7) and Mae (5). If you have a story idea or question about the great outdoors, you can reach Dusty at dusty.mcgehee@westrock.com.
