Published in April 2006 edition of Ultimate Outdoors Magazine
In the early days following turkey re-population in the state of Missouri very few Missourians had any idea how to hunt the illusive bird once hunting was allowed. Many hours of trial and error were spent by those early intrepid hunters. Stories of exasperation and frustration began spreading throughout feed stores, country markets and restaurants around the Ozark Mountains, and Bear Creek was no different. Many sportsmen flailed in the brush for hours in fruitless futile attempts to track down and bag this new quarry.
My Uncle Bill, however was different. To him Mother Nature was an old friend. Hunting, trapping and fishing came as natural to him as breathing, and turkey hunting was to prove no different. As a former Marine, hunting was just like combat training, observe your enemy, find its weakness and exploit it. With that in mind, it didn’t take him long to understand the animal and become quite proficient in hunting it. When others were spending hard earned money boxes and slates Bill bought none of these. Year after year he would simply disappear into the dark woods on opening morning with only his trusty shotgun and quickly return in time for breakfast with his bird in hand. When asked what his secret was he would quietly say, "Oh, I just go tuck ‘em in," and walk away leaving a trail of confused expressions on the faces of his fellow hunters.
Unlike the popular white tail deer that also called Missouri home, the Eastern Turkey had no sense of smell and considering Uncle Bill was an addicted coffee drinker this made hunting the turkey a gift from heaven for him. For now he could do both, hunt and drink coffee at the same time. He would brew up a strong pot of Joe, fill his thermos and head out into the timber along about sundown stopping only where he had previously seen turkeys scrambling into the underbrush. After a quick survey of the area for tactical dominance he would find the closest large oak tree and make himself comfortable. He would then pour himself a cup of coffee and settle in patiently waiting for the telltale gobble and flapping of wings at sundown signifying the flocks roost had been selected for the night. It wasn’t hard to find if you knew what you were looking for, because the large wingspan of the turkey was quite loud as they ascended up to their roost and the noise would split the quiet evening air very distinctly.
Soon hunters realized that spring was the best time to hunt as frantic gobblers obsessed with mating were easy prey to call in. Before long it became less of a challenge to some, being an almost foregone conclusion that on opening morning certain individuals would always return to the house or camp first carrying a long beard over their shoulders. When the Missouri Conservation Department started offering fall seasons a hot new challenge arose across the state and even old turkey hunting veterans found themselves a novice in the woods again. That is, except for Bill. Considering his covert hunting method did not hinge on exploiting the spring mating rituals that most turkey hunters routinely deployed, this method worked in the fall as well as the spring making Uncle Bill now a semi-annual toast of the turkey hunting set.
If asked what was his favorite turkey hunting story was, one particular tale would always leap to the forefront of his memory. It seemed a few years back there was this one old gobbler that, either through divine intervention or just dumb luck always seemed to evade his hunter adversaries year after year. Spring or fall it made no difference, this old bird could not be fooled. After a number of years the obsession with the locals as well as the city boys bordered on the unhealthy. The bird was legendary, known only as "the hermit" hunters from far and wide had heard of this old tom and soon stories began circulating. Some were really outside the limits of reason. Everything from alien spawn to ghost bird was often conveyed by the occasional frustrated hunter. The locals, however had a very different view of the hermit preferring instead to admire the bird instead of demeaning him. Some even hoped he would never be bagged, choosing to imagine the old bird living a long and fruitful life in the wild with girlfriends galore. After all, for as long as people had been hunting him he had to be really old and would therefore be as tough as leather to eat. But, this did not stop the hoards of fixated hunters and year after year the game would continue.
One particular cool fall morning in the late 70’s would bring to a close the long and storied life of the hermit and open a new chapter in southern Missouri turkey hunting lore. It all began the evening before as Uncle Bill was returning home from work in town.
The long drive home from town to his farm was usually an uneventful one and gave ample time for him to relax and reflect on his hectic day. This evenings drive, however would be very different, for there standing in the road as brazen as could be was "the hermit" looking almost as if to say "I dare you to follow me!" Some would later say the hermit was getting to cocky and underestimated the local hunters. Some would even say he was getting tired of the chase and ready to end it all at the hands of a his greatest adversary. Most gave these stories no validation and would say it was just happenstance But regardless of the reasons for his actions this would prove to be a fatal move for the hermit as this was exactly the moment Uncle Bill had been hoping for.
As the old bird flew down into the woods towards Bear Creek valley Uncle Bill calmly pulled off the highway, parked his truck on a side road, grabbed his thermos and headed down into the timber toward where the hermit was last seen. As the sun slowly set in the west Uncle Bill put his proven plan into motion. Finding a big oak at the upper end of the valley he quietly sat down and listened. It didn’t take long for the telltale signs of roosting to abruptly break the silence. Bearing in mind he would not be able to move until after dark or risk scaring off his prey, Bill made a detailed mental image of the hermits roosting location and the surrounding territory as he quietly sat drinking coffee and waiting for darkness to fall. The next morning would be early and before sunup so being familiar with his surrounding was paramount to success in his method.
The next morning did indeed come early as Uncle Bill was prepared for battle. Everything was going as planned. However, as he arrived at the pre-scouted location he saw a sight that he was not exactly expecting. Since Bear Creek valley was adjacent to government land and open to all hunters, that’s exactly what he saw. There were cars everywhere. Somehow the others hunters had heard the hermit had been spotted and each one had arrived well before Bill and staked out their territory.
As Bill surveyed the situation his military training once again kicked in. "Adapt and overcome" was the Marine Corps motto and something that had been drilled into him so as to be almost second nature. This would prove to be a mindset that would not only help him in the Marines but would come in handy his whole life. Not daunted in the least at the site of all those cars, Bill grabbed his gun and his thermos and headed down into the pre-dawn darkness not even using a flashlight to light his way. Once he was sure he had found the tree where the hermit was sleeping he settled in and waited for dawn.
The main thing that most hunters had not discovered about the wild turkey was they would not fly at night, ever! This was the weakness that Uncle Bill exploited. He could sit right under the very tree in which his prey roosted making all the noise he wanted and the birds would not fly. They would just sit there nervously rustling and chirping waiting for dawn, but would not fly away. Bill could have even shined a flashlight up into the tree and blew the bird right off his roost. Besides the fact that this was illegal in the state of Missouri Bill would have never considered this as it would not have been sporting.
Bill knew that his fellow hunters filled the hills around the roosting tree for in the dark he could hear the random cough or sneeze of a novice hunter. This did not distract him from his mission as he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had the tactical advantage and his competitors would not even get off a shot.
As dawn broke and first light made it possible to make out shapes the hermit began rustling. Just as expected and as if on cue he flew down into the opening below his tree and right into Bill’s awaiting gun sights. "Flap, flap, gob…BANG!" And just like that the hunt was over!
Now, one would think this is kind of an anticlimactic ending to this story and normally you would be right. However, keep in mind that my Uncle Bill has been the subject of many of my stories for good reason, his bizarre sense of humor that keeps everyone off guard. This is the same man who chased me across a barnyard at the age of five wielding a huge syringe he was using to vaccinate cattle screaming, "Come back here you little bugger, it’s your turn now!" So, when I tell you that he probably took more pleasure in robbing the city boys of their trophy than the hunt itself you understand my point.
As Uncle Bill headed out of the valley with the hermit over his shoulder he reveled in the sounds of mad cussing hunters in the hills all around him. "#$%^#@ somebody got the hermit," could be heard echoing throughout the woods. Bill just smiled and kept on walking.
For months following that day in the woods, the mood at all the local hunter hangouts quickly changed from one of exasperation to one of extreme delight. If Bill was involved in the discussion and words "city boys" followed by a series of loud guffaw laughs could be heard, there could be no doubt at what story was being told!
