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First time hunts are always so exciting. My first turkey hunt was in the spring of 2006 which started at a ranch in Eldorado, Texas and
ended at a ranch in Uvalde, Texas. My boyfriend, Mark & I went on this trip with some friends of ours. The word among the turkey hunters
in Texas during the ‘06 season wasn’t good. My expectations … well, I wanted to see a strutting gobbler, get close enough for a shot and
the rest was up to my ability to shoot straight. Mark’s goal: not to hunt until I bagged my bird. I have to admit, he kept his promise.
Eldorado, a town about an hour & a half from the Texas/Mexico border, is a hot, dry, desert-like area. The ranch we hunted - spotted with
mesquite flats, some big oaks, and LOTS of cactus - was known to be covered with Rio Grande turkey. Eldorado seemed promising. I thought
for sure, our first morning out, sitting in a great spot between a windmill & roosting trees, listening to all the first-morning gobbles, we’d
definitely walk out of there with a gobbler. After 3 mornings and 2 afternoons of 90+ degree days, decent activity, several cactus pricks, a
run-in with a rattlesnake (who’s no longer with us) and another with a coral snake … we left the ranch empty. I wasn’t disappointed though.
I took in all that I saw; hens guarding their nesting area, a glimpse of a gobbler strutting in a field and jakes gobbling and running along a
barbed wire fence acting like girl-crazed teenage boys. These were all things I’ve never experienced before…especially close contact with
poisonous snakes.
Luckily, Eldorado wasn’t my last hunt that season. It was the last weekend of the ’06 turkey season in Texas. With Mark and the same
group of friends, we headed out to Uvalde for the hunt. This time, we had a better game plan. The first morning, we hunted a super spot
which overlooks the “Skunk Hole”. This water hole is where the turkey frequently came after a long night on the roost. The good thing … we
saw a group of 20 turkey heading toward the hole around 300 yards away. About 8 of the 20 were gobblers. I picked out some points of
distance to get a good idea of several possible shots. The group came closer. At about 100 yards out the hens split off from the gobblers.
With the gobblers headed in our direction, I thought I’d definitely get my shot. My chest got tighter, my breathing heavier. We thought
they’d come right up to our decoy. Hmmm … not a chance. The bad thing … all 8 gobblers disappeared down the road and over a rise about 80
yards in front of us, furthering their distance from us.
After 2 more days of chasing gobbles … and gobblers, with no success, I still had faith, but Mark just about had it. We made our last hunt
the morning of the last day of the season. During the ride back to camp in the huntin’ buggy, I found myself giving Mark the “You can’t
always expect to get a bird on your first hunt” speech. He was more upset about our doomed hunts than I was. He told me he wished he
shared in my optimism. (I’m in sales, I HAVE to be optimistic!) When we pulled back up to camp, one of the guys in our group showed us a
bird he just bagged. He mentioned that he saw and heard some more turkey by a creek not to far from the camp house, close to where he shot
his. He didn’t even have to finish telling us where to go as I started pulling my headnet over my face and donning my new hunting gloves.
We still had time for 1 more try. (Again…my optimism.)
We drove toward the creek and started walking up the road with our gear ready. As we sat down, no decoy, and started calling, it wasn’t 10
seconds later when we saw the golden tips of that Rio’s fan as he strutted in a field about 75 yards ahead of us. He was stuck out there –
looking for “us” and answering our calls. We had no choice but to move ever-so-carefully toward him. We hugged every tree and bush along
the side of the road and even dove down on our bellies, so he didn’t see us coming. We called every chance we got as we tried to keep his
interest. He moved into a group of trees to the side of the open field. We eventually were able to position ourselves in the turkey’s line
of sight between him and a large oak tree about 50 yards behind us. Mark & I stood still as if we were one object in the middle of the road
and open field. There the turkey stood about 35 yards in front of us between a couple of trees. I raised my gun - Mark yelped – the turkey
looked at us and gobbled. He started to turn and walk to the side – yet, not in a big hurry. That gave us enough time to surmise he was a
mature bird. With my crosshairs on his head, I breathed in…then out, as I squeezed the trigger with control, just like my dad taught me.
BOOM!!!! Down bird! An enormous smile filled my entire face and I felt this rush of emotion and joy as it enveloped my entire body! I
literally jumped up and gave Mark a huge hug. We walked over to the bird and waited for him to stop flailing. Inspecting his spurs & beard,
we figured him to be a 3 year-old bird. He had 1” spurs, and … get this … 2 beards! The 1st was 9-1/2” long, the other about 5”. I proudly
carried him out by his legs, with his body over my back, just as they do on TV. We got back to camp, and our friends couldn’t believe it!
They really thought we were fighting a losing battle after the poor hunt in Eldorado and most of this one in Uvalde. Not to mention, our
odds were stacked against us being so late in the season.
As photos were taken by the “picture log”, Mark still shook his head in disbelief, as he realized we actually pulled this off. And a gobbler
with 2 beards to boot! He told me I was spoiled to get my 1st gobbler with 2 beards. I told him I was just happy I got one! Then that
word “optimism” came up … hey, it’s in my blood – and now, so is turkey hunting!
~ Nicole McKibbin ~
ended at a ranch in Uvalde, Texas. My boyfriend, Mark & I went on this trip with some friends of ours. The word among the turkey hunters
in Texas during the ‘06 season wasn’t good. My expectations … well, I wanted to see a strutting gobbler, get close enough for a shot and
the rest was up to my ability to shoot straight. Mark’s goal: not to hunt until I bagged my bird. I have to admit, he kept his promise.
Eldorado, a town about an hour & a half from the Texas/Mexico border, is a hot, dry, desert-like area. The ranch we hunted - spotted with
mesquite flats, some big oaks, and LOTS of cactus - was known to be covered with Rio Grande turkey. Eldorado seemed promising. I thought
for sure, our first morning out, sitting in a great spot between a windmill & roosting trees, listening to all the first-morning gobbles, we’d
definitely walk out of there with a gobbler. After 3 mornings and 2 afternoons of 90+ degree days, decent activity, several cactus pricks, a
run-in with a rattlesnake (who’s no longer with us) and another with a coral snake … we left the ranch empty. I wasn’t disappointed though.
I took in all that I saw; hens guarding their nesting area, a glimpse of a gobbler strutting in a field and jakes gobbling and running along a
barbed wire fence acting like girl-crazed teenage boys. These were all things I’ve never experienced before…especially close contact with
poisonous snakes.
Luckily, Eldorado wasn’t my last hunt that season. It was the last weekend of the ’06 turkey season in Texas. With Mark and the same
group of friends, we headed out to Uvalde for the hunt. This time, we had a better game plan. The first morning, we hunted a super spot
which overlooks the “Skunk Hole”. This water hole is where the turkey frequently came after a long night on the roost. The good thing … we
saw a group of 20 turkey heading toward the hole around 300 yards away. About 8 of the 20 were gobblers. I picked out some points of
distance to get a good idea of several possible shots. The group came closer. At about 100 yards out the hens split off from the gobblers.
With the gobblers headed in our direction, I thought I’d definitely get my shot. My chest got tighter, my breathing heavier. We thought
they’d come right up to our decoy. Hmmm … not a chance. The bad thing … all 8 gobblers disappeared down the road and over a rise about 80
yards in front of us, furthering their distance from us.
After 2 more days of chasing gobbles … and gobblers, with no success, I still had faith, but Mark just about had it. We made our last hunt
the morning of the last day of the season. During the ride back to camp in the huntin’ buggy, I found myself giving Mark the “You can’t
always expect to get a bird on your first hunt” speech. He was more upset about our doomed hunts than I was. He told me he wished he
shared in my optimism. (I’m in sales, I HAVE to be optimistic!) When we pulled back up to camp, one of the guys in our group showed us a
bird he just bagged. He mentioned that he saw and heard some more turkey by a creek not to far from the camp house, close to where he shot
his. He didn’t even have to finish telling us where to go as I started pulling my headnet over my face and donning my new hunting gloves.
We still had time for 1 more try. (Again…my optimism.)
We drove toward the creek and started walking up the road with our gear ready. As we sat down, no decoy, and started calling, it wasn’t 10
seconds later when we saw the golden tips of that Rio’s fan as he strutted in a field about 75 yards ahead of us. He was stuck out there –
looking for “us” and answering our calls. We had no choice but to move ever-so-carefully toward him. We hugged every tree and bush along
the side of the road and even dove down on our bellies, so he didn’t see us coming. We called every chance we got as we tried to keep his
interest. He moved into a group of trees to the side of the open field. We eventually were able to position ourselves in the turkey’s line
of sight between him and a large oak tree about 50 yards behind us. Mark & I stood still as if we were one object in the middle of the road
and open field. There the turkey stood about 35 yards in front of us between a couple of trees. I raised my gun - Mark yelped – the turkey
looked at us and gobbled. He started to turn and walk to the side – yet, not in a big hurry. That gave us enough time to surmise he was a
mature bird. With my crosshairs on his head, I breathed in…then out, as I squeezed the trigger with control, just like my dad taught me.
BOOM!!!! Down bird! An enormous smile filled my entire face and I felt this rush of emotion and joy as it enveloped my entire body! I
literally jumped up and gave Mark a huge hug. We walked over to the bird and waited for him to stop flailing. Inspecting his spurs & beard,
we figured him to be a 3 year-old bird. He had 1” spurs, and … get this … 2 beards! The 1st was 9-1/2” long, the other about 5”. I proudly
carried him out by his legs, with his body over my back, just as they do on TV. We got back to camp, and our friends couldn’t believe it!
They really thought we were fighting a losing battle after the poor hunt in Eldorado and most of this one in Uvalde. Not to mention, our
odds were stacked against us being so late in the season.
As photos were taken by the “picture log”, Mark still shook his head in disbelief, as he realized we actually pulled this off. And a gobbler
with 2 beards to boot! He told me I was spoiled to get my 1st gobbler with 2 beards. I told him I was just happy I got one! Then that
word “optimism” came up … hey, it’s in my blood – and now, so is turkey hunting!
~ Nicole McKibbin ~
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