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Wild Turkey Campout by Brandon Ray

We loaded our packs for the steep descent off the canyon rim. Our legs burned with the heavy load over our shoulders, but the brisk spring air suddenly cleared our heads. We were free. The first annual turkey campout was about to begin!

Elk Tactics for Western Turkeys
Is there a better way for a bowhunter to wake up on a spring day than by the rackus thunder of a gobbler screaming on the roost? I don’t think so. That’s why in early April 2010, I decided to sleep with the turkeys. Instead of the usual 4:30 a.m. wake-up call, long drive to my hunting area and long hike in the dark to my favorite river bottom, I decided to shorten the commute. Instead, I’d just roost with the birds. Their roost, a swaying cottonwood limb over the river. Mine, a two-man tent, foam pad and sleeping bag 400 yards from the creek, in a small clearing near steep canyon bluffs. I didn't want to camp any closer than a quarter mile of the roost, so as not to disturb the birds' routine.

Maybe it was my lack of luck in the elk draw. Ten years without an elk tag will make a guy consider other options. Or never getting to hunt the mountains since I've never owned an elk license. Whatever the reason, I wanted an excuse to sleep under the stars and hunt wild country. Why not a turkey campout?

Or maybe it was the small fortune I've invested in backpack gear that never gets used, because I’m always waiting for elk tags that never come. But for the first time in a long time, backpacking for big game, even if that game had feathers instead of horns, made perfect sense. Turkey hunting from a pack and tent seemed like a brilliant plan.

The benefits were numerous. By backpacking and camping out for turkeys, I could sleep until 6:00 a.m., hike for 10 minutes in the dark, and be setup right in the middle of ‘em. I would be sneakier in my approach of roosted birds at daybreak and have all day to hunt without having to go to town for supplies. Why didn’t I think of this years ago?

The same gear I would use in the mountains for elk would work perfectly for a backpack turkey hunt. Instead of bugles, I’d listen to gobbles. Instead of the Rocky Mountains, I would hunt the badland canyon-country of the Texas Panhandle. It all made sense. But the most convincing reason to backpack for turkeys was simple. It sounded fun.

The Hunt Begins
With camp set up and some of our extra pack weight dropped at the tent, Clint and I stalked the distant creek channel. The afternoon was warm - 80 degrees - but the birds were not talking. For two hours my best calls were answered only by the wind.

I made first contact at 5:23 p.m. A loud gobble caught us both by surprise. It was close, maybe 100 yards away. But as the minutes dragged on, and there was no more turkey talk to answer mine, my enthusiasm sagged. Where did he go?

Then, at 6:08 p.m., a single hen walked just 10 yards from our shady hideout. Two minutes later, out stepped a long-bearded tom. The hen got nervous and started away from us down a dusty cow trail, making a “putt-putt” sound with every step. When the tom passed at 15 steps, I eased my 62-pound Carbon Matrix to my cheek. The big tom was so focused on the hen, he never saw me. At 20 yards, I buried my top pin in his bronze back feathers as he was walking straight away. The carbon arrow hit solid, dead center. He walked slowly for 15 yards, then tipped over. Yes! A gorgeous Rio Grande with a 9-inch beard. He was perfect.

That night, Clint and I had a feast under the stars, serenaded by coyotes howling at the moon. Clint stashed flour, salt, oil and everything else needed to fry cut strips of turkey meat in his 41-pound pack. Clint always comes prepared. His backpack was completely packed and set at his back door, ready to go for our hunt, a month before we left! And he brought the extra supplies just in case we found success early.

The freeze dried stuff could wait for another day. While it wasn’t the best cooking I’ve ever tasted, it was the circumstance that was worth celebrating. We killed a turkey and we were gonna eat it! If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine a punched elk tag and elk steaks under the stars. One thing was for sure: Turkey meat was much easier to pack back to camp than elk meat!

Clint and I hunted hard for two more days. The toms were loud-mouthed screamers from their roosts in the cottonwood trees just before light, but come dawn they got laryngitis and hooked up with the hens. We glassed, called and hiked the river bottom, but never had another shot opportunity. Little did we know, we used up all of our good luck on day one. 

The perfect ending to our backpack hunting adventure would have been a story about two big toms wearing two tags. Two hard-working, serious archers, each with a turkey tag notched out. But this isn't a fairy tale, this is bowhunting. And a 50 percent success rate is still pretty darn good, especially on wild turkeys!

As we were taking down camp on day three, we were already making plans for a turkey camp next year. We started a list of things that would make the trip more enjoyable. “We need pillows,” Clint said, while stuffing his tent into a stuff sack. “And more food.” 

I had a long list of things to add.

“We need ice. Cold drinks would make these hot, sunburned afternoons more bearable. And chairs. Sitting on the ground gets old.”

Clint had more to consider for next year.

“Pillows, more food, ice and chairs. Yeah, that’s all good stuff. But you know what we really need to make this a great hunt?”

“No, what?”

“More turkeys!”
   
   

 

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