Dad, Frank, and Charlie: Turkey Trials (Part 4)

 

Back at camp my dad and I prepared lunch for Frank and Charlie who were still out hunting. What these guys lacked in hard core hunting skills they sure made up for in dedication.

I was preparing my camp special, two slices of Oscar Mayer bologna, a slice of processed American cheese slathered with yellow mustard, all slapped between two slices of soft white Wonder bread. The lunch of Gods...well maybe not, but at least it was going to be the lunch for my dad, Frank, and Charlie.

As I extracted a small squeezable barrel of mustard from the cooler my dad said, "I don't think Charlie likes mustard."

My brain wasn't recalling his exact tastes so I leaned over and slid open the camper window.

"Hey Charlie...you like mustard on your sandwich?" I yelled.

"Yeah...mustard's fine," he called back.

"When you're done hunting I'll have a sandwich waiting for you."

"Alright, I'll be in in about ten minutes," he assured me.

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I sat down with my Dad to have a talk with him. I needed to explain how important it was not to let the birds see you as they're getting ready to fly down from their roost. He stuck to his guns though and assured me I was nuts. Anyone that knows my dad knows how stubborn he can be. I was beginning to get the evil eye and sense the determination in his voice, so I decided to drop the subject. I just had to commit to getting him to his blind earlier.

Just then I heard an ATV fire up. For the next seven seconds, I listened as Charlie drove back from his morning hunt. I peered out the window and saw him dismount his metallic steed, his blind standing firm a mere twenty yards behind his new parking spot. Needless to say, he was birdless. A few seconds later the door opened to the camper and in walked Charlie.

"Hear anything this mornin'?" I asked, knowing there were birds gobbling on the ridges all around him.

"No...pretty quiet out there," was his disheartened reply. "There was a guy walking around working in his flower beds all mornin'. He prolly kept 'em away."

I informed him that was Mr. Gardner, the owner of the property. I told him he's likely to be milling around his house or garden on most days so if he wanted to get away from the commotion he might consider moving his blind a bit further up the valley.

"No I got a good spot where I'm at, I think I'll give it a few days."

Again, I wasn’t going to argue.

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The three of us sat there dining on the highly-processed but oh-so-good mid-day snack. We brought out a few health foods to compliment the not-so-healthy sandwiches...Diet Coke, Lays low-sodium potato chips, and apple pie. Getting up there in age, my dad and his friends decided they had to start watching what they ate so they insisted that we start having fruits and vegetables at each meal. Potatoes and apples would satisfy today's requirement. I love how these guys think!

I set the quickly prepared meal down at the table and within no time a conversation struck up between dad and Charlie. As usual, camp conversations usually revolved around past hunting adventures. This one was no different. Charlie and my dad sat around the table and reminisced about chasing birds on Bully Hill back home in New York. Bully Hill was the state land surrounding Charlie's cabin where they did most of their hunting.

As I relaxed, enjoying their old-timey banter, I found it funny how none of their stories ever ended with anyone getting a bird. It mattered not though, for I considered all of their hunts successful. When one hunts for fun instead of trophies, success is guaranteed. And that is exactly what these guys did...my dad, Frank, and Charlie hunted, not just for fun, but for each other. The three shared stories and adventures the vast majority of the people in this world will never experience. That was why these guys hunted. It was also why, even as a young boy, I sat transfixed by their tales. Whenever they spun their yarns I was always transported to a different time and place and, as if I was re-living their experiences, I always had "fun".

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Pretty soon our plates held only mustard stains and bread crumbs. As we sat with contented bellies we simultaneously began to wonder how Frank was doing. He had birds gobbling all around him for most of the morning but unfortunately no shot was to be heard. We were all quite familiar with the game one can play with these wily and sharp-sensed birds. The slightest miscue or movement usually sent a wary old gobbler heading for the next county. And there you sit and there's nothing you can do to coax him back no matter how hard you try. We were all hoping Frank was playing at least that game since that's the best and most exciting part of turkey hunting.

After a while my dad got up and headed to his bed to take a mid-day nap. I couldn't blame him, these early morning adventures have a way of catching up with you. I could only imagine the toll it takes on my dad, pushing eighty and still chasing the birds. That alone already made this hunt so very special.

That left me and Charlie at the kitchen table and before long, he too was taking a mid-day siesta. How one can sleep in an upright position still clutching a fork is beyond me but I'm sure one day when I get their age I'll find out. I was secretly wanting to join them but I also didn't want to waste the day so I decided to grab my gun and go for a walk. The fresh air and extra scouting would do me good.

I hadn't even made it to Charlie's blind when I heard a distant rumble from atop the ridge. It was the unmistakable sound of an approaching ATV. Frank was on his way back to camp. My hike would wait.

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I sat down on the back of my ATV and watched as Frank approached. He looked a little frazzled. I knew the look well. It comes when an animal with a brain the size of a walnut teases and tempts you all morning long, purposefully dancing and strutting just beyond your reach. It's as if they sense your presence and create an invisible dome around you, flaunting themselves all around but never stepping foot within that magical dome. It leaves you frustrated, humbled, frazzled, yet thirsty for more. I couldn't wait to hear the story of Frank's morning hunt.

Frank pulled up, shut off his machine, and dismounted. As he stiffly walked over, I simply said, "Well?"

He peered up at me as he strolled by and simply said, "Nothing."

Well duh! I could see from the lack of turkey on his back or on his ride that he didn't get anything, I wanted the scoop, the scouting report. I had dropped him off with birds gobbling on roost not far from his blind and then proceeded to listen to a cacophony of gobblers on the hillsides all around him. I was hoping he would tell me how many there were or if he even came close to pulling the trigger.

Frank opened the camper door and stepped inside.

I hopped off the back of the ATV and followed him in.

"I'll have a bologna sandwich for you in a sec. In the meantime, there are chips and pie settin' on the table."

Frank had already found them and sat down next to Charlie who awoke when the door opened.

"So give me the scoop. Did they come from where they were roosted or did they come up the hill from down below?" I asked.

He looked up at me.

"Nothin'... I didn't see or hear anything all day."