Too early?

Gobble!

First light over the Turkey River Valley

The constellation Scorpius still hangs faintly in the west, even as a sliver of gray dawn creeps above the eastern horizon.

What am I doing up and around just after 5 a.m.?!

It’s not like Violet the Dog has prodded me out of bed.

That problem belongs to my friend Robert Leonard, whose “Cedar Creek Nature Notes” often describe his early morning wanderings and perceptions at Mahaska County’s Cedar Bluffs Natural Area. (Check it out!)

Or maybe insomnia plagues Julie Gammack, who tries to ride herd on fellow members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. (See who we are!)

Since I don’t have a dog, nor the energy of Julie, I need more of an excuse to drag myself out of bed in the pitch dark.

This time of year, that excuse is turkey hunting.

Hunting?

To try to kill one of the kin with whom I share our Earth?

Well, you could describe hunting that way . . .

But I prefer to savor the outing as a sensory experience.

The cool pre-dawn air tickles my nostrils as I step out the door, laden with decoys and shotgun.

Binoculars, water bottle, granola bars, banana, shotgun shells, protective earmuffs, flashlight, cedar box call, extra sweatshirt, and gloves are stuffed into the 5-gallon bucket that will serve as my chair.

What did I forget?
License?
Cell phone?

Camera?

Walking stick?

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I work my way carefully along the path toward my blind at the edge of the woods.

It’s a familiar trail, which I try to keep clear of sticks and tripping hazards. I don’t want to risk having to flip on a light that might alert the birds to my approach.

The ZZIIPP of the zipper on the blind breaks the solitude – startling even me.

Then, just over the ridge and down toward the river (the TURKEY River!) comes the faint, yelp, yelp, yelp of a hen turkey.

GOBBLE-OBBLE-GOBBLE! GOBBLE! GOBBLE! booms an unseen tom in response.

And THAT’S why I’m here.

 (THANK YOU, Grandson Derek Stone, for sharing your video!)

Up and down the valley, the woods erupt with continual gobbles and yelps and cackles, as the birds awaken on their roosts, then fly down to begin feeding or love-making.

The commotion - or maybe it’s just the fading night and breaking dawn? - triggers a delightful chorus of other birds:
The chrr-up of robins comes first, followed by a cardinal’s cheer-cheer-cheer.

Peter-Peter-Peter chimes in the titmouse.

Jay-Jay-Jay scolds the blue jay – perhaps grumpy at the interruption of his sleep.

The mourning doves coo-coo-coo softly, in contrast to the sassy jays.

A rooster pheasant crows in the distance.

“Who Cooks for YOU?” questions the barred owl – setting off an instant GOBBLE-GOBBLE-GOBBLE retort from Mr. Tom.

Caw-caw-caw-caw come the crows’ cacophony chorus – triggering even more gobbles.

And now, as the woods slowly brighten, shadows seem to walk, and trees move.

Glistening black shapes appear, then disappear among the gray oaks and maples and walnuts.

Nearly hidden by trees, 3 turkey gobblers strut their stuff

A trio of tail-fanning gobblers twist, turn, puff, and strut their stuff in hopes of impressing a single softer-gray hen.

The female disappears behind a big white oak – and you realize that one of the toms has vanished, too – until you notice the tip of a tail wagging on the dead leaves from behind the same tree. For several minutes, the tell-tale tail gyrations continue – until the hen emerges again, shaking her feathers and preening to recover from the breeding ritual she and the tom had just accomplished.

So THAT’S why the three toms showed no interest in my plastic turkey decoys or my feeble attempts to use my box call to imitate the yelp of a hen. I obviously could not compete with a REAL, hormonally charged hen who was ready and eager to mate.

The hen wanders back over the ridge and disappears down toward the river, followed by the strutting toms – who may hope she is still receptive to their advances.

But the morning show is not over! A nearby wheeze and snort raises the hairs on my neck, as a curious deer puzzles over the canvas blind and the human scent beside her trail.

A suspicious deer studies the blind where I’m hiding

A gray squirrel paws through the damp leaves, then bounds silently across the fallen logs to reach a favorite oak.

The pileated woodpecker defines his territory with a distinctive drumming on a hollow tree. On the edge of our prairie, a bluebird is all a-twitter – wracked with indecision about which of our homemade nesting boxes will suit his mate.

An edge-of-the-woods bluebird pondering a nest site

Although the sun is now climbing brightly through the trees, the morning chill and a couple of hours perched on my bucket chair say it’s time for a stretch. I crawl stiffly out of the blind, pausing only long enough to admire the dainty spring beauty blossoms. Back at the house, the recliner beckons me for a nap!

Spring beauties bloom in the woods when turkeys are gobbling

DAY TWO!

The previous morning’s sensations make it easier to roll out again before 5 a.m., knowing the turkeys will be waiting!

And, sure enough, the gobbling, yelping, and bird chorus greet the calm, clear pre-dawn. Like clockwork, the gobbler trio materializes through the trees, strutting – this time in vain – with their best pirouettes to lure a hen. Again, they seem to ignore my plaintive yelps, and vanish over the hill. Sigh.

As I resign myself to be content listening to the cardinal/robin/titmouse/dove/pheasant chorus, a slight movement catches my eye. Probably that restless squirrel . . . But squirrels aren’t shiny-black, with blue heads and fanned-out tails!  A silent tom is stealthily walking through the brush – headed toward my fooled-you decoys. He’s in no rush – maybe a little suspicious – but eventually makes the fatal mistake of stepping into the open, about 30 yards down the trail. BOOM!

With mixed emotions over having taken a life, I acknowledge and admire the gift the Earth has given me and my family: those glistening black and mottled and banded feathers, 10-inch beard, stout legs sporting one-inch spurs, comical blue head with red wattles. And don’t forget the yet-to-come fillets of turkey breast and the steaming pot of wild turkey soup!

What a memorable spring morning along the TURKEY River!

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What a privilege to be a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative! Please sample the works of my fellow journalists - and consider subscribing to the work of your favorites. Most posts are free - but your paid subscription will help support these entertaining and informative blogs.

The Iowa Writers’ Collaborative Roster

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Laura Belin: Iowa Politics with Laura Belin, Windsor Heights

Tory Brecht: Brecht’s Beat, Quad Cities

Dartanyan L. Brown : My Integrated Live, Des Moines

Jane Burns, The Crossover, Des Moines

Dave Busiek, Dave Busiek on Media, Des Moines

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Steph C : It Was Never a Dress, Johnston

Art Cullen, Art Cullen’s Notebook, Storm Lake

Suzanna de Baca, Dispatches from the Heartland, Huxley

Debra Engle: A Whole New World, Madison County

Daniel P. Finney, Paragraph Stacker, Des Moines

Arnold Garson: Second Thoughts, Okoboji and Sioux Falls

Julie Gammack: Julie Gammack’s Iowa Potluck, Des Moines and Okoboji

Fern Kupfer and Joe Geha: Fern and Joe, Ames

Jody Gifford: Benign Inspiration, West Des Moines

Rob Gray's Area: Rob Gray’s Area, Ankeny

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Beth Hoffman: In the Dirt, Lovilla

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Pat Kinney : View from Cedar Valley, Waterloo

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