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More than just turkeys

For three days leading up to my turkey hunt, I woke up and looked at the clock to figure out how much earlier I would need to wake up to be at Staci's house on time.  Aside from ticks, the worst part of turkey hunting is the early start time. 

The day of my hunt arrived and armed with my coffee, I drove to Staci's house to find some turkeys.  Her husband, John, agreed to be our designated turkey caller. Deer ran through the woods off to our right and a partridge drummed continuously as we walked to our first spot.  The world was waking up all around us but there were no turkeys to answer our calls, so we moved.

I spotted the first birds of the morning, a tom fanned out with three hens (or two hens and a jake) so we parked the truck in the next field over and started making our way towards the birds.  Staci and I crawled on our stomachs to the edge of the hill and watched as the tom answered every time John called but it would not cross the field to come towards us.  We skirted…

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