The story of my baptism in the gospel of the gobble
By Jay Pinsky, Editor, The Hunting Wire
“Luck Is What Happens When Preparation Meets Opportunity".
Seneca – Roman Philosopher
I’ve had my share of luck in life, in love, and yes – in the woods. But what happened to me not once or twice, but three times while hunting with NOMAD Outdoors this past spring turkey season wasn’t luck. It was much more than that. It was a miracle.
All hail the turkey gods.
I’ve flirted with spring turkey hunting for years, but I never committed until this past season. Unfortunately, I don’t have a good reason why.
In 2021, I jumped snake boots first into the wild and addicting world of spring turkey hunting. I did tons of research, talked to lots of successful and experienced hunters, and headed to the local woods about as cocky as Goliath probably was when he eyed David for the first time. Thankfully, only my pride shared Goliath’s now historic fate because I got my butt whipped by just about every gobbler and hen in my hometown woods of Virginia this year.
Humbled, bug-bitten, and a little wiser, I planned for 2022 to be my year – maybe. Then, just as all hope seemed lost for 2021’s spring turkey season, the turkey gods perched high atop Mount O-Roost-Us called down to me. Now, this particular turkey god’s voice sounded a lot like that of ultra-peppy and newly engaged (congratulations!) Morgan McCalla of Source Outdoor Group. The turkey gods, err … Morgan, told me I was being called to go on a gobbler pilgrimage to the Promised Land of turkey hunting, which is apparently on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. There I’d meet up with the turkey hunting discipleship team of NOMAD Outdoors and Old Line Outdoors to study the gospel of the gobble.
All hail the turkey gods.
My faith in the turkey gods, NOMAD, and Old Line Outdoors was tested from the moment we first entered the woods Sunday morning. Months of scouting by my guide, Tyler Collins, had led us to a secluded field on a private farm. Now, Tyler was more than a local guide; he was and is a local – period. Tyler knew, or so it seemed, where just about every turkey was born, raised, and died because the Eastern Shore was and has always been his home. He knew everyone well. He knew every inch of thousands of acres, better than Goggle Maps. And, most of all, the other locals knew him and his family. They liked him a lot. His impeccable reputation as an honest, hard-working farmer and ethical hunter meant his network of gobbler spies stretched far and wide. Long before our first hunt, Tyler was on the phone talking or texting with what seemed like the whole damned population of the Eastern Shore as reports of turkeys big and small were fed to him in a manner and accuracy that the finest CIA agent would envy. I’d learn that’s what being a good and trusted member of the community will do for you, and for this week at least, for me.
Before sunrise on the first day of hunting, I set up with Tyler, his good friend Cody Biddle, and NOMAD Outdoors’own Mike Tussey. We were decked out from head-to-toe in NOMAD’s newest turkey hunting attire patterned in Mossy Oak Shadow Leaf. The clothes, and specifically the Pursuit pants, were about as close to turkey hunting pajamas as anyone who ever met a briar patch could ever need – or want. The clothes were quiet, flexible, comfortable, and well ventilated without being porous.
But did they work? Keep reading.
Our first sit was close, but not close enough. The tree lines in front of us and on either side were Baptist church pew quiet, but about four hundred yards behind us, a gobbler with Tom Cruise’s swagger and Luciano Pavarotti’s lungs was holding his own gobbler gospel revival. Tyler was inspired by the gobbler’s sermon enough to talk us into a turkey-themed missionary trip to deliver the gospel of the gobble. So, without a peep, err … yelp of resistance, we packed up our stuff and closed into about 100 yards of this gobbler.
One of the things I quickly noticed about my guide, Tyler, and world-class turkey hunter, Mike Tussey, was that they always expected a tom every time they stepped foot in the woods. As such, they never got lackadaisical in their movement, their noise discipline, or their patience. To this day, I am convinced that Tyler is the only man alive who can both listen and talk (turkey) at the same time.
Before we got to where the turkey was first heard, we began our stalk. Tyler called softly about every 100 yards or so as we closed the gap. What I didn’t account for, but Tyler and Mike did was the fact that this motivated tom was equally engaged in closing the distance on us. About three hundred yards from where we heard the last gobble, Tyler let out one soft yelp. Then, a gobble erupted so close to us that everyone, gobbler rookies and experts alike, froze. Then we made quick work of whatever cover we were in to set up an ambush spot. I was excited but nervous at the same time. How close was he? I fully expected the tom turkey to tap me on my shoulder and ask where the hot little hen was. He practically did a few minutes later.
The tom worked his way from the heavy cover on our right to an open field to our left and about 100 yards from our hasty shooting hideout. There he began to strut and gobble in a performance more deserving of Broadway than his forest friends. At more than 100 yards away, he was too far, even for the 20-gauge Apex TSS loads we had in our Benelli Super Black Eagle 3’s. But, man, was that tom theatrical. He’d move closer, then strut, then gobble, and then move back. This went on for quite a few minutes as Tyler flirted with the longbeard as best as he could with a series of soft, enticing clucks and yelps.
We expected the tom to come up toward us along a heavy trail, and he might have, but just as I tried to make out his next move, Tyler whispered to me.
“Jay. Jay, to your right. He’s coming on your right.”
Man, was I ready! I waited for the tom to come up the road, to my right.
Then Tyler whispered, a little more excited this time.
“Jay … on your right.”
Oh, man! I could taste the turkey in my mouth as I tightened my grip on my shotgun waiting for the turkey to appear from in front of me on the right side.
Finally, Tyler tried one last time to get my attention.
“Jay! Your right! He’s about to run over you!”
“Oh,” I said as I turned my head and the Benelli 90-degrees hard right and instantly saw a gobbler, no more than seven yards from me. Boom! My Benelli SBE3 topped off with an Indian River choke barked and sent a pattern of 20-Gauge Apex TSS shot packed tighter than the Wal-Mart entrance on Black Friday morning directly into the face of what would be my first bearded turkey kill ever. And just like that, well before 8 a.m. on the first day of my week-long hunt, I had notched my first spring gobbler.
All hail the turkey gods.
If that’s all that would have happened to me on this hunt, it would have been more success than I’ve ever had, but things were just getting started with Tyler Collins, who not only understood the gospel of the gobble but seemed to me to be a turkey evangelist. After we secured the bird, Tyler, in what can best be described as a ceremony of tribute to nature, our hard work, and the life of the turkey we just killed, thanked the turkey gods. It was a fine tradition and one I’d repeat if and when I ever killed another turkey.
The next day I got to hunt the neighboring state of Delaware with NOMAD’s own Bobby Lader, who mostly does marketing and trade show work for NOMAD’s sister company Huk. Both NOMAD and Huk belong to Marolina Outdoor. This week, however, Bobby was a turkey hunter, and on that early Monday morning, the second day of my hunt, he was also my guide.
Clothing-wise I dared not upset the turkey gods by switching my attire. So, I wore the same NOMAD Pursuit pants, shirt, gloves, gaiter, and hat I used on Sunday. With a gobbler kill in the books at about seven yards, I’d say that’s all the proof I needed to know the NOMAD clothing worked, the fact that I was incredibly comfortable as well was just icing on the cake.
With my first gobbler kill out of the way, I switched from the ultra-light, fast, and all-black 20-gauge Benelli SBE3, which was part of NOMAD’s battery of shotguns in camp, to my personal shotgun, a CZ 1012 All-Terrain 12 gauge. The 1012 is CZ’s first inertia-driven shotgun, and the all-terrain treatment gave me an olive-green kind of Cerekote with rich, brown wood on the stock and fore-end. While it didn’t wear a specific camouflaged pattern, its green and brown makeup would work just fine, as we will later read. As a gun writer and editor for the Hunting Wire, I get to use many great shotguns, but the 1012 grew on me from the very first day I shot it. I bought one as quickly as possible because it was light, fast, reliable, and affordable. This was the same shotgun I had carried successfully numerous times back home in Virginia after ducks, geese, pheasants, quail, and chukar. I used CZ’s standard, comes-in-the-box-when-you-buy-it, full choke, and 12-gauge Federal 3rd Degree TSS loads for this hunt.
Bobby and I set up our ambush site on the edge of a series of fields on a privately-owned farm in Delaware. Like well-paid actors following a Hollywood script, several gobblers lit off our morning with their public announcements that they were ready to party just before sunrise. We stayed motionless as one and then two toms began to work the fields in front of us. Both birds were several hundred yards away from us, but we dared not move since turkeys can see quite well. Both birds worked the fields and paced back and forth between the tree line to our right and the field directly in front of us. They did this not once but three times, getting closer each time. They finally committed to the field about 100 yards from us lured in by Bobby’s soft calling and his Avian decoys.
This time, there were no surprises. I had both the excitement and the stress of remaining motionless as I waited for one of the birds to get within shooting range. Bobby and I set a kill zone limit of 30 yards, and when the birds were polite enough to get there, they complicated things for me by being side-by-side. Hunters only get one tag in Delaware so, I waited. I waited while two tom turkeys strutted, gobbled, and danced a turkey-tango in front of me at 30, then 25, then 20 yards. Yes, the NOMAD camo worked. I continued to wait, and then as the lead bird broke free from his clingy sidekick, I pulled the trigger on the CZ 1012 instantly killing my first Delaware gobbler and my second bearded turkey in as many days.
All hail the turkey gods.
Little did I know it then, but my Delaware kill was Bobby Lader’s first successful guided hunt, making this turkey more memorable. Once again, we were done well before 8 a.m.
Back in camp, the only turkeys in the freezer were the ones I shot as fellow superb hunter, Maine guide, wildlife biologist, and outdoor writer Bob Humphrey and NOMAD’s own all-world turkey hunter Mike Tussey had yet to connect. Their constant coaching and encouragement in camp was educational and inspiring, while their lack of success helped humble me in knowing that one bird, moreover two, was quite the feat at any skill level. I remembered to thank the NOMAD and Old Line Outdoor team and the turkey gods for my Delaware kill, but a Mack truck wasn’t going to wipe the smile off my face for a while.
Turkey camp day three ….
The state of Maryland allows its hunters to take two bearded turkeys in the spring. I had one more tag and two more days to hunt. So, I did. Paired back up with Tyler, we decided to hunt a field he just planted the day before. Like the first two hunts, I dared not change my NOMAD-branded hunting attire as we headed out to the Maryland farm, and I carried my trusty bird-killing machine, the CZ 1012.
As Tyler drove us to the site, he used his photographic memory to paint a picture of the field and the tree lines we would be hunting. I almost think he knew each turkey by their first name. He told me how they moved, where they moved, and why. In fact, the Delaware bird Bobby and I killed was done primarily off intel we got from Tyler and his vast network of gobbler informants.
Tyler’s prep work as a turkey guide gave me so much confidence going into the woods on Tuesday that when a nearly ten-inch bearded tom turkey entered my sight picture from my right precisely as Tyler thought he might, I wasn’t surprised – I was ready. As such, despite a shooting window no wider than ten yards, I had my gun up and ready for the split second it needed to be for me to take my third and by far the largest gobbler of my life. This time we were done by 6:30 a.m. That tom wasn’t the only critter who strutted in the field that morning.
Although happy for me, back in camp, the other hunters wondered out loud and in graphic detail if I knew an excellent proctologist who could remove the horseshoe I apparently had shoved up in me. I knew it was much more than luck … it was a miracle.
All hail the turkey gods.