GROWING TOWARD THE FUTURE
Back From the Brink By Ron Jolly
When European settlers arrived in America there were an estimated ten million wild turkeys . Due to clearing of land for agriculture and excessive , unregulated hunting , wild turkey populations suffered severe decline . In 1920 , eighteen of the 39 states that constituted the wild turkey ’ s range had totally lost their turkey population . In the 1930 ’ s , an estimated 30,000 birds were all that were left in the United States .
State wildlife agencies began trying to address this decline as early as 1929 . Hundreds of thousands of farm-raised birds were released into the wild , but these efforts were a total failure due to the pen-raised birds ’ inability to survive in the wild .
Herman “ Duff ” Holbrook , a man from South Carolina , discovered how to trap turkeys using a canon net . That was in 1959 , and since that time , more than 200,000 wild turkeys have been trapped and relocated to habitats in 48 states . In 2020 , the U . S . had an estimated 6.5 million wild turkeys . Some estimations , however , indicate that number is down by ten to 15 percent from the wild turkey ’ s heyday in the late 1990 ’ s and early 2000 ’ s .
But that is not the only change that has occurred in the turkey woods . Today , there are 6 million turkey hunters .
If you are not one who is infected with the turkey-hunting “ sickness ” and know someone who is , you no doubt wonder what could cause a person to get up before daylight , day after day , to hunt a turkey . Why do those infected people push themselves to the edge of insanity and physical exhaustion just to shoot a turkey ? Why do they compromise solid relationships and ignore chores and work responsibilities to do it ?
The answer is easy , probably because there are multiple explanations . For me , it began when my dad took me turkey hunting decades ago . In my case , the sickness was not instantaneous . Northeast Louisiana in those days did not have many turkeys . It took several trips to hear the first – and he was far away . Sometime later , on another hunt with my dad , I heard a gobble close by and got to see that turkey .
Over the decades I have described the strutting ritual of a wild turkey gobbler in countless articles , videos and presentations ,
48 AHERO MAGAZINE SUMMER 2021 but to me , the first one is the one that I will never forget . It occupies a special place in my heart and in my book , Memories of Spring :
“… Several minutes later the gobbler emerged from behind the giant cypress . I will never forget the ghost-white head that seemed to glow against the black background of his body . I was mesmerized as I watched the gobbler slowly make his way toward our position . I was lost in his beauty . I do not remember my dad reaching for the call .
A set of three yelps startled me as they rolled off the little hand-made diaphragmcall into the spring morning . The answering gobble kept my attention glued on the approaching turkey . I do not know how long I had been watching him , but it seemed hours . The discomfort of lying on my belly and my fidgeting were gone . I could not take my eyes off him .
It still thrills me to see a mature gobbler approach in full strut . I think the ritual is one that has not changed in eons . To a boy of ten watching it for the first time , it was the most beautiful sight anytime , anywhere !
As the gobbler continued to close the distance between us , thin slivers of morning light penetrated the canopy of spring foliage decorating the huge oaks before us . Each time the gobbler stepped into a shaft of light , he seemed to glow a rustic copper color . When he entered the shadows , he immediately changed to jet black .
Several times he seemed to take a direction that would take him away from our position . He was still over 60 yards away when my dad leaned to my ear and whispered , ” Notice his tail . He will always point the breadth of his fanned tail toward where he thinks the hen is . He is trying to show her just how beautiful he is . We are in good shape because he can ’ t see behind this log .”
As I watched , I noticed a strange sound coming from the gobbler . The sound came each time he tucked his head tight against his back feathers and took several short , quick steps . It sounded almost like a deep humming sound . Each time he did it , every feather on his body bristled and puffed . It was his dance . Dad leaned near my ear , whispering . ‘ Do you hear him drumming ? Always remember , when you can hear that sound a gobbler is close .’
I could not take my eyes off this bird to look into my dad ’ s eyes . I did not see the smile on his face that I ’ m sure now was