Long post-may want to skip.
The "why" for me has probably changed over the years. I went on my first turkey hunt when I was drawn for a hunt on Central Peninsula (now Chuck Swan) in 1972. I remember hearing one gobble at a distance, but it was exiting nonetheless. At the time, hunters in TN were killing around 100 gobblers a year statewide. We had some birds at Shelby Forest, Catoosa, CP, and in some of the North Cherokee Units. I probably would have shot one any way I could at that point.
The opportunity to try again didn't really happen until I started working as an officer up in Cocke Co in the late seventies. My mentor was the father of a fellow officer/supervisor that was an WMA supervisor responsible for stocking a lot of the area before he retired. He was usually one of the "100" in killing his bird every year. His message was pretty consistent to me in that if I just wanted to shoot one, I needed to scout and pattern a flock, and deer hunt a bird. Or, I could continue to learn to play the game and do it the right way. There were a lot of rookie mistakes that took place in those learning years. But, I was determined that my first bird, if it ever happened, would be one called to the gun.
I learned some about turkeys by spending some long, cold hours on cannon nets in catching and relocating birds during our restoration efforts. In 1988 I promoted and moved into the Nashville office to handle LE training. I didn't have any opportunity to do any hunting in starting a new job and hunting for a place to live. Finally, on the last day of the LBL nonquota hunt, I took a day off and drove up there. I got one to answer a call at 8:30 that morning, and finally pulled the trigger on him at 11:30. He was strutted out, and barely weighed 18#s, but he had an 11" beard and the spurs were 1.5" . I didn't realize how good of a bird he was, but, was advised to save those feet with the spurs as likely I wouldn't do better in the future. They sit behind me on a bookshelf, and still are my best spurs many years later.
After killing the first one, the goal became to be consistent and kill one every year. I benefited tremendously with some days in a goose pit with Harold Knight and David Hale. When the geese weren't flying, they were very generous with turkey hunting knowledge. It cemented my "style" of hunting as the old school way my mountain mentor taught me of valuing a bird that answers and having the patience to let him come at his own speed rather than running through the woods trying for a thirty second hunt. As I slowed down, I pulled the trigger more frequently rather than just hearing a bunch of gobbling. But, I still remember the ones that beat me more than the ones I killed.
As the miles and the years have crept on, the "why" has become almost spiritual for me. Turkey hunting is my #1 outdoor passion, and is what I "live for" every year. It influences me in good ways to stay in shape so I can navigate our TN hills and hollows. When the season rolls around, being out there those first cold days watching the woods come alive means to me that I have made it through another cold, dark winter, and have been blessed to watch the rebirth of God's earthly kingdom another year. At my age, I do not take it for granted. As has been eloquently said in this thread, watching spring become alive is on the same level as hearing a gobble and playing the game. But, without the gobble, it is unlikely I am out there to enjoy the rest of it.
This spring has been special in a lot of ways. I have dealt with some heart issues since December, where I worried that I might not have it in me to hunt this spring. I have been able to do what I normally do, and the health part hasn't been an issue. I've been blessed with some gobbles and a couple of nice birds. The first was a fairly short hunt and a 2 yr old gob, but, the second was an hour and a half afternoon duel that led me to pulling the trigger on the new turkey gun on a 3-4 yr old bird at about 20 ft. I almost missed him, but, he was drd. I go into Vandy on Friday for a fairly serious heart tune up, and have to work early in the week. So, my season is likely over for the year. If this for some reason is my last turkey season, I can only count the blessings of what these gobbling bearded heathens have meant to me.
