When you're one of the best turkey hunters in the country, you rarely find the time to hunt on your own. When you do, the memories are all that more sweet.
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This is a short story about a turkey hunt , a turkey hunt on May, 5 2009 , but yet a trip back in time, back to yesteryear, back when life was much simpler, a trip back home to the hills, back to Johnson Mountain, back in time to relive my boyhood memories and my early days of turkey hunting..
I cannot put into words my experience of hunting alone this morning in the Ozark Mountains...
To hear gobbling closing in—the spit-and-drum...movement in front of my gun...the sound of wings dragging over the rocks...the sounds of other turkeys gobbling across the mountains. There is nowhere in the world where gobbling sounds so wild—so exhilarating. The Ozark Ghosts were singing their love song in the rugged remote wilderness on this morning ...
Then the echo from the sound of my gunshot disappearing into the distance, across the hills and hollers... A feeling I cannot describe, hunting the Mountain just as I did as a small boy ............
I was not able to hunt the area of Johnson MT where I took my first turkey, which was my plan. The road was gated and closed, hunters were parked at the other old road that leads to my tree of my 1962 hunt .
But I also hunted this morning's area when I was a boy and after I got married. I hunted here with Sara, my daughter, when she was a little girl. I hunted here with my wife, Janet. It is the saddle between Johnson, Logan and Pruitt mountains—sacred ground
I hunted there with my dad, grandpa , my uncle Lee, my cousins, brothers and friends from the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, and early 90s ........ I took a trip back home this morning