Our first ever turkey hunt with all three of us, on the King Ranch in Texas for the Rio Grande gobbler.
I am currently the first and only Canadian female to hold a wild turkey world slam.
Achieving a world slam was not easy; I tried for an Eastern turkey for years and years without success. He had become my arch rival and he was winning. I had travelled to Kentucky, Missouri, Arkansas, New York, Pennsylvania, and of course right here in Ontario, with no luck. After being frustrated out of my mind I gave up on Eastern’s and headed to the King Ranch in Texas with my father and younger sister to shoot Rio’s. My father had killed lots of turkeys at this point, mostly Eastern’s and a Rio on the King Ranch the previous season. My sister had also shot Rio’s the previous year, so I had some catching up to do. Being a seasoned turkey hunter my sister decided she was going to help finally kill my first turkey.
I knew the challenges of killing a turkey, much less killing a turkey on film. Off we went with the turkey call crew to get my first kill on film. Matt Lindler, editor of JAKES magazine. Ended up being my tree, unfortunately there was no time for a proper set up, and we had to make do. Brian Combs, our camera man, sat behind Matt, our guide Gus was just to my right and my father and sister had hidden themselves among the mesquite trees. After all of about three minutes and entire flock of jakes were right on top of us. My heart hit like a hammer, all I could hear was the pounding, I had never been so nervous, anxious and excited in my entire life. Unfortunately there was a hill that divided the birds and us, we could hear them and knew they were right on top of us but could not get a view. All of a sudden one curious young bird stuck his head up over the crest. I squeezed my trigger and he disappeared, my heart hit harder, I started believing I had missed; until we got up, looked over and about thirty yards away there lay my first turkey, a beautiful Rio Grande. My sister, being the turkey expert she is, was slightly less than impressed by the bird’s size, but was very proud that I had finally gotten a turkey under my belt after going four years without one.
After that we were off to the Sierra Madres to shoot Goulds. I came home long enough to unpack and repack. I was excited and relieved, now I could finally go on a turkey hunt and call myself a turkey hunter. There were a great deal of birds all around our location, of course I wanted to shoot the first turkey I saw, but my outfitter had “bigger” plans for me. The next day, the day of my twenty third birthday; I was given a royal present. While driving to a previously scouted site we happened to cross paths with two mature Gould’s gobblers. We drove right past them and made a quick set up into there path and they came running competitively to the call. The first tom reached a clear patch between the thick trees. I squeezed my trigger and the turkey went down. I was in aw; I couldn’t believe it had all happened so quickly. My guide looked at me and said “Congrats on your gobbler, I wasn’t going to let you kill a Jake.” We all laughed, shook hands, and hugged; I then proceeded to carry the best birthday present I could ever imagine back to the truck. After killing a second Goulds turkey it was time to say goodbye to Northern Mexico, return to Canada for a few short days, and head down to Campeche, Southern Mexico to go after the Ocellated turkey.
Bagging an Ocellated turkey would not be an easy feat, but when it came to turkeys I was ready and used to a challenge. Once arriving in Campeche we stayed in a hotel in the city for the night and began our journey into the jungle fresh the next day. Our journey began in large, comfortable, air conditioned SUV’s. After a two hour drive we came to a stop in a small village. There stood a tiny house with a fence all around the property that protected three tiny pick up trucks. The guides worked quickly n the scorching mid day sun, transferring all of our supplies and gear. With only two seats in each truck, the number of people exceeded the number of seats. My father and I found ourselves on bench seats across one of the pickup boxes. It was thirty seven degrees Celsius that day with a humidity rating of ninety four percent. By the time we arrived in camp we were worn out from the heat; but I thoroughly enjoyed all the new sights, it being my first time in a jungle. We were shown our sleeping quarters, which consisted of a thatched roof surrounded by a bug net. Our bathing facility was a river that ran through camp, and our washroom was a hole in the ground. It was simple, primitive and peaceful, and for the next eight days this would be our home. We were living an adventure that most only read about.
After a quick nap we put our camouflage on and went out on the first hunt of the trip. The jungle was thick and full of strange smells. The howler monkeys made the worst sound of all. They sounded like screaming cats; it was loud, high pitched, agonizing and could be heard for miles; that was a sound I could never get used to. The jungle was thick and never ending, I relied solely on my guide for direction. Dads guide was Chiapas and moved through the thick foliage with grace and ease, making us look even clumsier than we actually were. All of a sudden bright blues and greens went running through the bush, it stopped; the guide told dad to shoot. He did and the bird went down. My dad rushed over the claim his Ocellated. “Senorita.” The guide laughed. “I don’t care, it’s an Ocellated.” As dad picked up his bird and examined it, he all of a sudden let out a shriek. “No spurs?” “Senorita” the guide laughed again. There was no way my dad was leaving this jungle without nice Ocellated spurs; he ended up buying another turkey tag to try again.
The next few days proved to be tough hunting, the birds would not cooperate and our time felt like it was slipping away. Dad and his guide set out to a place that had been previously scouted the night before. Through a makeshift blind and with lady luck on his side, dad got his Ocellated turkey which had spurs just under two inches.
Now it was my turn. It was getting late and we were running out of daylight. My guide claimed to hear a turkey and we followed the sound, it was getting to late to shoot, but the bird was going to roost and would give us the perfect opportunity for the morning shoot. Before I knew it we were in complete darkness. It was my dad, my guide and me; unfortunately for us, my guide was nowhere near as good at navigating through the jungle as dads; after three hours of wondering around in a big circle my dad got us to the road. When my head finally found my pillow that night my hope was dwindling for my Ocellated turkey, I felt as though my curse had been reinstated.
The next morning by some miracle, my guide had managed to put us right underneath my bird, that turkey was mine, I could feel it. Daylight broke and he was mine, I had my Ocellated turkey. My spurs were not as big as dads, as he pointed out so gracefully, and through his mishap he was leaving the jungle with a pair of birds to mount. I didn’t care though, I was beyond happy and half way to my world slam, it was the perfect ending to an extremely successful turkey season.
The 2009 season began, and I was going into this season with half a world slam, and four turkeys to my name. The first destination of this year’s turkey tour was Okeechobee, Florida. I really wanted to complete my slam this year and I felt the pressure, I had two days to get the job done. The first afternoon was more of a scouting mission than anything else; we roosted a couple of birds and were very confident for the next morning. The next day we were in our blind and set up half an hour before sunrise. The Tom started gobbling while he was still in the tree, right away my heart started pounding, he came in much faster than anticipated and my father ended up shooting that bird. It was a nice size Tom and now he had his Osceola for his slam. After lunch we went out again for my bird, we got close to a few birds but not close enough to get a shot at one. Late in the afternoon we set up on the edge of a field and we called, and called. After not hearing anything we got up and decided we would move, the second we got up I noticed a hen about 70 yards from us, we sat and waited so we didn’t get busted. All of a sudden a huge Tom presented himself in full strut. He was a little un-cooperative and Brandon whipped out big bubba to get him annoyed and bring him in close enough to get a shot off of. It worked like a charm and as soon as I could see his big red head I took my shot. My fourth bird for the slam was now down. He ended up weighing 21 pounds, with a ten inch beard, one and half inch and one and three quarter inch spurs.
With a trophy Osceola to my name we headed back to Canada and began packing our bags to go back to the Sierra Madre Mountains and hunt Goulds once again with Muy Grande Outfitters, this was my favourite turkey hunt so far and I wanted nothing more than to go back, and this time take my little sister and let her be the rookie. After bagging six gobblers we headed back home and continued the pursuit of our world slams. The Merriam was my dads final bird and my second last bird.
My dad and I travelled to Devils Tower, Wyoming. When we pulled into Whitetail Creek Outfitters, the first thing we saw was about 25 turkeys, both hens and toms just going crazy right outside the camp. Immediately I knew we were going to have a good trip. This was one of my favourite hunting experiences, my father shot his bird first, we were set up and a flock of about fifteen turkeys came right by us, my dad waited for a clear shot, and completed his world slam. The next day it was my turn. Although there were lots of toms, there were also lots of hens and it was somewhat difficult to get the toms away from the hens. We hunted hard all day and in late afternoon it was not looking so good. We were calling like crazy and could not get anything to gobble, when all of a sudden way off in the distance we heard two birds gobble hard. We set up right away hoping we could get them to come to us, without a hen intercepting them on the way. All of a sudden I saw two black spots about a mile and a half away. These birds were hot, and competing with each other to get to the hen. They continued to run and cross each others path all the way to us, this gave my heart plenty a workout; and when they got to about twenty-five yards and were well separated I got my shot. He went right down and I finally started to breathe again. It was number five in my slam and an amazing turkey experience.
When we finally arrived home again it was already May seventh, which left me plenty of time to hunt an Eastern turkey right here in my own province. But not before heading back to Wyoming to hunt with Michael Waddell and Brenda Valentine, after all my little sister needed a Merriam’s turkey as well. After three full days of hunting with the pros and watching my sister make it half way to her slam, it was time to go home. With no other subspecies left for me to hunt it was time to face my arch rival head on. I had one last thing to do before I could head out for an Eastern; I had to head up to Advanced Taxidermy and deliver my sister Merriam bird. James (one of the Advanced boys) knew I still had my Eastern to kill so he put me in touch with John Hunt from Hunt T.V. After a few quick phone calls I was off with John, my dad and John’s camera crew to kill my Eastern.
The first morning was rather shaky, we were late getting in and the wind was howling. We moved to lower ground with no success. My heart was in my throat, was I ever going to kill an Eastern? The next day we tried a whole new place and setup. We were setup in a tree line on the edge of a field. My dad started to call, a gobbler answered. My heart starting pounding, my mouth went dry, I was shaking, I was coming down with “Buck Fever.” I had to calm down and fats, because that gobbler was coming. The gobbler came into sight about 100 yards away, and then a hen appeared. “Oh no” I screamed in my head. She was curious and mad, she came right to us and got to about twenty yards from me, I was terrified she was going to bust us. The gobbler was strutting and I could see him through a patch of leaves. I put my bead on him and squeezed my trigger; he got hit, but not fatally. He began to run; I jumped up and pounded him twice. He was down, I couldn’t breathe. I started to run for him and passed out, the excitement was overwhelming. I regained my composure and went over to my bird; my sixth and final turkey for my world slam.
