"My Valentine Turkey"

A Nebraska Turkey Hunt with North American Bowhunter:

Over the telephone, the plan sounded airtight! Travel to Valentine, Nebraska to hunt with the famous North American Bowhunter crew and take my first wild turkey with a bow, on video.

Rumor had it that there were tons of birds and nary a one was particularly bright. Yes, a very neat idea, indeed! And all I had to do was show up.

Of course, I’d heard that line before. Probably even used it a few times myself, only it never really seemed to happen that way. At least not so far, anyway. Still, I was dead set on finding out, so it was north to Nebraska.

Dan and Ike’s grinning faces beamed when I finally made it to Valentine, and even that disturbing sight was welcome after 3 days on the road. First they staged a brief practice shoot to verify that I could at least hit the broad side of a target at 20 yards before they’d haul me out to the ranch. Once there, we’d locate our ambush site and put up blinds for the following day’s hunt. Both of which would prove the smoothest elements of the trip. Actually getting close enough for a shot, well, that would be another matter.

Left - This is the 2-man, double bull archery blind that we used on our hunt. My chair plus 1 hunter fit comfortably and we had plenty of room to maneuver once I got set up inside.

They didn't know what hit 'em!

We reached the ranch within 30 minutes. It was a vast spread of low hills and rolling plains, scantily populated by isolated stands of hardwood trees. Topping the first rise, we found what we were looking for. A rafter of nearly 15 Merriam turkeys milled around, right out in the open, exactly where they were supposed to be. This was going to be easier than I thought.

By the 3rd day, however, I had an entirely new respect for the "Thanksgiving bird". Being burned 3 hunts in a row will do that to a hunter. And also because the gobblers didn’t simply avoid our decoys and calls, they had a frustrating knack of passing by, just out of range. Worse yet, they seemed to be very smug about doing it. They would pass within plain sight, cackling and strutting as if only to taunt, "We’re right here guys. Catch us if you can."
This didn’t feed our egos much, but it certainly was motivational. After watching our quarry follow the same route to roost for 2 consecutive evenings, Dan, Ike and I agreed on a new ambush tactic. The stakeout was moved! In the face of a gushing northwest wind, we moved our blind to the end of a row of large round bales, a bit closer to the birds' path. Thirty steps away, the South Dakota/ Nebraska line lay. It was a barbed-wire barrier that marked my "shoot"-"don’t shoot" zone. There we waited, bracing ourselves against the strong wind.
None of the 3 large toms that first approached that evening noticed anything unusual as they neared the roost. Nor did any of them detect the low-profile of the Double Bull Archery blind blending into the landscape. They also missed the sudden rippling in one of its windows. Ripples that brought the murmured tones inside to an abrupt halt and sent two men scrambling into the ready position. One window dropped, then a second, ...undetected. Cold air flooded our tent as 2 more hens poked into view along the fence, trailed by another amorous tom. I watched as the first 3 toms passed by, deep within the safety of the South Dakota side. Could yet another near miss be possible? I hoped not.
Suddenly, a fourth gobbler popped into view, stopping to eye the decoys on the opposite side of the fence. I could register no noise now except for whir of the sweeping prairie grass and the faint clucks of preoccupied hens. All my attention focused on one thing. As the handsome tom weighed his opprtunity, he turned again to check the other birds, then, without warning, he hopped between the 2nd and 3rd strands of barbed wire and came across. He headed right for my kill zone.
A muffled thump from my bowstring sent the Rocket Sledgehammer tipped arrow to its mark as the stunned turkey exploded into motion upon impact. It immediately became airborne, laboring to clear the fence, only to crash to the ground three seconds later. It hit the ground running, taking half a dozen staggering steps before settling into the tall prairie grass. I watched its head slowly sink out of sight as the big bird went to sleep for the very last time. The hunt was over! And I had, as been promised, taken my first wild turkey with a bow.