I was talking recently with a turkey-hunting friend about his season — or more precisely, the woes of his season. According to his own analysis, he is “snakebit.” Nothing has gone right for him in the turkey woods, and by nothing, I mean nothing.

“I can’t even pick the right place to sit down,” he explained after telling me about a recent hunt where he and a friend had the opportunity to double when not one, but three gobblers came to their calls. The only problem was that he was sitting on the wrong side of his buddy and couldn’t get a shot. He could only watch as his counterpart shot one of the three longbeards, and the other two flew away.

“Have you ever had this kind of season?” he asked.

“You bet I have,” I replied, adding, “I’ve had many of them.” When I was a neophyte turkey hunter, it seemed that I could do nothing right, other than spook the gobblers that I was lucky enough to encounter. For years, I consoled myself with this statement: “It’s not about the turkeys.”

The experience of hearing a turkey gobble or getting him “almost” in range was what mattered most. Being out there was enough, I reasoned and reassured myself.

Over the years, I have come to understand that for me as well as every other dedicated member of the Tenth Legion who calls himself or herself a turkey hunter, it is always about the turkey. Why else would we endure the sleep deprivation and the mental anguish of being schooled and outsmarted, day after day, by a bird with a brain roughly the size of a walnut?

So, is it about the turkey or not? To solve this dilemma, I would like to propose an amended version of the original statement. It reads as follows: “It’s always about the turkey, but it’s also about the people and the places.”

For me, one of the most meaningful things about turkey hunting is that as great as it is as a solo endeavor, it is even better when shared with others.

At some point in life, we finally begin to realize that the most precious commodity we have is time. Unfortunately, it often takes the loss of someone we deeply care about before we have this great awakening.

Every season since his loss, I have carried one of Billy “Pop” Hull’s calls with me on every hunt. I’ve even gone as far wearing his old camo. I don’t need either, as I can feel him with me on every hunt, but it makes me smile to know that in some small way, he’s still calling up turkeys for me just like he did in that Alabama canebrake many years ago.

I also make it a point each season to get a hunt in with as many of my friends as possible. Thus far this turkey season, I have been able to share hunts with my son, Dan, my nephew Billy and one of my turkey-hunting mentors, Steve Brown. I consider each of these hunts a treasure.

Our relationships are treasures. I was reminded of this in church a few weeks ago. In his sermon, which was not about the turkeys, Father Walton Jones emphasized the importance of love and relationships in this life. That message has resonated with me since hearing it.

In the amended statement proposed earlier, I also mentioned the places we hunt. As I wrote about last month, hunting a new area is exciting; however, there is also something special about chasing gobblers on familiar ground.

Originally, Dan and I were scheduled to be hiking on the Appalachian Trail when opening day arrived here in Mississippi. When a winter storm knocked us out of hiking the section we had planned in North Carolina, I must admit that I was bummed out.

Fortunately, turkey season was opening in just a few days, and although I longed to be on the trail with Dan, a turkey hunt or two here at home as a substitute proved to be just the relief I needed for my “no hiking” pain.

Walking in that first morning was a good feeling, and walking out with a turkey over my shoulder felt even better. A few weeks later as I made the walk in with my nephew Billy, I thought about the countless number of times I had walked the same road with his grandfather, his father and Dan.

The walk never gets old as the farm is a special place for me, a place that holds so many great memories. Little Billy and I walked out that day without a turkey, but it was still one of my favorite hunts.

This realization brought me back full circle to the, “It’s not about the turkeys,” statement. However, when I received a call from an out-of-breath Billy a few days later letting me know he had just gotten his first gobbler while hunting alone, I realized I was right — it is all about the turkeys (and the people and the places).

Until next time, I look forward to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.

Email outdoors columnist Brad Dye at braddye@comcast.net.