The fog was thick that morning. On our walk in through the soggy bottomland, what Pop had always called the “reed brake,” and up the rain-slicked hill to our listening spot, I had reasoned that the turkeys would gobble later in the morning, if they gobbled at all. I was wrong.

Opening day had been a washout. It had started pouring before dawn and didn’t let up until late afternoon. Saturday would be our opening day, and I spent a great deal of time Friday night pondering where we should be at first light.

The 2023 turkey season at our small family tree farm in Winston County had pretty much been a washout as well. The pines had needed thinning for some time, and when our forester called to say that he had finally found a crew to do it and a mill that would take the timber, we jumped at the chance.

There was only one problem. The thinning would need to be done in March and April and, since the logging crew was a smaller operation, that would mean the entirety of those months.

We got on a few birds last year, but our hunting was basically limited to weekends when the thinning crew was off. When we did find turkeys, the birds were skittish at best what with logging equipment rolling five days out of the week. When May rolled around, I was one frustrated turkey hunter.

In May and June, I found several nests that had been destroyed during the thinning which only added to my frustration. However, our scouting through the summer and into fall led me to believe that we still had a good hatch despite the logging.

Throughout deer season, my hopes were bolstered by the groups of turkeys Dan and I were seeing during our hunts. Seeing those birds gave me the reassurance that Turkey Season 2024 held great promise.

Aside from the poult sightings during the summer and the groups of birds we had witnessed throughout the winter, I was excited about the upcoming turkey season for another reason. Dan would be home to share it with me.

I’ve always considered time with my children invaluable, especially time together in the outdoors. Over the years, Dan and I have shared some great turkey hunts, and the memories of those hunts are priceless treasures to me.

Dan’s recent acceptance to Virginia Theological Seminary means that he will be leaving for Alexandria, VA, in time for the fall semester and, in the interim, I plan to make as many memories with him as possible. Little did I know that our brumous “opening morning” would become the first.

Standing beside Dan in the soupy gloaming Saturday, I almost jumped when a raucous gobble broke the morning silence around 6:45. We both smiled. Quickly, we slipped through the thinned pines and stealthily made our way up the hill to set up.

My soft yelps on an Adam Stewart aluminum pot call were greeted by the distinct drumming of this king of spring and before I could see the longbeard or his harem of hens, I heard Dan click off the safety on his shotgun. At the report of the Benelli, the flock of turkeys burst into the air like a covey of giant quail and, almost instantaneously, I heard a second “BOOM” erupt.

In his excitement, Dan had missed both shots at the strutting tom. As we stood surveying the scene, it hit me that I had been sitting at the base of the same tree that Dan had been sitting against in 2012 when he shot his first longbeard, the gobbler we had nicknamed “Sherwin Williams.” As we walked out Saturday morning I replayed the vivid memories of that special hunt in my mind.

After a quick lunch, Dan and I resumed our hunt exactly where we had left it. After getting settled in around 2 p.m., I scratched out a raspy string of yelps on an Andy Duvall crystal pot call and scanned our surroundings. Within minutes, Dan’s eyes caught movement.

A nice longbeard had crested a small rise near our setup and he was quickly followed by another. As I reached for my shotgun, two more huge gobblers joined the party and made their way in our direction.

Dan drew a bead on the largest bird in the group and dropped him with a load of HEVI-Shot at 20 yards. I followed suit doing the same with a payload of TSS. At that point, we sat back and watched the show as the two remaining longbeards jumped on their downed companions and throttled our jake decoy.

When the birds finally left, we silently celebrated our first father-and-son “double,” and as we knelt to admire our two longbeards I put my arm around Dan’s shoulder and prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for the turkeys and for our time together.

As I prayed, it hit me that in a few years Dan would become “Father Dan.” One day in the not-too-distant future, Lord willing, he will pray with me and for me in his church and I will take Communion from his hands, the hands that presently held me, and rested on a couple of beautiful wild turkeys. I couldn’t help but smile through the tears.

Until next time, here’s to the memories, to the hunt, and to the precious gift of time, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.