When the email alert popped up on my phone last Tuesday, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  It was a notification about a turkey hunt in Florida, and I didn’t even have to open it to see the one word that mattered—Congratulations!

 

To be honest, I had resigned myself to that fact that I wouldn’t be making the trip to South Florida to hunt this season.  I had made the trip down for the season-opener the past several years in a row and, frankly, I had grown accustomed to going.  It had been a good run, I told myself.

 

As I listened to friends discuss their plans and where they would be hunting on opening morning, I consoled myself with a healthy dose of “maybe-next-years.”  I was fine.  No, I wasn’t.

 

I was pouting more with every detail that I heard.  It felt like 1986.  I was a sophomore in high school, Bon Jovi was coming to Memphis on the “Slippery When Wet” Tour, and I was the only person not going.  I would walk the halls the next morning without a concert t-shirt, the dreaded walk of shame.

Fortunately, all that changed with one email on Tuesday.  I’m no longer an outsider looking in for the opening weekend of turkey season in America (Florida’s South Zone is the first to open in the U.S. and by the way, I made it to see Bon Jovi in ’86).

 

The email was followed by multiple calls and texts.  First to my wife (cleared to go—check), then to my son (schedule clear to tag along—check), then to my partner at work (can you cover these appointments while I’m gone—check), then to my boss (can I take off these days—check).  South Florida, here we come!

 

Logistically, there’s a lot to pull together in a couple of weeks to pull this off, but it’s a challenge that I’m up to meeting.  I’ve developed a packing list over the years that’s tailored to where I’m hunting.  The South Florida list is about as streamlined and solid as any that I’ve created.

 

I spent some time over the weekend assessing what we have and what we need, and, with a little luck, everything should be here and ready by early next week, which is good as we’ll need to leave heading down early on the morning of the 27th.

 

On that note, I’ve also spent a lot of time since the fortuitous email arrived in my inbox thinking about luck.  Perhaps my good fortune came in the form of a payback, an offset for the bad luck that we had in the Sunshine State last year.

 

From day one, it seemed that we were snakebit.  Where we were hunting, as is the case in much of Florida, required the use of a boat.  Within the first 24 hours alone, we experienced no less than three motor failures.

 

Our group then proceeded to have one missed opportunity after another to the point that I was beginning to become concerned.  Finally, I felt as if the curse that was on us lifted, when I called in a fine Osceola longbeard for my friend Jamie Thomas, his first.

 

Watching that bird come strutting and gobbling across a pasture bordered by cypress and oak hammocks was the highlight of the trip.  It was also the high point of the expedition as shortly thereafter, the hex was once again upon us.

 

That afternoon I called a giant Osceola out of the swamp through a beautiful hardwood hammock and then proceeded to shoot at him twice–knocking him down both times–only to have him fly away along with my hopes of leaving with a trophy gobbler over my shoulder that day.

We were on turkeys all day every day for the remaining days of our hunt and each day consisted of one missed opportunity after another.  If it could go wrong, it seems that it did on that trip, including flipping the boat and a couple members of our party — Jamie included — ending up in the river, guns and all.

 

Were it not for Jamie getting his first Osceola on day two, the long ride back to Mississippi would have seemed painfully much longer.  As it was, his success, and the smile on his face when he got his bird, gave us the ability to laugh about all our turkey hunting trials and tribulations.

 

I know that many of you don’t believe in luck and that’s fine.  I’m with you when it comes to most things.  However, turkey hunting isn’t one of those things.  You won’t catch me in the woods without my lucky Red Sox hat and at least one lucky turkey call.

 

Maybe my luck in getting a spot at the last moment this year was some sort of cosmic payback for our run of bad luck last year.  Maybe it was providential.  Maybe it was random, the luck of the draw.  Whatever the case, I’m thankful, and I’m not taking any chances.

 

Last year, I fell asleep the night before opening morning with the thought that if Jamie got his bird, it would be a successful trip.  Next Friday night, my intention is to fall asleep with thoughts of going 4 for 4 with every member of our group getting a gobbler.

 

Would it be tempting fate to also ask that we tag out early?  I’m not going to push it.  I’m also not going to take any chances.  I’ll be heading into the swamp with my lucky Sox cap, a few lucky turkey quarters, and an extra lucky turkey call (or three) in my vest.  It can’t hurt!

 

Until next time, here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.