When the strutting longbeard moved, almost danced, one yard closer, I knew that was as far as he would come.  His two companions had already turned to leave, and as I sighted down the barrel, I thought about what had happened the last time I held this shotgun.

 

One year prior, in the same swamp, I called a turkey into range, or so I thought, and shot not once, but twice, knocking the bird down each time only to have him get up and fly away, along with my hopes of tagging an Osceola.

 

Had I misjudged the distance or was I just unfamiliar with the shotgun?  Looking back now, if I’m honest, I realize that the answer was most likely both.

 

So, how was it that I found myself in the swamps of Florida shooting an unfamiliar shotgun in the first place?  Furthermore, why would I do it again?  The simple answer is friendship.  The more complicated answer is honor and respect.

 

When it comes to turkey hunting, I’ve only had two mentors, my father-in-law, Billy “Pop” Hull, and one of my best friends, Steve Brown.  I’ve learned a lot about turkey hunting from many great turkey hunters over the years, but this duo gets the credit for making me a turkey hunter.

 

Pop called in my first turkey and taught me the basics of the sport.  Steve took that instruction to the next level.  To use a Star Wars reference, Pop was my “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” and Steve was my “Yoda.”  In fact, I’ve often referred to him as the “Turkey Hunting Yoda.”

 

During our pre-trip planning last year, Steve asked if I had ever shot a turkey with his shotgun.  When I told him that I had not, he explained that very few people other than himself had ever shot a bird with “Betsy.”

 

Steve retired his beloved shotgun years ago when he made the transition to bowhunting only — for everything from turkeys to bears.  It was an honor that I couldn’t turn down.  There’s not a turkey hunter that I respect more than Brown, and I suspect there are very few guns out there that have taken as many gobblers as “Betsy.”

 

That explains how friendship, honor and respect found me carrying another man’s gun into the swamps of South Florida.  However, after I missed last year, I realized that I should have picked up the gun prior to the trip and spent a little time shooting it.

 

As part of my normal routine prior to turkey season, I shoot my shotgun to make sure that it’s ready to go.  Last season I failed to shoot Betsy prior to the trip, and I paid the price for that mistake by returning home from the swamp empty-handed.

 

I promised myself that I would never make the same mistake again.  Unfortunately, I failed to make good on that promise.  In my defense, I had no plans to hunt in Florida this spring; however, those plans changed when, as luck would have it, I was fortunate enough to draw a reissue tag.

When I told Steve, you guessed it, he asked me to redeem myself with Betsy, and that’s how I found myself looking down her barrel at a strutting Osceola again this season without having shot her in advance of the trip.  Hopefully, I prayed, the outcome would be better this time.

 

When the strutting gobbler raised his head to look for the hen he had been hearing, Steve’s words of advice about his trusty Remington 870 echoed in my mind: “Be sure to draw a fine bead with Betsy.”

 

I did just that and a few seconds later I stood celebrating, gobbler in hand.  I had redeemed myself with Betsy, but little did I know, I had also set a record with her.  When Steve paced off the yards after our celebration, he said with a smile, “58 yards! You now hold the record for the longest shot with Betsy.”

 

I’ve mentioned previously that turkey hunters form a special bond with their shotguns, and often those relationships result in a name being bestowed.  Steve named his favorite turkey gun after Davy Crockett’s “Betsy.”

 

Betsy and I bonded over the past two seasons.  I liken it to dating.  Our first year was rocky, the relationship was touch and go, but over the course of several “dates” in the swamp we came together.  In the process, we learned a lot about one another.

My Benelli SBEII, “Bella,” gets her name from her Italian heritage.  I loaned Bella to friend Chris McElroy on this trip, after a couple of misses with his gun, and she helped him take his first Osceola.  I think there’s an important lesson in the fact that two turkeys were taken by two hunters, each using another man’s gun.

 

Turkey hunters in general are a quirky lot, and I’ve yet to meet one that isn’t strongly attached to his or her shotgun.  If another turkey hunter is willing to let you use his gun or, in the case of Steve and “Betsy,” wants you to use his gun, you can rest assured that the friendship is authentic.

 

On the drive home from Florida a fact came to mind that I hadn’t thought about.  The first turkey that I ever shot, the turkey that Pop called in for me years ago on an island in the Tenn-Tom Waterway, I shot using his gun.  I have a wealth of turkey hunting memories, but these I will always treasure–two mentors, two shotguns, two turkeys.

 

Until next time, here’s to the mentors that shape us, to the friendships that stand the test of time and to the shotguns deserving of a name, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.