“Whether you think you can, or think you can’t — you’re right.” – Henry Ford

 

The Seminole wind was unrelenting.  It had escalated from a pleasant breeze mid-morning to a gusty palm and palmetto rattling force by noon and had continued throughout the day.

 

It was the last day of our four-day hunt, and I held the only remaining tag.  I had called a nice Osceola in for my son Dan on opening day and within 30 minutes, sitting in the same spot and with Dan’s longbeard hanging in a tree behind us, I had managed to call in another.

 

The second gobbler had a beard that, even at eighty yards, looked like a tugboat hawser as he stood gobbling in the direction of the soft clucks and purrs coming from my yellowheart crystal pot call.

 

Unfortunately, we wouldn’t get a closer look at this Prince of the Palmettos thanks to the sounds of a fake crow call that erupted from behind our position just as the longbeard was about to come into range.

 

In my humble opinion, nothing sounds phonier in the woods than a plastic crow call.  It seems obvious to me, and it was to the gobbler as well as he turned and walked away.

 

In “A River Runs Through It,” author Norman Maclean wrote that he was “haunted by waters.”  Over my years as a turkey hunter, it seems that I am “haunted by fake crow callers.”

 

In fact, this is the second time in Florida that a gobbling turkey headed in my direction has been spooked away by the plasticized voice of a crow impersonator.  I don’t understand the logic. The turkey was already gobbling and there was an abundance, perhaps even a murder, of real crows cawing.

 

As my hopes of tagging out on opening day retreated into an oak hammock on the opposite side of the dry creek bed, I sat calmly and allowed the thoughts of murder — the caller, not the crows — drift from my mind.  Oh well, at least Dan had gotten his gobbler.

 

Our friends in turkey camp, Chris McElroy and Steve Brown, would follow suit on Monday morning, Chris taking his longbeard with my shotgun and Steve with his Mathews bow.

 

After missing two different turkeys on separate days, Chris was, to say the least, a bit frustrated.  He had also developed a lack of confidence in his shotgun.  I hoped loaning him my gun would provide him with a fresh perspective.

 

When the opportunity presented itself early the next morning, Chris was ready, and my trusty Benelli, “Bella,” delivered.  Turkey hunters and wing shooters alike form special bonds with their guns, but that’s a story for another day.

 

For now, I want to go back to that aforementioned fresh perspective.  It was lesson one of three important life lessons that Florida turkey camp provided me with this year, the lesson that often a fresh perspective is all that’s needed to be successful.

 

Lessons two and three came on the last day of our hunt.  With everyone else tagged out, it would have been easy for me to feel the pressure of tagging out as well.  However, I reminded myself I really wasn’t even supposed to be here.

 

I had been lucky enough to have drawn a reissue tag for the hunt, and that had only happened through Steve’s persistence and diligence.  He had made sure I was entered into the drawing each week.

Now, on the last day of a four-day hunt, with negative thoughts like, “you’re not going to get one,” and “everyone is tagged out but you,” trying to creep in, I was reminded of the Henry Ford quote: “Whether you think you can, or think you can’t—you’re right.”

 

It became my mantra throughout the day, and that was lesson two—keep a positive mindset; attitude is everything.  When three gobblers passed by that morning at 30 yards without a clean shot, I repeated Ford’s words, and when the light, cool breeze became a steady howling wind, I repeated it again.

 

I kept that positive mindset right up until around four o’clock when, with the wind still gusting, I turned to Steve and uttered the words of my dad’s longtime coon hunting buddy, Mr. Bud, “Is it time to piss on the fire and call in the dogs?”

 

It had been a long day, and I was frustrated by the conditions.  I wanted to call it quits.  Steve looked me straight in the eyes and said, “We’re not leaving until you get a turkey, or it gets dark.”  It was all that I needed to hear.

 

I settled back in, the wind began to die down, and at around 4:45  p.m., I thought I could hear a turkey drumming.  Sure enough, within minutes the heads of two gobblers appeared, followed by another strutting and drumming longbeard.  They had finally heard our calls.

 

Not seeing a hen, the two lead toms turned to walk away, but the strutter came another yard closer.  It was his last mistake.  I steadied for the shot and dropped the trophy Osceola at 58 steps with a magnum load of TSS.

 

It was a long shot, but I felt confident, and the bird was coming no closer.  Fortunately, it paid off.  Standing in the cypress head, bird in hand, I let out a whoop of celebration.

 

Steve ran toward me with a smile and my empty shell.  It was his persistence that had me here in the first place and had, at the end, kept me in the game.  Lesson three came to me in that moment of jubilation—be that friend, the friend who persists and pulls you through when things get tough.

 

I’ve always said that I learn something new each time that I enter the turkey woods.  That certainly held true on this trip, and these lessons are applicable to everyday life, both personal and business, as well.

 

Until next time, here’s to fresh perspectives, to focusing on the positive, to being the friend who’s needed when the chips are down, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.