Opposition in all things is necessary for growth. 

As the prophet Lehi taught his son, “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so, my first born in the wilderness, righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad. Wherefore, all things must needs be a compound in one.”

Life brings this principle into all lives, but certain things seem to include their own special dose of opposition, and after having hunted spring gobbler for almost four weeks without success, there was little doubt in my mind that spring gobbler hunting is all about opposition which includes failure, frustration, doubt, self-loathing, sleep deprivation and most of all, ‘Why am I doing this to myself?’

A very good question.

So, I knew this year would more than likely be a battle with the odds stacked heavily on the gobbler’s side. Unfortunately, I was right. 

Gobblers gobbled on the roost, flew down and shut up. Areas the birds gobbled in two weeks earlier went strangely silent. If a bird was vocal, other hunters were making your life difficult. 

It’s amazing the things people do and the rather obvious mistakes they make that only wise the long beard up. Occasionally, they actually bag the turkey, and now you have to find another active bird that isn’t being harassed. 

Not that easy; not that easy.

Of course, things don’t always go your way, even if a bird comes in. I was pinned down by a sharp-eyed jake, unable to move while a big gobbler strutted only 30 yards away. 

I hate jakes, by the way. They’re always ruining your hunt, they’re like gobbler watch dogs.

Another time, the gobbler flew down and took forever to come in. Finally, my arm and hand fell asleep from holding the gun up. 

The pain and weakness from lack of blood flow became so bad I simply had to drop the shotgun and, of course, the gobbler saw that and ran. It took 15 minutes for my hand to come back to life.

A week visiting my family, a post-COVID get together in Rhode Island when I couldn’t hunt, then back home Monday and anxiously back in the woods Tuesday morning. 

Scott Neely, in the hospital and very sick, told me of a place he had last heard a gobbler, and daylight found me on that point as dawn broke. Scott was thrilled I’d be hunting the bird as he couldn’t stand the thought of knowing it was there and not being able to do anything about it.

He’d be with me vicariously this morning.

Dawn streaked the sky with crimson slashes, but the left side of the point was silent. So, I crossed over to the left and immediately heard a gobble. 

Suddenly, the eight-hour drive back home and the 4 a.m. sunrise was worth it, as electric shocks coursed through my body! Gobbles do that to me.

The old trail I was on dipped down toward the gobbler, but if I stayed on it, I’d be seen. I found a way through the blackberry bushes and climbed 20 yards up the very steep hillside.

I couldn’t see well, but I didn’t dare move past that point for fear of being spotted. I set up in a little hollow, the hillside was too steep to sit by a tree and tried to compose myself. 

The bird gobbled at any little noise, woodpeckers, crows, blue jays and on his own. I clucked four or five times to let him know I was there and shut up. Two birds gobbled and then I heard either a jake or a boss hen call sparingly.   

I waited patiently and the birds went silent. Had he flown down? If he had a jealous hen, I certainly didn’t want to call, she’d head in the opposite direction. So, I waited.

Time crawled. Then, through a tiny opening in the trees, I saw a turkey on the trail 100 yards away. 

The bird began walking in my direction. Then, I saw a second, and finally a third cross. I saw them again at 75 yards and the last turkey fanned out. 

I made up my mind that I’d shoot that bird if possible.

I’d turned downhill, raised the gun and gotten comfortable when they were furthest away. My heart hammered as they drew steadily closer. 

Then a turkey stepped into an opening 35 yards away. It was a jake, and he spotted my shape immediately. I couldn’t believe it. Their eyesight is phenomenal. 

I remained motionless and the jake did a little circle, almost turning back, but then continued on. 

Whew, that was a close one. 

The next bird was a jake also, and when the third stepped into the opening, I saw a short but thick beard. 

I clucked twice, the head came up and I squeezed. The shotgun roared, but I never felt the recoil, I only saw the shot smack the head and neck. The bird collapsed.

To some it may have only been a turkey, but to me it was as if an impossible dream had suddenly come true. Despite four weeks of opposition, I’d finally scored. 

It wasn’t as if I’d shot a gobbler. It felt as if I’d just climbed Mount Everest.