Turkey Season in Indiana

Where there is a will, there is a way...

Turkey season 2023 was destined to be a great one!  I had places and tags lined up for some fun hunts in the Midwest, and Indiana was going to be a public land extravaganza, at least in my mind!

Semi-emergency surgery on March 30 changed all of that. I sadly had issues with Crohn’s disease and had to have a pretty major operation to repair my badly scarred colon. I was devastated, as one can imagine.  I would rather hunt turkeys than any other game, and I had hoped to make it until after season to have the work done.  I knew that a big abdominal surgery would limit me, and I am almost always a compliant patient and I would make no exceptions about that post operatively.  

Surgery was thankfully successful!  I was walking right away and got home within 3 days. I had a 10” scar on my lower abdomen, and my doctor understood how badly I wanted to turkey hunt.  It’s all I could talk about once he cleared me to go home.  We worked out a deal - as long as I was able to limit my weight to 10 pounds or less I could hunt as long as I had somebody to carry out my bird. 

By opening morning I had scouted a farm of a dear friend and there was a gobbler in the area!  He hadn’t seen turkeys there for awhile so I was excited. I had an idea of where he roosted because I was listening for a few days before season opener. 

Of course I didn’t sleep on opening day evening, and as soon as I could I got dressed and headed out to the farm. I arrived early enough to go slowly, so I paced my way into the woods, gingerly guarding my 3 week old scar, and found a good listening tree. I was grateful because my wonderful bride had agreed to drive the 45 minute trek to carry out a bird if I was blessed to have the opportunity to shoot! 

That first gobble was absolutely thunderous, and he was about 300 yards away on the opposite ridge. This was going to be a challenge, because since surgery I hadn’t walked a whole lot on rough terrain.  That second gobble, however, got me up and tiptoeing toward the sound.  It was past gray light so I was careful to stay as hidden as I could. I looped up and around the ridge I was on and crested a small hill.  I quickly scanned and sat down in between two fallen trees. It was a perfect hide and setup.  I could rest my old Winchester on a tree and avoid hurting my cut and healing abdominal muscles. 

The next gobble had me responding with my ghost cut Pinhoti mouth call, the only call I carried since I was weight conscious.  Light but excited tree yelps when he gobbled got him facing me; I could not see him but his gobble got loud for the next several gobbles. My heart began to race so I allowed my calling to match my heartbeat. A flydown cackle was the final call I made and his gobble cut me off. I waited. And waited.  He went silent.  I could hear my pulse and had to force my breathing to be even and as relaxed as I could be. 

I never heard him fly down so I decided to scratch leaves around me. The explosion of sound 80 yards away from that old Tom almost scared the breath right out of me! 

I heard footsteps and suddenly that bobbing  white head came into view. I watched him creep up the hillside long enough to put the bead where it belonged and let my hand loaded 20 gauge shot string hit the open air!

He folded without a flop, and I eased out of my hide and went to see my beautiful prize!  I was shaking as I called my bride to jump in her truck and head out. Her sleepy answer of, “I’m on my way” had a tinge of excitement for me. She wasn’t happy that I was hunting so soon after surgery, but she knows me well. 

The 45 minutes it took for her to arrive was heavenly. I sat with my bird as the sun sliced through the spring green up and marveled at his colors. A deer slipped in and walked by at 10 yards, oblivious to my presence.   There was a peace and serenity that being forced to slow down gave me, and it was a lesson that I kept with me for the rest of the season and hope to for life. 

The time I spent walking out with my bride was priceless; she carried that bird as if he was the most prized possession she had, and we talked about the hunt and laughed at the craziness of us turkey hunters as that bird got heavier on her shoulders.  Her smile said it all, though, and even though she’s not a hunter, she became my biggest champion that day.  I cherish the picture of her with my bird much more than the posed one she took of me. 

That’s the day that I feel I became a true turkey hunter after 18 years of hunting turkeys. Why?  Because that’s the day my wife showed me her true love…her fear of bugs and ticks was outweighed by the excitement of sharing the triumph of a tough hunt that any other day would have been deemed “easy,” and we became an even tighter team than we ever could have imagined. 

Man, I love it!