I’ve put off writing about shooting my first turkey for weeks now. I should’ve written about the hunt right away, but I wanted to wait until the bird was cooked so I could share some photos of the end product: turkey dinner.
I wanted to wait because people seem to get hung up on the killing part of hunting, missing the real point: food. I thought if I waited until I could show photos of the cooked bird maybe some people would understand why I and many others choose to hunt.
Here’s dinner, which fed my wife, mom and two friends (OK, there was a ham in there too, but still, my bird – all six pounds – was the centre piece).
The shot
What hunting is all about.
Shooting dinner was a great moment. It felt like I had tunnel vision: nothing but the shotgun, the sight and the turkey.
I shot my bird on a friend’s farm. Junior lives in the Slocan Valley and has generously opened his property, and the access to the Crown land behind it, up to me.
I went into the hills above his farm first, but saw nothing. The birds were waiting for me in his pasture. I’d unloaded my 12-gauge shotgun as I approached his fenced in property and watched the birds eat, mingling with Junior’s sheep. The turkeys, three hens and about a dozen grown chicks, pecked at the grass and ignored me.
I went down to chat with Junior, busy building his new chicken coop, and he told I’d better go shoot one of those turkeys “or else.” We watched them go up the hill and back down to where I first saw them.
I circled around the outbuildings, back into the field and reloaded. The birds came around the outbuilding and the sheep stayed away. I picked out my hen and waited for her to separate from the flock so I could take a shot.
They moved within 10 yards of me and I shouldered my shotgun but kept it pointed at the ground. The birds saw me but weren’t alarmed and moved closer.
The flock started to split into two with my hen in the middle. My shotgun came up and I looked along the barrel, looking at my bird beyond the rounded bead on the muzzle.
The bead moved towards the turkey’s head and suddenly everything locked into place. The bead was on the head, there were no other turkeys within the blast radius and my finger pulled the trigger. It was almost like tunnel vision. I had such a sense of clarity that this was the moment to shoot. There was no doubt or hesitation and I hardly knew I’d pulled the trigger when the shotgun roared.
My hen spun and dropped to the ground, motionless. The other turkeys ran up the hill, their alarmed clucks and chirps filling the air. I pumped the action on my firearm and watched the turkey I shot, but it wasn’t getting up.
I worked the action twice more, ejecting the rest of the shells and made my way up to the turkey. This’ll sound like I’m bragging, but it was a hell of a shot. The buckshot had torn off the top of the turkey’s head and the brains were nowhere to be seen. Anything that had made that animal peck through the grass, cluck, or do anything else had moved on to whatever’s next.
I still marvel at that experience. At one moment it was an animal and the next it was raw material for turkey dinner.
As I picked up the body it started to twitch, flapping its wings as the shattered remains of the nervous system reacted to my touch.
I’ve gotten used to the twitching. Everything twitches, it seems. I’ve chased down a headless chicken and seen a skinned, gutted sheep carcass twitch while hanging on the hooks. I suspect this is one of the big reasons people don’t like to get involved in killing their food. The notion that the animal is suffering that long isn’t appealing to be sure, but it isn’t.
What else is there to write?
I’d planned to write more. About the plucking and gutting, but those were pretty pedestrian tasks in food production. I started this post with a desire to capture that moment of shooting the turkey. It’s not the killing that’s important, but that moment of clarity. That lack of doubt about what to do next.
I’m reminded now of the first snowshoe hare I shot. Then, as with this fall, there was no doubt about the course of action.
I wish people who judge hunters could understand these aspects of hunting: the clarity and the end product of a full dinner table.
There’s more to write about this topic, but I’ll save that for another day.
Nice shootin’, Luke. Rachel commented it was too bad you weren’t a worse shot or you might have shot more than one. So many turkeys.
And just to be clear, I think my words were, “If you don’t shoot a turkey, I’ll shoot you myself.”
They must know hunting season is over. One walked into my garage the other day. I could have wrung her neck.
Wonderful, engaging piece. Nice description. You captured what I imagine is the primeval moment of hunting one’s food. That said, how did he bird taste?
Thanks, Mark. The bird was good, though a little dry. I blame a faulty meat thermometer, not the bird itself. It was, after all, draped in bacon!
Thanks, Chris. We need more de-mystifying of hunting and gun use/ownership in general. The Lady’s Night at the Nelson Rod and Gun Club has been doing a good job of the latter two.
Thank you, Mike.
I still hope to get a buck this season and I go snowshoe hare hunting for much of the winter. I’ll write about all that as well.
Sounds like an instant death. Nice work and strangely inspiring. It’s only a shame you over cooked the turkey. My secret is to put stuffing under the skin and not inside the bird (for a small bird you could put the extra stuffing inside otherwise just an apple is good). I guess a working thermometer would help too.
Thanks, Rik. I suppose I hope my writing about hunting to be inspiring. It’s really a remarkable activity. Handling these powerful tools, finding the animal, and then preparing the carcass for consumption. It’s so basic yet so removed from our everyday life.
I took up hunting this year, but have previously hunted – years ago, when I was a kid. Today was my 5th hunting expedition this year. I have gone out three times with my experienced hunting buddy, and twice with my dad. So far, I have seen 4 grizzly, 2 large black bears, no elk, and only the white tail of a Whitetail. Not ideal – I’m wanting a Whitetail buck to put a decent amount of meat in the freezer for the winter. We saw so much trail and sign today, but no animals!
Still, I can’t really complain, as I have had a great time out in the backcountry, and how often can you safely sit 60 meters from a group of grizzly bears anyway?
Sounds like a great day, Mike! I’m looking forward to getting out with the snow. Sure makes finding tracks easier.