A Turkey Hunter amid the Nazis

From T&TH Forum: “Calling vs Woodsmanship”

Even though I am on the pro-staff here and a few other places, I don’t claim to be an expert turkey hunter. What I claim to be is expert at being a beginning turkey hunter. What I do know is how hunt conservatively and not make beginner mistakes– well, most days. Based on that, I will say that having a few calls under your belt and a lot of common sense will trump fancy calling alone or paired with mediocre woodsmanship.

The reason I can give for this is best addressed by analogy. Let me give you a quick story. Back in ’38, my recently departed father was in Germany. Gramps wanted to get over and see things before it all hit the fan, and had dragged everyone over for one last trip. My Dad, although born here in Cincinnati, spoke German like a native. He was 12. He got to see first hand the worst pre-war Nazi Germany had to offer. He got invited to a book burning– the whole schmeer. It scared the snot out of him.

Playing with German kids was problematic. Because he was American, the native boys taunted him and spoke German around him like he did not understand them. He did, and what they said was intended to honk him off. Mostly he stayed to himself. Dad liked going to the movies– your typical American kid, spending all day Saturday at the theater. His folks told them that they thought the Germans would not allow him in a theater because he was under 21, but they said he could try.

He went to the local movie house and walked up to the ticket taker. He was a little nervous, and instead of asking if the theater would allow youths in, he asked if it would allow Jews– Juden instead of Jugend. Dad never fully described the ensuing mess, but it scarred him for life.
Gott in Himmel! Shaman you’ve actually managed to get Nazi’s into a discussion about turkey hunting!!! What’s next King Arthur?

Well, actually I did write a novel with King Arthur, Merlin, and Saints David and Dubricius all cast as dedicated turkey hunters, but that’s another very long story. I’ll stick with Nazis for now, thanks.

Okay, so how does this relate to turkey hunting? Simple. My Dad was just like your typical turkey hunter. He knows the language, he can speak perfect Hochdeutsche just like his mother. Still, he gets out with a bunch of natives, they treat him like a moron. Why? He’s a stranger.

What is more, Dad went his whole life sort of stuck between two linguistic worlds. German was spoken at his dinner table as a kid. English was added later. If you heard Dad, he came across as your All-American kind of guy. Still there were occasional twists and stumblings in his delivery. If you were around him long enough, you’d catch them. It was from growing up bi-lingual. Just as a weird aside, I grew up in a 100% English environment, but I have the same quirks– usually odd slurrings between words. I got rid of most of them in college, because I was studying to be in Broadcasting, but they still occasionally pop up. I picked them up from Dad. You can’t escape who you are or what you are, so stop trying. As a turkey hunter, that means stop thinking you can fool turkeys consistently. Put away that call. Get your butt down beside the next biggest tree and start acting like you are mulch.

At the theater, Dad was a little nervous. If he had grown up in that neighborhood, he would have known whether kids were allowed in. So being a stranger had him at a disadvantage from the outset. Hindsight is always 20-20, even in 1938. Dad could have scouted the theater out early or just been honest and explained he was a poor tourist. Dad was proud of his German and he was tired of being treated poorly.
He was probably a little nervous too. Dad frequently ranged over the whole north side of Cincinnati as a kid. I know the old movie house where he caught Frankenstein at age 4– it’s a good 2 miles from the house, and he would have had to have transferred streetcars. Still , this was a strange town with a bunch of foreigners and. . . well, there were freakin’ Nazis running around! Käse und Reis! It’s just a simple slip– Yooden? Yooten? Yoogen? Yoo . . .

Shaman!!! Come on, the game is coming on in a few hours. Can we cut to the chase?

Look, you can dress up in any camo you want. You can paint your shotgun. You can practice all winter being so still that the mice build nests in your beard. However, the minute you pull out that call and sound off, the neighbors are going to know there is a stranger in the woods.
Secondly, you may think you know the language, and you may think you are a hot caller, but sooner or later instead of what you think you’re saying, you’re going to spout off something like

” I want your cherry pop right now. I throw down your face in the dirt, and hurt me you bad. ”

I don’t know how subtle turkey language gets on the specifics, but you get my idea. The turkeys will either assume you are stupid, crazy, or human. If you’re lucky they may pick the former of the three options and ask you to undress and dance on the bar– oh yeah! You didn’t know that? That’s that last twist in the last gobble you hear just before the Putts start. That’s what that gobbler is asking you. Honest. Those other gobblers? They’re laughing at you. I just thought you would want to know.

Since you are going to be sounding at best from out of town (at worst from off-planet) and possibly sounding like you just walked off the short bus instead of a saucer, I would submit that the better thing to do is learn how to become part of the landscape. Don’t be obvious. Be invisible. Better yet, scout as much as you can and learn where the turkeys are going to be, hide somewhere on the way, use everything at your disposal to be on top of the situation. Then learn a few phrases you would expect from an idiot from outer space, like “I’ve lost my contact lens.” ” I need directions.” ” Which way to the bus station?” and don’t be too fancy. Learn to mumble. If the turkey thinks he hasn’t heard you straight, he may come closer and ask you to repeat yourself.

Dad got home in ’38 and served in WWII in the Pacific right at the end. He went on to have quite a life, and it included a lot of post-war traveling in Western Europe. Even though Dad never hunted turkey, you can say that Dad taught me what I know about turkey hunting. Get to where you are going early and have a look around. Find out where the locals go. Find the best seat. Get to know the staff by name. Wait until their heads are turned. Aim for where the neck joins the shoulders, don’t leave blood in the trunk of a rental car. . . er, well you get the idea.

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