On the Subject of Camo

https://www.kentuckyhunting.net/threads/camoflauge.178148/

I feel blessed that I live in a time where there is now an abundance of birds. Going out and finding a gobbler is not such a big deal anymore. I remember a time when just hearing a gobble was a victory. I can also attest to going the first twenty years thinking that a better camo or a better call would somehow provide the winning edge. I am here to tell you that there is no winning edge in turkey hunting except what is between your ears. Maddog Mattis once called it the most important 6 inches in the battlespace.

I don’t claim to be a master turkey hunter. At best, I am a master at being a beginning turkey hunter– been at it 40 years. I am definitely not an Old-School turkey hunter, although I have been accused of it at times. No, I’ve just been at it long enough that all the gimmicks and hoo-haws have been tried, found wanting, and discarded. If someone offered me something truly new that would make my turkey hunting easier, I’d snatch it up in a second. The problem is, that nothing on the outside can really change what’s on the inside– that 6 inches of the battlespace.

That is not completely true. What’s in my mind has been changed most spectacularly. It came from putting my back to an old oak tree wider than my shoulders and pulling on a box call and more importantly having the faith to attempt it. Hell, I’d tried every other gimmick, why not? The crazy thing is that It worked. Those birds’ brains really can’t figure out the gestalt. As long as I put myself in front of something bigger than me, and stay completely still, I just melt into the foliage. Folks that haven’t tried this have no idea how freeing that is.

I should have tried it a long time ago. Back even before I turkey hunted the first time, I was captain of a paintball team. It was back when they still called it “The Survival Game.” The guns were Daisy paint marking pistols. I had a guy named Bob that coordinated our defensive unit. Bob looked like a cross between Santa and Chester the Molester. He was old, he had bad knees, he didn’t move around much. Bob was also nearly impossible to hit. You could put Bob against a 6-inch sapling and he’d disappear. In scrimmages, I nearly stepped on him. Bob’s only “camo” was an Olive drab field jacket and some brown pants and a camo face net. However, in a game, he could easily take out half a dozen of us by positioning himself near a choke point and waiting. Bob’s winning edge was that he’d been hunting so long, he knew how to disappear.

Bob was the guy who went turkey hunting with me the first time. Me? I spent my first turkey hunt in a ham-handed attempt at trying to cover as much ground as possible. Bob found a stump and sat there smoking cigarettes all morning. I came back exhausted. Bob had barely lifted a finger, except to work his lighter. Neither of us saw a gobbler. Sadly, that was his last turkey hunt. I’m now 20 years older than Bob when I met him. My sons and I were his pallbearers a couple of years ago.

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