Ep. 321: This Country Life - Wes: 1, Bob: 0

stories to share. Weston one, Bob Zero. I hope you all have enjoyed the last few episodes about turkey hunting, because you're in for some more. I may have to change the title of this show to This Turkey Life. But for those that don't care about hearing about turkey hunting, next week's shows about making quilts, ain't. We're gonna be talking turkey hunting then too. I have had a great spring and I've got a lot to talk about. As a matter of fact, I can't wait any longer, so

let's get to it. This story comes from This Country Life listener Garrett Baker. Garrett is from Smithport, Pennsylvania, which is twenty miles from the happiest place on earth, the Case Knife Factory in Bradford. I actually met Garrett and his son Wes when I was in Bradford last summer tour in the factory, visiting with all my case family, John Pantuso, Tom Taylor, Fred Fener, Marissa McGary and all

the other Case faithful. We had a good visit and Wes walked away with a pocket knife courtesy of John. Now Garrett's talking about smashing turkeys, and if someone's willing to share a good gobbler beat down, I'm willing to listen. So in Garrett's words and my voice, here we go. Wake up, buddy, it's time to go find you a turkey. Wes jumped out of bed like he'd never been asleep. The excitement had been pouring out of him. In anticipation

of the Youth Turkey Open. He spent just as much time as most adults scouting and working on his calling, and testing different turkey loads and sighting in the red dot on his Mossburg four ten. Now that's not bad for a six year old. The twenty three to twenty four season had already been good to him. Here in Pennsylvania, we bagged his first squirrels, and he helped me trap some beavers. Turkeys were next on his list, and that

boy was bound and determined to get one. We headed down to our friend Treys, and Trey and I grew up together spend the most of our time chasing any sort of game that was in season. Trey had more experience in the turkey woods of me and was, in Weston's mind, the golden ticket to him getting a turkey. Now we had permission to hunt a farm on the edge of town that consisted of a few fields there in the bottom of a steep valley with a good

ridge line all around the top. This valley is full of soft and hard mass crops and a stream running through the center and logging roads branching upward that the birds really like to travel. Every day we'd see him come out to mill around in the field. Tray's dad, Bill, a retiree, gets his kicks out of sitting in his truck and watching these turkeys every morning. So we had a daily turkey report that kept us excited well before

the season. It makes me wonder how I'll burn time off the clock at the end of my career and I can enjoy the simple things in life. I guess there's worse things that a person can do besides watching turkeys to pass the time. We were in the blind as the sun started to creep over the hill and Tray's al Hooton had a turkey goblin. Soon after, it was finally daylight and our turkey callar let out some soft yelps, and immediately we had an answer. West's eyes

lit up. Did you hear that, Dad? Yeah, I heard it, bud. Let's hope he decides to tell us a visit. The time for turkeys to come into the field came and went, with sporadic gobbling taking place. Said it started to rain, and West recalled that turkeys like to hang out in the fields during the rain. Maybe this will make the turkeys come out of the woods. Not long after, Trey called and a turkey replied, right up the hill from us,

and he was close. We couldn't see him with the roll of the field above us, but from his cause we could tell he was moving down through that field. We watched it rain and waited until we could see eleven turkeys headed towards us and our decoys, now one after the other. Their heads started popping up like periscopes when they saw our decoys. They stopped for a a few minutes, slowly turned and they started walking away, gobbling occasionally,

making us wonder what we'd done wrong? Why are they leaving? Well, because their turkeys, and they made zero sense. Turkeys had walked back up the hill out of sight. Trey contended his calling when we looked across the valley to see four more making their way down the hill. They were four hundred yards out and they still had a creek barbed wire fence in the dirt road across before they got to where we were, and Trey said, if they

crossed that creek, they're coming in. And just like that, down the bank, under the fence and across the road they came, game on until they hit the spot where the other turkeys had turned around, and they followed suit, going out of sight. Now by now it was eleven o'clock, and I was impressed that Wes had even stuck it out, this long, good thing he did, because just then a big old redhead popped up a by one hundred yards in front of us, then another one right behind it.

Those birds had meandered at a snail's pace, and it seemed like they would never get there. Tracy, I don't know if I'm nervous or cold, but I'm shaking like crazy. Wes said, I was shaking the gun with my shivering. I had never been more excited for someone else to succeed at hunting in all my life. The turkeys made their way down to forty five yards and I told Wes we needed to get one within thirty before he

could shoot. The thirty yard ring of death was marked with sticks and ribbons all around the blind for reference. When it was okay for him to shoot, and just like turkeys do, they did something unexpected. They turned around to look back the way they came, and now what are they doing? That's when the whole flock crested the nole, going as fast as a group of turkeys could run. We all started laughing at the sight of these turkeys

jiggling their way towards like bags of feathered jello. The mood quickly turned the panic as the turkeys got together caused him to join the galloping gobblers with a full head of steam and started running right by our blind within twenty yards with no sign to stop. And it was a turkey stampede. Wes was trying his best to get his red dot on a red head tray. You gotta get one of those birds to stop. I'm trying. Then, in a last ditch effort, Trace took his head out

of the blind and let out of Hay. The last turkey in the group stopped and stared at us at about forty yards of young Jake, as confused as we were, was giving us a chance. He was right on the edge of what I wanted, and I told Wes to put it on his head and shoot. That turkey rolled backers and jumped back up and ran away. He was gone in the woods a couple of hundred yards. We walked all over. We looked for sign we wanted to heal for hours, even going home to grab the dogs

to see if they could find them. Nothing, not even a feather on the ground. I hadn't made a bad choice to stretch out what I felt was close enough and came up short with the possibility of a wounded turkey. Wess and I talked the rest of the day about it, how much we wished we had found them well. Later I received a text from Bill, who'd gone back up

there to see if the turkeys were back. All the turkeys in that flock had returned with the luckiest jake in the county, with him in his spot bringing up the rear. Now Wess and I'd be hunting the next weekend in a new spot, but this time I'd be doing all the calling. That Saturday was much hotter than the weekend before, and as we drove past Trey's house, I heard Wes say I wish Trey was coming with us. Well, me too, but we'll have fun and hopefully we'll get

to send him a picture of a gobbler. We walked a few yards and crawled in the blind that we set up earlier in the week. When I set out the decoys, did my best used my mouth call throughout the morning, and one gobbler was answering how on the hill do I write, but not making any moves. He stopped answering, and I chalked it off to him just going silent. Second gobbler was answering from a neighbor and properly straight out in front of us. Now he said

it was much more interested. This was on long enough to get us excited, making me wonder if I should get Wes out of the blind and try to move in on that turkey. I talked myself into stay and put. It's hard enough to not get busted by a gobbler and a blind with a six year old, let alone

keeping him still by a tree in the open. As quick as our excitement came on, though it was squashed, what I thought was going to be Wes's first turkey was slowly coming closer by the minute went bam, somebody shot, and it was all over. They had gotten between us and him on the other property. Well, excitement led to frustration, with me thinking that our day had come to an end. West didn't seem to mind. He had little debies to

keep him entertained. He just had to wait for dear old dad to call him in another turkey, No big deal. I kept it by routine for another hour or so, calling occasionally hoping that something would show up or answer with a gobble. Then two hundred yards in front, I caught movement. Three black blobs were running down the edge of the brush line, straight towards us. West didn't get ready, Bud, here comes some turkeys. I got him on my knee in a shotgun on our wrist. We had the same

thirty yard ring of death set up. However, West came with more firefire. This time Trey let him borrow his twenty gage, and in his mind there was no turkey. They could get away now. They came in on a rope, three jakes, and they came within ten yards of the blind, black beady eyes that seemed to be looking right at us and West showing signs of turkey fevers, shaking and breathing. Ard just put the dot on ahead and squeezed the trigger. Fuddy Wes took his time, and that jake started to

get atty and began walking away. We got to shoot soon, Wes. They got the thirty five yards. When Wes let the bismus fly fam a turkey in the back of the group hit the ground. I grabbed the blind and flipped it backwards. I got it, Dad, I shot my first turkey. We both ran over that bird and hugged and high five and took fischers to send the tray and everyone else that we knew. With a cell phone, Weston retold his side of the story, and I watched the adrenaline

pump through him as he did. The excitement we both shared is something neither of us ever forget. A great day, made even sweeter by the craziness that we'd endure it. This will always be one of my most cherished memories, and I hope it will be one of Weston's, and, according to Garrett and Wes Baker, of almost the happiest place on earth. That's just how that happened. Now. I love a good turkey killing story, Garrett, and any that involved family, especially youngins. I'm all in my man, thanks

for sending it in. Let's slip back about twenty years to a farm in Missouri. I was just getting into filming and the man that taught me the most about running a camera was meeting me there to hunt for a few days. He shuns the spotlight like he's in the Witness Protection program and is happy just playing music and enjoys the semi off grid living out towards the East Coast. So to honor his wishes of anonymity, I'm

gonna call him Bob. Bob and I hard every morning right up until the midday cutoff in Missouri on the second of the last day of our trip, I had killed a monster. To this day is still the biggest turkey I ever killed. But that's a story for another day. This story is about getting the cameraman in front of the camera, and I talked him into it. We were on the back patio bawl and crawfish for a dozen kin folks and neighbors of our hosts when I convinced him to buy his non resident license and let me

do the filming. The following morning, we had one day to hunt, and he'd been filming me shoot turkeys for a couple of years, along with a host of other folks too. He'd watched more turkeys die in the last five years than most will see in a lifetime, but none of them he could put a tag on. He was like an umpire watching a battery head a walk off Grand Slam to win the World Series, always close,

yet so far away. While he caught and played my suggestion, he had Toby and Mary's big old Conway in his lap. They'd become fast friends, as Conway had shown a special interest in Bob everywhere he went from the moment we arrived. You didn't see one without the other around the house any time when we were outside, and they both seemed to enjoy each other's attention. I don't know Brenton you still got a tag left, and I'd hate to not

be filming as something truly incredible happened. Now I knew what he meant without him just coming right out and saying that he was a legitimate tier one outdoor cameraman, what we would call a cinematographer these days. He was an absolute perfectionist on framing, shutter speed, and white balance, and always shot on manual everything. I was a student, and he was a tyrant of a micro manager when it came to filming, not in a route or a mean way. He just knew what worked and I didn't.

A secondary objective of our hunt was for me to get some behind the camera time for him to critique. But what we planned to do was after I had tagged out, we could just sit and call in turkeys and he could watch what I was doing over my shoulder. But I hadn't filled my last tag and we only had one day left. My argument for him to be the shooter was how incredibly good the footage of my

hunt had gone. We had absolute gold in the can, as they say, so anything else was just gonna be gravy on the cat had biscuit we'd already served up, Bob looked down at Conway and said, Conrad. I'm not sure why he called him Conrad, but he never called him by his actual name. It also didn't seem to bother Conway, but he said, Conrad, what do you think should I let Brent film me in the morning. Beagle just looked up at Bob as he pettied him. He

didn't say no, Bob. Bob nodded his head and said all right, let's go get some license and off the town we went. And when we got back later that afternoon, Toby told us about here in a turkey gobling across the road right in front of his house. Well, can we hunt over there? Yep, I have full permission from me and anyone I want to go. Well, that's all

we needed to hear. We'd been driving forty five minutes away from the house to hunt a different farm, always being extra early to account for dealing with cameras and tripods, external monitors and everything else that went with how we did it back then getting up later and walking across the road the next morning was going to be a real treat. We set out on the front porch Saturday evening, me Toby Bob and Bob's pale Conway, we heard the

turkey Goblin right before roosting time. Toby told us exactly how the land laid, where he'd roosted, and where we should start out the next morning. I couldn't wait to punch record, and Bob couldn't wait to punch that turkey. Even Conway was fired up his tail just to blurz. He sensed Bob's in all our excitement for what we knew was going to be an epic hunt. The next morning, hopped out of bed as quiet as I could, and Toby and Mary and the girls who were still in

elementary school were still fast asleep. Bob tiptoed out of his room and we met up in the kitchen, where the coffee had just finished brewing. Mary had set it up for us the night before that lady is a saint. We each pored a cup and out the door we went. Accessing the property was literally as easy as crossing the road, and when we did we didn't have to use a light.

The full moon was bright, the grass and the leaves were damp, and the whipper wheels helped to mask what little sound we made as we slipped across the pasture to the edge of the woods three hundred yards away. Toby is a contractor by trade, but he should be a turkey guide. He had told us exactly where he thought that turkey would roost and where we should set up and listen, and we walked straight to it without

the aid of a light. Thirty minutes early, right on time, Bob pulled a jacket out of his turkey vest and draped it over both of us and the camera that sat on the tripod. Bob's small red led light directed my attention to camera settings and filters and switches that I'd be using, and the jacket kept us hidden from spooking any roost of turkeys that might see us. Felt like I was making one last predonn map survey before we attack the enemy. Bob was as excited as I'd

ever seen him. He loves the turkey hunt in his dang Goodwin and was satisfied up to that point of bagging his turkey, so to speak, by being in control and the one who said shoot to whoever he was filming when it was time. I watched him get emotional when my son killed a big gobbler on camera the year before, by how good the footage was, and how happy he was to have shared that with the two of us. It was a special moment this morning, though

he was on another level. I could hear it in his whisper and see the red lid smile on his face as he pointed to this and that on the cameras we stood there under that jacket. I did my best to pay attention, but I was distracted by how much fun he was having, and it was still fifteen minutes before gobbling time. For the next ten minutes, we stood silent and motionless, listening to the world as it started to wake up. The eastern sky started to glow,

and a nearby whipper will continued its incessant singing. To the point of irritation. I whispered to Bob, I wish that joker would bust wide open now. He muffled a laugh as best as he could, but was cut off by a gobble hundred yards away. We looked at each other and pointed at the same time, an automated response, but was totally unnecessary. How could we not know where

he was? Toby had told us the night before, and the Turkey had just proven, We slipped without making a sound twenty yards closer, and Bob sat down against a big, white old tree on the edge of a neglected cow pasture. I sat down against a smaller one just behind him, allowing me full coverage of water. Was about to happen. There hadn't been a cow grazing on this property for years, and juniper Us virginiana, the eastern red cedar, had taken

the opportunity to move in. Cattle farmers hate them because they compete with grazing by taking up space where grass could grow and soaking up water that the grass could be drinking. Not to us, at that moment in time, those cedars were worth their weight in gold. Grass was still short in that old pasture, and the random placement of the cedars was going to keep us out of sight of that gobbler, forcing him to come all the

way to us. Before realizing the yelps he was hearing was from a dude, holdless god gun and not a gal looking for a fellow. He was gobbling to the world that he was the king of spring, and off in the distance we heard a few faint responses, but they didn't dare challenge his authority, and he didn't slack up Goblin when he hit the ground either. Bob had yet to make a sound. The turkey had seemingly dropped off his roots, straight down to the base of his tree,

and gobbled. When he did. Bob sent three of the softest yelps from a slate call I think I've ever heard. The response was immediate and forceful. For the next ten minutes that gobler stood his ground, gobbling every minute or so, demanding that we walked the eighty yards to him like nature intended. During that time, Bob squeaked out one more set of purs and clucks and laid down his call, picking up his shotgun and resting it on his knee. Three minutes passed and he gobbled again, and this time

he was closer. He continued gobling, and we could tell he was incrementally moving towards us, ever so slowly, as he drummed between gobbles, letting us know he was strutting all the way. Ah the God. My eyes were darting back and forth like a metal man in a shooting gallery, checking the monitor, the sentence on the camera, the framing, being careful not to squeeze the camera arm and shake the camera. The red light is on. I'm recording Furst.

Thing I can see in my monitor is in focus, good ind filter is set where Bob said it should be. All I had to do was keep the framing in the thirds, give the turkey space to walk on the screen when he appeared, and if possible, get Bob and him in the frame when the moment the truth arrived, when that gobling beast stepped out from behind that cedar tree that was twenty yards in front of us and directly between us and him, go God, gobble, gobble, drum drum,

over and over. I glanced over the monitor a definite no no, perb Bob's instructions, and saw him tighten his grip on his shotgun. Don't ever take your eyes off that monitor, he told me. You're running a camera to film, not sitting in the audience watching. You can do that after the edit. I'd never forgotten that, and it served me well a few years ago, when Clay Bow and I had the famous barrier on a stick in the blind with us in the Saskatchewan, this wasn't a bear,

it was a turkey. And now he was no more than five yards on the other side of that seater, drumming like a wild man. If the cedar limbs hadn't gone all the way to the ground, we would have been able to see his feet. Now, that's how sure what the grass was, and how close he was to us. It was just a matter of time before he steps out on the right side of the cedar and Bob punches him in the mouth. Then the drumming stopped, and the goblin stock and for thirty seconds it was like

we were on a worldwide time out. I didn't hear a bird of any kind. A million things ran through my mind. Had he sent us no, no way he could have seen us. Then Bob moved, and now I was watching him on the monitor. He was rock solid. Then a cedar limb moved toward the base of the tree. This turkey crawled on the tree, coming to us. This is going to be some national geographic footage and the Eastern wild turkey emerging from the base of a cedar

tree like a phoenix rising from the ashes. I saw Bob shift his aim towards where that limb was moving and waited on that gobbler to step out and get smoked. When in his place. Conway appeared out of thin air, trotting over to Bob, climbing U up in his lap and with his tail beating out a Morse code of hay path, I've been missing you. Bob slowly turned his head back over his shoulder and he looked at me with the saddest eyes on a man I may have

ever saw. He looked back down at that dog, put his hand on his head and said, hey, Conrad, oh my gosh, turkeys drive me crazy, and add beagles to the list. We never did get Bob a turkey on that trip or any other one after that. We did keep a valuable friendship, and he taught me what little I know about running a camera on a hunt, the biggest lesson of which helped me to get where I

am sitting right now talking to you, Missouri. Turkey, beagle and a friend from the Carolina's prepping me for a moment in time that wouldn't take place for another decade with an old bear in Saskatchewan. Thank y'all so much for listening to all of us here on the Bear Grease Channel. Playboy and I appreciate it very much. If you like history and you want to learn some really interesting stuff. Check out Dan Flore's new podcast called The American West. It just came out. I love it, y'all

know I wouldn't steer you wrong. Now next week Monday, Monday following this Friday, me and Tony Peterson got some dog stuff appearing right here, an extra drop on this country life. I think you'll like that too. Man. We've got some really special stuff coming up in June, and it's really sharp. I know you're gonna like it. And that's all they gonna let me say about that right now. But stay tuned. We'll be making the announcement very soon.

Till next week. This is Brent Reid, sign it off. Y'all, be careful anything