Hunting turkey

Bears Ears #34

06-06- 2024

The animals around here in these mountains are not so jittery nervous. We first noticed the deer’s behavior as we found a great camping spot and her pal’s attitude as he browsed the through our campsite the next morning. They trust us and I feel like that is something to respect. We share this place, as a kind of fellowship.

This morning, as I sit at camp, a curious squirrel comes up the road, stopping maybe 20 feet from my chair. It sits up on hind legs. A fluffy mass of tail, seemingly as big as the rodents entire body, whisk in serpentine circles in and out. It looks as if curiously weighing the notion to see what the truck, stove and other objects are about.  Around here, they look similar to the Arizona mountain squirrels, but the ears don’t have the comb-like flags at the tips. These critter’s triangle ears are tight symmetrical fur, arranged like a G.I. crewcut, square straight lines, lean. Its silver form takes off in a gallop from where it came from, playing with others down the road. I have been watching them comically gallivant there for a while.

While getting up to stretch, it looks like a turkey, or a large bird may be over amongst several downed trees. I grab my camera and the hunt is on. Quietly, I begin my sneak, cautious step by step. I snap a shot and move slowly in for a closer perspective. It appears unawares as I approach. I squint attempting to identify the animal…not what I was expecting. It loses its allure suddenly. I’ve been stalking a dead branch in the grass!

As we bask in the late afternoon sun, we hear another turkey gobble down the road. It seems close enough by the sound. I remark to DF, “Sure would like to see one of those that are responsible for those huge tracks. In the dried mud, we have found the tracks of an elusive prehistoric dinosaur beast of a walking bird. The tracks are large, impressive. They sink into the ground, showing the weight that they support.

Within seconds, a whisper is heard, “There it is.” DF turns slowly, carefully, quietly, deliberately. It is no giant prehistoric remnant, but maybe a Thanksgiving dinner. We watch. Its head sticks up and down, in and out of shadows in amongst the trees. It appears to be pecking for insects in the tall grass. Black silhouettes are seen and then, as a dash of afternoon sunlight touches it, giving it that brown glow. We watch, as it wanders behind a tree, then between trees, stopping, going, stopping again.

DF slides out of her chair and crosses over to the truck, lifting sandaled feet in a poorly executed tip toe sneak. She is after a camera. She keeps glancing between her next step and the direction of the turkey, keeping it in sight. Phone in hand, she starts down the road slowly, so as to not alert the bird. In my mind I coach her, “Take off those sandals.” She slips off one and then the other in stride, gathering the silence of bare feet. ”Ah, good.” She will catch this photo using her stealth, silent, nude and natural appearance.

She is half way there, when I follow, also barefoot all over, to catch up. The prey has eluded us, as we still lightly sneak up the road. It is now disappointingly, nowhere to be found. It has just disappeared, as they well know how to do.

There is something about naked turkey hunting that feels integrated with our natural selves. It is primal, stealth and sensuous. All senses on alert, ears, nose, peripheral vision, whole body skin aware. That was fun.

To be Continued….

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