MY FIRST WILD TURKEY. 



I have had the pleasure, for the last few- 

 years, of spending my winters in Florida, 

 and have done some hunting, mostly for 

 such game as ducks, quails and pigeons. I 

 had always wanted to camp a few days in the 

 woods, and had prepared to go 2 or 3 times 

 but something prevented. 



Last year I made up my mind I would 

 not return North until I had seen what 

 camp life was. In March I set a day to go. 

 My ambition was to shoot a wild turkey; 

 so I hired a guide and his team and dogs 

 for a 3 days' hunt. We started one fine 

 morning for a log hut, about 12 miles away 

 in the Mat woods, which was a noted resort 

 for game. This hut was built by a doctor 

 from New York who came South every year 

 hunting birds' eggs for the Smithsonian In- 

 stitute, and my guide always accompanied 

 him on his trips. We got to the camp about 

 noon and found it occupied by 2 old hunters 

 who were going away next morning. They 

 had hunted a little that morning and had 

 shot one turkey. We bunked in with the 

 hunters and arranged to get up before light 

 and try for turkeys, by calling them off the 

 roost. 



I had a square block of wood hollowed 

 out so the sides were very thin. I could 

 draw a piece of slate over the edge of this 

 and make a sound like the call of a hen 

 turkey. The guide could imitate their call 

 with his mouth. 



We started before light and went about 

 a mile from camp. There the guide told 

 me to stay and keep my ears open for a 

 gobbler, while he went on. 



I waited and waited. I thought daylight 

 would never come, but at last it grew light, 

 and soon I heard a gobbler, far away in the 

 swamp ahead of me. I tried to call him, 

 but don't know whether he heard me or not. 



Then I tried to creep nearer the bird. Oc- 

 casionally I would call and he would an- 

 swer, but without coming toward me. I 

 crept within 20 or 30 rods of where I 

 thought he was and called. He answered 

 softly. I located the sound as best I could 

 and began crawling on my hands and knees 

 in water 6 inches deep. In this way I gained 

 15 rods, keeping under cover. I got to one 

 big bunch of palmetto and waited and lis- 

 tened. Pretty soon I heard something mov- 

 ing. I peeped through the cover and saw, 

 in an open space not 2 rods square, 4 large 

 male turkeys and 5 hens. It was the finest 

 sight I ever saw. The gobblers were strut- 

 ting and making a great fuss. It was a 

 long shot, but I saw no way of getting near- 

 er ; so I fired at the bunch. After shooting 

 my first barrel I ran up to get a shot if they 

 flew. One old gobbler started to fly and I 

 downed him. I expected to find 2 or 3 

 dead where I shot at the bunch, but to my 

 disgust I found nothing but feathers. The 

 strangest thing about it was that I did not 

 see anything of the rest of the flock after I 

 fired the first barrel, except the bird I shot. 



You can imagine how big I felt as I 

 shouldered my first turkey and started for 

 camp. I found the guide getting breakfast. 

 He was surprised to see me coming in with 

 a turkey, and wanted to know how I got it 

 and all about it. I told him, and after break- 

 fast we took the dogs and went back to 

 where I shot at the bunch. We could find 

 no trace of them but the feathers I had scat- 

 tered. 



Later that morning the guide killed 2 

 young gobblers, but the one I shot was the 

 largest and I know I felt the largest. We 

 stayed there 3 days, and shot 7 turkeys and 

 some small game. I never expect to enjoy 

 a trip more than I did that one. 



PHOTO BY \V. C. KETLER. 



"BUT THE BIGGEST ONE GOT AWAY." 



33 



