Gobblers are unforgiving, but turkey hunting transcends success, failure: Outdoors column

Many turkey hunters would agree that the "way to get it done" is generally two ways, either by going it alone, “run and gun,” or by setting up in a blind in a staging/feeding field.

Solitary.

Hunt by yourself or set up in a blind, those are the efficient ways.

The more hunters, as in two or more, the more chances for a mistake ... alerting movement.

The gobbler's eye is ultra discerning and critical. Unforgiving.

However, if all we did was hunt by ourselves, alone, we would miss out on the camaraderie, the sharing of wild experiences and all the shared fun.

Such as together experiencing a big red fox running past us on his way to feed his young in the old woodchuck hole den. Or how about the time we saw the Cooper's hawk whose "reach exceeded its grasp" by catching a bird so big that it could only fly 20 yards or so at a time?

The predatory bird made its way through the woods in 20-yard increments, never letting go of its prey.

And we said, feeling a twinge of spiritual kinship, "Fellow hunter, you had good luck, we sure could use some now, too." And sharing the admiration of the way the sunlight hits a handful of blossoming wild apple trees, covered with what seems like puffy piles of white and pink flowers, experienced only by actually walking in the woods. And then there are the laughs; all the laughs and stories, fooling around, poking fun and good-natured kidding.

Make no mistake about it, turkey hunting is serious business, but maybe even intensified by the humor which is such a part of it.

There is just something about turkey hunting that brings out the laughter and "needling," unlike any other of the outdoor sports, in my experience.

Why? Maybe the humor is deeper and stronger than other types of hunts, primarily because of the criticalness of the situation and the gobbler’s unforgiving nature. I like to equate it to being in a schoolroom with a stern teacher. Or, Heaven help us, sometimes when in church. Just can't stop laughing. And in those times, the harder we’d try, the tougher it was.

Remember those times when we were not supposed to laugh and the more we tried to hold it in, the stronger the laugh became, so much so as violent, silent, gut-straining shakes? Remember we'd gasp out, finally, "Don't ... don't ... I'll pee my pants."

The actual incident which created the laughter was situational, impossible, and not worth the effort to explain to someone else. And we always lamely finished the explanation with something like, "Well, I guess you just had to be there." Felt a bit foolish.

This ambivalent state occurs when in the presence of beings that require we keep perfectly straight composure and that we remain in a controlled and constrained state; be it a teacher, preacher, or, in this case a wise, old, humorless, unforgiving gobbler. Wild turkey gobblers have absolutely no sense of humor and would send us to the office, or turn us in, in a heartbeat every time they’d bust us.

Their kind has strutted and gobbled across the earth for millennia with nary a snicker, chuckle, giggle, or laugh. They do not have it in their bones to cut us any slack. They are unforgiving and the most deadly serious critters around. Devoid of curiosity. And they lack any sense of fun. Tom turkeys have only one look, a stern stare.

To a turkey the world is all "black and white" in a metaphorical sense. (They actually do see colors very well.)

Maybe the reason for their lack of humor lies within their bones. After all, according to recent paleontology, they are the descendants of the dinosaurs. And any offspring, millions of years down the line from Tyrannosaurus Rex, must be genetically predisposed to be "dry" and mean-spirited. Maybe even our modern turkey is more crotchety than his great forbearer T. Rex - down the long tunnel of time, and now a feathered grouchy curmudgeon. Gobblers do not tolerate mistakes.

Let them be that way.

More: The mysterious language of the hen turkey seems to evolve over time: Outdoors column

You see, actually our ancestors were chased, harassed, hunted and munched by dinosaurs down through the millennia. But we got bigger and stronger, created guns and turned into the hunter while they got smaller and we discovered how good they taste.

Now we are the hunter and they are the hunted.

Maybe there is some innate resentment lodged in that unforgiving brain, in a tiny recess of their genome that goes all the way back to when their ancestors ruled the earth … now that the hunting boot is on the other foot.

-- Oak Duke writes a weekly column.

This article originally appeared on The Evening Tribune: Unforgiving gobblers: Why turkey hunting transcends success, failure