Here is a link to a story about a youth day hunt here in Farmingdale.

With turkeys and kids, patience is very important

By BOB HUMPHREY
May 4, 2008

I admit it; I'm impatient, especially when it comes to turkey hunting. It was just after 6 a.m. and I was already beginning to second guess our choice of hunting locations. But this was no ordinary hunt. It was Maine's Youth Day and I had both my kids, Ben and Helen with me. I wanted it to be special, but we had yet to hear a gobble.

"I think we messed up," I whispered to Joe Ciampa, who was in an adjacent ground blind running the video camera. "I can't understand it, Bob," he began. I've seen birds here every day." Then came the explanation. "They usually come through between seven and eight." Hope springs eternal. We (I) just needed to be more patient.

The payoff came barely five minutes later with some nearby gobbles. I cut loose with a volley of calls, and the two gobblers boomed back, now nearer. "Get ready you guys," I whispered excitedly to the kids as I peeked out the back window of our blind. "Dad" said Helen "Just get ready," I fired back, impatiently. "I think they're coming behind us." Again she said my name, this time more insistently." I turned to see her looking not at me, but out the window, at the two gobblers.

Turkeys have some of the keenest eyes in the animal kingdom. They can spot the blink of an eye at 40 yards and disappear in a cloud of dust. If you know when and how, sometimes you can get away with a little movement. I knew how, but the kids didn't. And the "when" had almost passed. "Quick, get your gun up and pointed out the window," I urged Ben. His movement was as smooth as a veteran, and none too soon. The gobblers were in range, but starting to angle away. "Go ahead and shoot," I advised, waiting for the shot that didn't come.

"Which one?" The question was innocent enough, and perfectly reasonable under the circumstances. This was the first time this 10-year-old had ever had a tom in gun range. But when you see an opportunity like that rapidly fleeting away on three-toed feet, you don't think rationally. You wonder why one isn't already dead. "Just pick the closest one and shoot," I hastily advised. Valuable more seconds elapsed as he steadied the gun, making sure his shot would be true. "Wait."

Too late. The range was now borderline. Much as I wanted my little boy to bag his first longbeard, I wanted it done neatly — no misses, no errors. That wasn't gonna happen now so I called off the shot.

The birds stopped at 60 yards and went into a half-strut posture, as to say, "nyah, nyah you can't get me." Then they started away. I called, and they stopped, for a moment. I called again. They stopped again, and looked in our direction before turning away once more. I launched a volley of yelps and cutts and was nearly bowled over by a thundering gobble, behind us.

Peeking out the window I saw three more longbeards, in full strut, in range. The ensuing seconds were chaos, mayhem and confusion as I tried to quietly, yet urgently get kids and chairs turned around while three mature toms and several hens stood spitting distance away. The situation could have easily gone bad. The three toms were balled up so closely that picking one was nearly impossible. My instructions were more like a play-by-play as I tried to guide Ben to a clean shot. "Bird on the right," I'd say as one would separate from the bunch. "No wait," I quickly added as the trio bunched up again. "The middle one. Shoot now. No, wait." Heads down, heads up, together, apart, the birds bobbed and wove like prize fighters. It would have been a daunting challenge for a grown-up. Heck, it was putting me through fits. But the little man held his composure, and his fire.

Then it happened. One bird separated. "Bird on the left. Shoot now!" Ben was ready. "Boom," went his gun and down went the bird. His sister was so busy congratulating him she failed to notice a second bird hesitated. Remembering an old trick, I quickly purred on my slate, luring the second tom back. The kids were so enthralled...

I had to remind Helen why we were there. "Stick your gun out the window and shoot the bird!" "Boom," and down went bird No. 2.

The looks on their faces were priceless. They were as excited for each other as they were for themselves. I could feel a special bond formed right there, and for that brief moment I was merely an observer, albeit a
proud one.
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