Spring turkey season coincides with the breeding period. Normally a male known as a gobbler or Tom will send out raucous gobbles from his treetop roost.  The hens will yelp back and rush to his calls to engage in the breeding process. (Doesn’t work nearly as well for humans) Reluctantly and with extreme caution the Tom  can sometimes be persuaded with artificial calls to go against his nature and approach the hen.  And that’s where the challenge comes – dress in complete camouflage, hide in the bushes, imitate the calls of a seductive hen, remain motionless for long periods of time and own the shooting skills of an expert marksman.  You see, turkeys have the eyesight of an eagle, complete with zoom, hearing that allows it to pinpoint exact sound locations and the ability to, in seconds, vanish by land or air if the least bit of foul play is detected.  Throw in the fact that they’re aren’t exactly plentiful, the older they get the wiser, and the season very short, anyone who goes into the woods and comes out with a wily old gobbler is indeed the real deal.

This past season where I hunt in St Tammany and Washington Parishes was the worst in over 4 decades.  Despite good weather conditions, I didn’t even come close to bagging a bird. So when the time came for my annual trip to Kansas where I’ve tagged out the last two seasons, I was ready for a change of scenery. But bad luck followed me and while one of our group did bag a bird on the second day, two 12 hour hunting days left me with only a glimpse of 4 toms heading for their evening roost and totally ignoring the best hen calls I could muster. I was prepared to start the 11 hour drive back to Louisiana before daylight the next morning as planned. But we all agreed to give it one, last quick shot and pull out by 9am turkey or no turkey.  

The next morning they dropped me off in a dark field bordered by trees we had driven past the evening before but had never hunted. I walked to the edge of the woods and picked out a spot between a couple of thick bushes to set up a portable blind from which to put out decoys and call. Before I could do anything as my headlight shined into the woods a turkey gobbled at it from his roost tree, which I was practically directly underneath! Realizing this was going to be a close encounter, I set up quickly and quietly as possible including setting up a go pro video camera to record the event for my TV program. Each time I hen-yelped, he thundered back with a gobble. So did two rival toms not far from us. When daylight broke the second bird pitched down into the field 200 hundred yards away. A minute later the bird on top of me sailed out toward the other and put himself between me and the furthest turkey. They both strutted and fanned, an attempt to attract what they thought was a hen looking for love. My heart sank when I spotted 4 more birds heading our way. Remember what hens do when they hear gobbles?  Wouldn’t be the first or last time hens carried off a hot prospect. But it wasn’t hens, there were 4 more gobblers all interested in the same hen – me! The first bird was obviously the biggest and the baddest. He was the boss man. When any of the challengers tried to get around him to the hen, the boss would run them off. Finally after strutting and chasing, he decided to move in and collect his prize. I picked an in - range patch of grass and as he reached it I fired twice then collected my prize.

And what a prize it turned out to be. This was no ordinary turkey bird. While a “trophy” bird will weigh upwards of 20 pounds, have a 10 inch beard length and 1 inch leg spurs for fighting. This old guy went 24 pounds, 11-1/4 inch beard, 1-1/4 inch spurs and bore a bevy of battle scars. To put it in terms easily understood this was the Shaquille O’Neal, Peyton Manning and Alex Rodriguez of the turkey world all rolled into one. By far it’s the best turkey I’ve ever bagged during my 40 plus year career.

That would be a fantastic story in and of itself, but a much more meaningful story began to take shape.  During the long ride home with my trophy stashed in the back of the truck destined for the taxidermist I reflected back on how the whole Louisiana season and the trip out west had just unfolded. It was just after 9am and the few hours leading up to it were a blur filled with the excitement of the hunt. Then it hit me. I recalled the previous night’s dream. It was one of those dreams that’s not a continuous running story. This was one of those with intermittent, individual episodes. And they included my friend and hunting buddy Hokie Gajan. Most of the episodes were the usual small talk conversations, the kind we’d have driving to and from our fishing and hunting destinations or over after dinner drinks at the camp or when the ducks stopped flying or the fish quite biting.

But one of those episodes was a repeat of when he first told me he was diagnosed with cancer. And another was one that not only I, but many others who hunted with Hokie knew well. You see Hokie was as generous in fishing and hunting as he was with anything else he had anything to do with. He was an excellent turkey hunter but for a turkey hunter Hokie had a really unusual quirk. He would scout and locate a turkey then send a buddy to go after it. He seemed to enjoy seeing someone else shoot a turkey than bag it himself. And no matter if it was a nighttime phone call or when he returned to the camp after watching for birds flying to roost for the night making them a prime suspect for the next morning’s hunt, he always used the same line. “Don, I got one put up for you if you want him.”  And he would proceed to describe precisely where that bird would be found.

Hokie spoke those exact words in my dream. Now I don’t claim to be a psychic but I will admit I’ve witnessed a handful of let’s say unusual personal communications and occurrences that strain the limits of happenstance and beg to be classified as something of a more divine or supernatural nature. This is one of those rare times witnessed over my lifetime, so few I could count them on one hand.

Think about it. A guy on a terrible streak, during the 2 two minute warning of the season’s last hunt, in total darkness, picks out a single tree out of a thousand or more in a totally strange environment that just happens to be the roost site of the best trophy turkey in over 40 years of hunting.

Here’s how I envision a dream analyst interview might go: “Now Don its understandable since you and Hokie were friends for 30 years that during this short time since his passing you think about him a lot, right? And since you are so passionate about it, its not unusual that you would include turkey hunting in your dreams, agreed?”  

“Right Doc, but can you explain how I ended up under that single, magical tree in a forest of darkness?” I would say.

Did Hokie continue to do for an old buddy what he loved best in life from a place beyond? Or was this a case of pure coincidence and good luck? You be the judge.

Either way, this bird will forever be known as “The Saint Hokie Turkey.”