By Mark Jones
Crosshairs for Christ

C4C Member, Mark Jones displays the tail fan of his trophy Merriam's turkey.

OCATE – It had been several months since my last hunt, which means hunting withdrawal had set deep in my bones. Bob and I spent most of the afternoon traveling from Albuquerque. We eagerly searched for the Spring C4C Turkey Camp location and after a few wrong turns, we arrived.

It’s interesting how every hunting trip starts off with a test of patience and self-control.

THE ARRIVAL

In a pristine mountain location overlooking Rose Lake, Lance, Jerry and their sons, had staked our claim. The landscape was a diverse tapestry of blue lakes, grassy valleys and rugged mountain ridges. The green pines and tan scrub Oaks added the perfect visual detail. The camp was awesome and exceeded all our expectations.

Since I was hoping to make the most of the evening fellowship, I got busy, setting up my camp. After a couple hours, I was settled and made my way over to the group for dinner. The conversation was consumed with the day’s discoveries and results from the early scouting trips. Lance and Jerry were certain they had found a promising location and had seen enough sign to feel confident there were turkeys in the area.

The group broke early that evening and headed to bed for a restless night – playing out the upcoming hunt in our heads.

DAY ONE – DISCOVERY

Early the next morning we crawled in to the trucks a crept down a 3-mile rutted dirt road. Around each corner we saw elk, deer and even a lake full of ducks and geese. I knew with each bump and bounce of the truck we had to be getting closer to our hunt area.

Finally, we arrived and split up in groups. We worked all morning to locate gobblers and eventually accepted our plan may be flawed. We returned to the trucks and headed out to scout a wider area. As the day went on, we continued to try calling and locating the birds. Again nothing.

That night we sat around camp and reworked the hunt plan in our heads. Lance's green-chile chicken alfredo, Jerry's green-chile chicken enchilada's and Bob's pork chops helped ease the pain of our failures.

Later, Jack, Keith and George joined us for some exaggerated stories of past hunting successes, while the boys, Noah and JP, focused their attention to the serious business of making “smores” on a propane burner.

Before bed, Lance announced a new game plan for the Sunday morning hunt. Banking on a site he and Jerry had scouted and seen a large black bear earlier, he proposed arriving several hours earlier in the morning. Even though 4 a.m. was a bit early to rise from the comforts of our warm tents, we agreed it was our best chance of locating the birds. After all, they would likely still be in their roosts.

Once again we faced another sleepless night, filled with hopes of bagging a bird.

DAY TWO - THE GOBBLER

Before I knew it we were crawling down the rutted road again. Deer and elk played in the moon lit fields and the anxiety of success lingered thick in the trucks.

When we arrived we immediately began preparing our gear for a trek. Lance called to the woods on his diaphragm call and the entire valley lit up with gobbles. The mountain began busting with life. This is what we were searching for.

There was no time to waste. The group split back into teams and hurriedly swept the mountain in an effort to beat the rising sun. Within minutes I had arrived in a promising area.

In the meadow ahead I saw a flock of turkeys strutting into the woods. I knew better than to rush them, so I forced myself to remain 100 yards north. As they slowed, I hunkered down in a nice cluster of scrub Oaks overlooking a small, open grassy area. I began calling on my slate… “Cluck. Cluck. Cluck,” wait and listen.

Again, “Cluck. Cluck. Cluck,” wait and listen.

In the distance I could hear the gobblers respond. Below I heard Bob and George skillfully working their calls as well. I knew there were birds everywhere. In the trees, on the hills, they were around us and they were close.

After 30 minutes of adrenaline-rich calling, I heard something coming across the dried Oak leaves. It was definitely a critter, and I knew it had to be a turkey.

Through the brush I saw a single turkey approaching. My heart raced 100 mph and continued to accelerate. At 25 yards I realized it was a hen, not legal to shoot. My heart sank briefly and then I saw it. A second turkey strutting straight for me, this one was definitely a Tom.

I prayed to God for calmness in my soul, as I fought my nerves and control of my shot. I followed the bird with the barrel of my 12-gauge, until it cleared the trees. At 20 yards, I clicked the safety off and took aim at his head.

Boom!!!

The shot echoed in the canyon like thunder. What a feeling - my first Mirriam!

I retrieved my harvest and headed back to the truck. The excitement raced through me as I radioed Lance to tell them the good news. The crew arrived shortly after, to check my trophy. Then it was time for the "photo op" and field dressing.

I found it poignant that one of the youngest on the trip, Noah, offered the soundest advice for field dressing the bird. “Cut here, pluck there, pull that part out of their. Keep it clean and dry so you don’t spoil the meat.” Apparently, he had spent a lot of time watching his dad, Lance, gut ducks last winter and had learned a thing or two during his hunter education class. He had the routine down pat.

With that the trip had come to an end and we all loaded up to go break down camp.

A REFLECTION ON PASSION

“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, oh God.” – Psalm 42:1

As the trip closed, Lance led us in a devotional on Psalm 42:1 – a passage David used in slavery, to express his passion and desire to worship God.

For David, the loss of a place to worship, caused him grief and torment. He hoped and prayed to one day return home and have restored, all he had lost.

For me, my place of worship is the woods. I am aware of the great gift God gives me when I pursuit my passion to hunt and fellowship with others. I pray I never lose site of this and remain aware of the role the hunt plays in enriching personal spiritual growth with God.

I can’t wait for September and the Fall turkey season, so I can relive the entire experience again.