Don Lively
CALLING UP TURKEYS

My nephew and I have had a running discussion about turkey hunting. My position was, the big goofy birds can't be that hard to hunt if the Indians killed them with rocks or bows and arrows.

The settlers managed to bag plenty of them with the unreliable old blunderbusses that they shot.

My nephew assured me that it's not as easy as it seems.

He said that the old gobblers are very easily spooked by something so slight as blinking eyes.

I remained skeptical but, he'd actually been turkey hunting and I never had.

Our conversation turned to turkey calling which is appar- ently an art unto itself. He uses three devices to call up turkeys. He demonstrated the first two, both hand held, and the sounds seemed authentic, at least to my ears.

Then he showed me one that he held in his mouth. It was small and thin and I was sure it wouldn't work but he made sounds that even I believed would attract a big Tom.

He handed me one and asked me to try it. He told me to press it to the roof of my mouth and try to say "choke, choke" and that should produce the correct sound.

I declined to try it there in front of him and his parents. Believe it or not, there is a limit as to how foolish I will allow myself to look.

I promised to take it home and practice and when I mastered it I would show him.

The next day as I was driving back to Charleston I reached for the turkey call and popped it in my mouth. I figured nobody could hear me so I was safe.

"Press it to the roof of your mouth and try to say choke, choke".

It came out more like " Glub, glub".

I tried again. " Croak, croak"

Once more. " Glub, glub, croak croak".

I found out that it's possible to be totally embarrassed even when you're alone.

I put it aside and didn't pick it up again for a few days. I decided to try again one afternoon. I sat in my living room and attempted, over and over, to sound like a turkey. My neighbor knocked on the door, stuck his head in and asked me if I was okay. I hid the call behind my back and assured him I was fine. Just a little sore throat. I was gargling.

For my next try I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower so as not to alarm any other neighbors.

Just as I was about to " Choke, choke" I hiccupped and nearly swallowed the cussed thing! Suddenly I was "choking, choking"! I could breath but it was very uncomfortable.

As I was formulating how I could explain what happened to the paramedics the call dislodged itself. When it did, it slid back to the roof of my mouth and settled right in. My relieved gasp produced a perfect turkey call!

I was so proud! It took nearly gagging to get it right but I did it!

The following Saturday I was in Shell Bluff and decided to try out my new found skill. I went to a place where I knew there were turkeys and found myself a spot. No gun. No camouflage. Just me and the little device.

I sat very still and began to call. " Choke, choke. Choke, choke".

Nothing happened but I kept at it.

" Choke, choke".

After about an hour I heard rustling in the trees above me. Above me? I hadn't been told that this could happen. I thought turkeys came in on the ground. I remembered my nephew's advice and remained very still, but I could definitely hear wings flapping from the trees as more birds landed.

" Choke, choke".

I heard another one land directly over me. Finally, unable to resist, I eased my head up and peeked.

Buzzards.

Dozens of them. No doubt attracted to the sounds of something dying down below. My sounds.

" Glub, glub, croak, croak".

I tossed the turkey call toward one of the nasty black birds as I stood up to walk out of the woods.

" Eat that", I said, and wondered if anybody would believe this tale.

Apparently, turkeys have gotten smarter since the Mayflower days while the pilgrims, such as me, have gotten less so. I've decided that the only way I am ever going to bag a wild turkey is if one surrenders to me.

But if anybody ever needs to call up a buzzard, I'm the man for the job.

In the meantime I will stick with Butterballs from Bi-Lo.

Don Lively is a retired police officer and freelance writer. He spends his time between Shell Bluff and Charleston. Send comments or questions to Livelycolo@aol.com.