If you could only hunt one thing, what would it be?

That was a question put to me a few years back while doing a turkey hunting seminar in New Hampshire. It was a simple question, not unlike thousands of others I’ve been asked over the years about turkey hunting. That question, for whatever reason, caught me completely off guard however, and resulted in, I’m sure, a very poor answer. And as the Opening Day quickly approaches of another Massachusetts turkey hunting season, I’m reminded of this question, along with the correct answer that I should have given on that wintry early March day in New Hampshire.

To me, there is no easy answer to this question. That said, archery hunting for whitetail deer is something I’d be hard-pressed to ever give up or give the impression that it’s not my all-time favorite. Everything about it cuts straight to the heart of my life as a hunter, and only poor health would ever keep me from it. The homework needed to be successful, the countless hours spent in the woods, the quiet waiting that allows you to learn about the habitat, watching the landscape and a whitetail’s life cycle changing day by day throughout the season. The beauty of nature, the radiance of October, and the cold bitter reality of November. The emotions of another lost opportunity, and the feelings that overwhelm you when success finally comes are difficult to explain to those who have never experienced it. To give all this up by admitting there may be another that I love more would seem like an act of betrayal, but the truth, when put to the test no matter how difficult it is, will eventually win out.

That’s because there is another obsession, and passion, for wild turkey hunting. I’m convinced, and have been for some time now, that I possess a kindred spirit relationship with wild turkeys. When I’m not hunting them, I’m working for them. When I’m not working for them, I’m talking about them, or I’m thinking about them.

It’s hard to say when wild turkey hunting began to consume me — some time in the late ’70s or early 80s would be a safe guess. At that time, I was big into waterfowl hunting. But I soon realized that turkey hunting was forcing my old reliable duck and goose calls into retirement. By 1985 the sport just overtook me, and before I knew it, I was living the life of an up-at-dawn, over-the-edge, year-round wild turkey man!

What was it that drew me in you ask? Well, it could have been those misty Green Mountain mornings in Vermont when the ground shook with the “thunder of gobbling turkeys.” It could have happened on a warm Texas evening while falling asleep listening to the gobbling of Rio Grande turkeys in the Southwestern twilight. It may have been in Arkansas, Missouri, or Iowa while hunting those magnum Midwestern brutes. It could have been that spooky, but beautiful, cypress swamp in Alabama where I got twisted up following an old “swamp gobbler” who eventually got the best of me. Or, it could have happened in South Shelburne, Massachusetts, kneeling beside another gift from God, while saying the prayer I always say whenever I take something from the forest. Finding that common thread that binds me to the souls of wild turkeys and wild turkey hunters could have happened anywhere, at any time, or in any place where I’ve experienced the humble joy, the quiet reverence, or the raw excitement that makes turkey hunting not just a sport, but a passion that at times almost becomes a religion. Wherever or whenever it occurred, the truth remains that I love wild turkeys and wild turkey hunting. I love the springtime woodlands and the thrill of their gobble every time I hear it. I love the heart-gripping suspense of a wild turkey coming to my calls while hunting me. Or maybe it’s just the beauty of this great game bird that leaves me in awe every time I encounter one up close. I absolutely love this, and I believe I always will.

So, “If you could only hunt one thing, what would it be?” That question can only be answered on an individual basis by those who hunt. But for me, the answer lies in the words I’ve just written, and I can’t bear to be any more specific. I’m just thankful this question will always remain hypothetical, with no semblance of reality to it. And frankly if I never hear this question again, that’ll be just fine with me!

Joe Judd is a lifelong hunter and sportsman. He is an outdoor writer, seminar speaker, member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association, and a 2019 inductee into the N.E. Turkey Hunting Hall of Fame. Joe is also on the Quaker Boy Game Calls and Bass Pro Shops/Cabela’s Pro-Staff.]]>