Most evil turkey on earth lives in Napa

Boyfriend and I were back in Napa this weekend to see if we could help our vineyard-owning friends by taking out a few of the turkeys that chomp on their grapes.

Boyfriend had a cool head about the whole thing. He is all about fishing and pig hunting right now. Bird, no bird? Whatever.

But me? I was filled with that insane optimism turkey hunters get, where we succumb to the naive belief held by non-hunters that just because we can see the birds means we should actually be able to shoot one of them.

So, here's how it went: Read more...
5:45 a.m.: We walk up the hill from our guest room and set up. Boyfriend is at the base of the oak woodland next to the vineyard, maybe 100 yards below where the birds were roosting last time. He's in a little grassy depression, his back against a giant oak trunk.

I head into the woods 100 yards above the roost tree.

It should be pretty light outside because of the moon, but there is a fog clinging to the hillside - and keeping the forest floor damp and quiet. I'm grateful for that. Still, I hopscotch across rocks to avoid crunching leaves, and pirouette around the dim shadows of poison oak, which has been the bane of my outdoor life.

I find the perfect place: A tree to back up to, and in front of it, another tree that has fallen, leaving a little hollow spot for me, and a quiet place to set my feet up.

In minutes, we are rewarded with the sound of gobbling from the roost tree.

We begin to share, 200 yards apart, the joy of the woods waking up.


8:07 a.m.: Boyfriend texts me. "They seem to b gone."

Crap. I was hoping my experience with Sarah two weeks earlier had been an anomaly, but apparently, this was their pattern: They fly out of the roost tree straight to another piece of property. We can hear the gobbling dimly, but neither of us has seen one.

I text back: "I'm gonna walk around up here for a bit."

I go out on the open hillside next to the woods. I climb rock formations. I spy a hidden bed of cala lilies - just in time for Easter - and drop down for a closer look. I hear gobbling again - maybe on the property, maybe not - and head back into my delicious spot in the woods.


8:49 a.m.: Boyfriend texts me: "I am about done."

Ooooooh, I hate giving up early. But he's already thinking about the dinner he's going to prepare for our hosts. Or maybe he's just desperate for a cup of coffee.

I look around. I twist my neck around stretching it. I see a turkey 50 yards in front of me, behind some brush. I have just been moving! It looks my way for a second - not revealing whether it has the requisite beard - and drops behind a low rise.

I text Boyfriend: "I see 1."

Could this be a lone tom looking for the hen I'd been imitating periodically? I hit the call, to see if I can bring him over that rise.

Two shapes move near me, closer and closer. They are quail. Fat little yummy out-of-season quail. They meander through the woods about 10 feet from me, never realizing what I am. Brilliant camo!

But the turkey doesn't show.

Boyfriend has given up and is drinking coffee by now. I concede defeat as well and leave the woods to head down the hill. Where I see the turkey. Two hundred yards away. Really close to where boyfriend had been.


10:16 a.m. I text him from the top of the hill: "(Bleep)(Bleep) is at the seed pile!"

"Kill him," he texts back.

But there was no way. Chasing turkeys has been a losing proposition for me. I keep an eye out for him on the way back to the house, and head in for breakfast. During which we hear incessant gobbling.

12:15 p.m.: "I'm going to go out again," I tell Boyfriend and my hosts. "Just to make a quick sweep."

I head up the dirt road, and as I come over a rise, I see a turkey trotting away from me, about 20 yards away. It's not stopping to show me whether it has a beard. Dammit!

He - I'm sure it's a he, and I'm sure it's the same apparition, the same lone bird I saw in the woods earlier - heads up a tiny creek bed, where I quickly lose sight of him. Meanwhile, I hear gobbling elsewhere so I continue with my walk.


Then I decided to go back to that creek bed. I've heard that spooked turkeys will eventually come back. I set up under a tree in the creek bed. It is a funnel. If he comes back, he'll have to come past me. I think.

The breeze is lovely. I look up the hill on the opposite bank of the creek and see blue sky over the stone wall topped by deer fence that lines the property. I entertain fantasies of seeing the turkey fly over that wall and shooting him like a duck.

Forty-five minutes pass. Dinner guests will be arriving soon. I need to pack it in.

I walk up hill from the creek bed and squat briefly in the shade of an olive tree to take one last look around. Three hawks are circling low overhead. I gaze up at them. Another one swoops in from behind me, flying really low, toward the vineyard.

That's when I see.

It's the turkey.

Getting farther and farther away.


Damn.

© Holly A. Heyser 2009