Last week I took a journey back to the heartland, my hometown- Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Along with me on this journey was my neighbor, Niko. Niko is from Southern California, and although he has some hillbilly street cred, I wanted to take him ATV'n, mushroom pickin, and turkey huntin'. It was raining to beat all hell almost the entire time we were there, but we managed to get some shootin' and huntin' in nonetheless.
After some practice with the shotgun, a practice run with the turkey dome, getting our gear ready, (which included Niko putting his foot in a boot that contained a maggot ridden chipmunk carcass) and setting our alarm- we were all set to go turkey hunting the next morning.
My dad roused Niko and I from a too short slumber, and we meandered downstairs where I ate a cheese and pepper deer stick for breakfast, washed down by black coffee. We drove silently to the duck marsh where my pappy had scouted out a turkey roost the week before. Silently trudging through fields and wetlands, we scared deer from their grass beds, caused owls to implore and also somehow managed to piss off a beaver who responded by slapping his tail.
We set up the turkey dome, positioned the turkey decoys and sat down to wait. Every turkey gobble caused us to silently freak out at each other. Laughing and general looks of excitement caused the morning to be even more magical.
Eventually we heard them come down from their roost, which unfortunately was on the other side of the creek. After trying to coax them over to our side with pro turkey calling techniques, we heard them getting farther and farther away. We were out-turkeyed on the killing front, but I think we still came out ahead. We were up at animal time- listening to all of the birds singing, beaver tails slapping, and dew being put away.
To console ourselves, we went to the local diner for breakfast. Even though we were the only customers clad head to toe in camo- we hardly got a second look. Thanks Iowa for letting my hillbilly heart sing.
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