Last Friday I took two of my children, Naythan (10) and Brooklyn (8), on a turkey hunt at the Thunderhole Ranch in Coke County.  Things have been so busy lately that the only way I could work in a trip was to take them out of school -- even then it was rather rushed.  You see, the Thunderhole is nearly 300 miles from our home, and I could not leave for the ranch until after coaching basketball practice on Thursday evening.  We arrived just before 2am and I grabbed four hours of much needed sleep before waking the kids and beginning our hunt.  I had explained to the kids that it would be a whirlwind tour of the ranch with about as many hours driving as hunting, yet they were eager to join me.  I was unsure whether it was the opportunity to be with dad or the chance of missing school that lured them, but I was thankful they had at least shown an interest in hunting.

We all came into this hunt as novices: my daughter had never been hunting before in her life; my son had been out with me twice this spring, and while we'd seen plenty of birds we had not fired a shot at a gobbler yet (and prior to this he'd been quail hunting just once and dove hunting twice); and I had killed three hens to date but had never hunted spring gobblers before this year.  By virtue of my alleged maturity and prior experience, I found myself in the role of teacher, one I welcomed as an opportunity to pass along my passion for the outdoors.  But I would soon find that on this trip, my daughter would be the real teacher and I had much to learn.

Our day began slow and grew even slower as the sun slid higher into the sky.  We opted to set up in a ground blind that could accomodate the three of us confortably enough, and I looked forward to spending so much time with my children that day absent the usual distractions of television, homework, and life generally.  It's a good thing, too, as that is just what we did -- we spent lots of time together without even the distraction of a turkey gobbling in the distance somewhere. 

We hunted most of the day and took a late afternoon ice cream break before climbing back into the blind, which we had moved to the northern end of the ranch near a feeder and high traffic area.  It was now about 5:30pm and we had yet to see or even hear a turkey.  Throughout the day we had fiddled with slate and mouth calls, examined deer and turkey tracks, watched quail and dove, and generally enjoyed our time together, but it became clear that they were really hoping to at least see some turkeys before leaving.  Ten hours of hunting without so much as a glimpse of the intended game can try anyone's patience, let alone that of young kids. 

We goofed around on the calls again as it approached 6pm, making noises that were almost certain to frighten off any birds within a mile.  We even joked that we were likely to summon any turkey "field medics" to the area given how sickly our clucks and yelps sounded.  Perhaps this was because I allowed my expectations to wane and became a little anxious to get packed up and headed home, or perhaps I just couldn't ask my children to try to remain relatively quiet for any longer.  Either way, I suggested that we could stay as late as 6:30pm but by then would need to load up and head home (this would get us home around 11pm, and I was already rather exhausted).  I mentioned that if we were going to stay, we'd need to be a little more quiet and alert.  I also gave my kids an out by asking them, "Do you kids think we are going to see any turkeys today, or should we just call it a day and head home?"

"Is your glass half-full or half-empty?" my daughter questioned sincerely.  "Half-full," I said, half-heartedly.  "You have to be optimistic!" she stated, knowing I was less than enthusiastic.  The teacher became the student, and I learned my lesson quickly.  "You're right," I declared.  "There are some turkeys on their way to see us right now, and we just have to be patient and optimistic."  Pleased with my answer, the young teacher turned to her elder brother and asked, "Naythan, what about you?"  "Maybe," he said with no enthusiasm but lots of honesty.  "No, you have to be optimistic," the teacher repeated.  This all but settled the matter, and as if on cue, the feeder went off right away, giving rise to real optimism in all of us.

Looking at my watch every minute or two, I found my hopes slipping away.  It was now 6:28pm and I could not justify staying any later than 6:30 given that we'd still not seen nor heard a single turkey.  I was most disappointed that my teacher's lesson would seemingly be lost, and I worried that it would dampen the spirits of this sweet first-time hunter who'd invested nearly twelve hours already.  I should not have been surprised (though I admit I was) when I looked up from my watch to see a hen turkey moving toward our blind at about 25 yards.  Within the next 20 minutes we spotted three hens, but still no toms and no gobbling.  After seeing no activity for about ten minutes, I told the kids we'd give it another 5 minutes or so and if we did not see more turkeys we'd have to call it a day. 

About one minute later my son excitedly whispered, "Dad, I see two males."  Sure enough, about 50 yards out were two bright red turkey necks poking up above the grasses and cactus.  They slowly made their way toward us, and at 20 yards the lead tom presented a clear view.  My son and I had already discussed a plan to count down and shoot simultaneously if the shot presented was one outside of 15 yards (because he was hunting with an old fixed choke .410 and we wanted to ensure a clean kill).  We both were in position and I counted down before letting my Remington 12 gauge roar.  The bird crumpled instantly, and when my ears could hear again, my son said, "Dad, I forgot to cock my gun -- I didn't shoot."  He was a little disappointed but the disappointment soon left.  I was pleased that he again showed patience and safety awareness, and he was pleased that his third trip to hunt turkeys finally paid off with a gobbler, even if he hadn't pulled the trigger.  More than any other game harvest in my life, this felt like a real team effort.

We savored the moment, looking at the beautiful tom and examining his wing feathers that were well-worn from strutting.  Although no record-book tom, he was a respectable gobbler with an 8 1/2 inch beard and 7/8" spurs.  We talked about the opportunity we'd shared that day being outdoors together and about the blessing of having our needs met by the animals God has placed on this Earth for our benefit.  Then, as we packed up our gear, my daughter said, with a broad smile and a sparkle in her eyes, "Dad, I really like hunting!  I'd like to come again sometime." 

Right then and there I knew that I had been much more a student than teacher that day, and suddenly recognized that my cup was far more than just merely "half-full."  While I've known for a long time now that lessons learned hunting often transfer to life generally, I had not appreciated how life's general lessons could so profoundly apply to hunting.  My first spring turkey will be forever memorable, not because of the size of the bird's beard or the excitement of the hunt, but because of who I shared the experience with and the profound lesson I learned that day -- from an eight-year-old girl on her first hunting trip ever.

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