The Switch (14 page)

Chapter 23

The weather was typical for
Alabama in late November. The mornings were cool and the days were warm. Other
than catching fish and shooting squirrels the hours during the next few weeks were
used preparing for the winter.  

Late one afternoon while they
were taking a break from stacking firewood, Renee reminded her father of his
promise.

“You promised us a
Thanksgiving day turkey.”

“We have another week before
Thanksgiving. I have to wait until only a day or two before we cook it to kill
it. You know my hunting buddies use to call me Mr. Can’t Miss. We will have at
least one, maybe two turkeys, you can count on it.”

.

When Sue heard the comment
she quickly countered, “Your buddies meant you can’t miss a meal.”

Everyone but John laughed.

“Go ahead and laugh now, you
won’t be laughing when your mouths are full of fresh turkey killed by Mr. Can”t
Miss.”

They laughed even more.

“I’ll go out tomorrow, if I
kill one we will celebrate a little early. Is that ok with everyone?”

He looked to Cameron, “Be
ready in the morning, You are going with me and you will get your first turkey
kill.”

Megan changed the topic. “How
long is it until Christmas?”

Lynn looked at Renee who
turned to look at David. There was concern in their eyes. They had talked about
Christmas a few times on the trip from St Louis and expressed worries about
presents for the kids.

David said, “We should be
able to find things by searching through the abandoned houses here on the lake.
But if we want new things for the kids, we will have to make a trip to Jasper
to see if any businesses had opened.”

Megan interrupted, “I want a
pony for Christmas, a white one.”

Ashley said, “I want a
kitten.”

Cameron looked to his
grandpa, “I want my own rifle.”

David put his arm around
Ashley who was standing at his side, “We will have to let Santa know about
this.”

Chapter 24

The next morning before dawn
John got up and dressed in his full camo. He walked to Lynn’s and was surprised
to find Cameron was already up and waiting. He too was in his camos.

They walked to the dock and
loaded the twelve-gauge shotgun into the jon-boat. The sky was showing the
first signs of daylight as John used oars to get them across the lake into the national
forest. Before they reached the opposite shore John reminded his grandson of
his past lessons on turkey hunting.

“Turkeys can see better than
any other animal in the woods. If you wiggle your nose they will see you and be
gone. You have to sit perfectly still with the gun pointed in the direction of
the incoming turkeys so you will not have to move to shoot.”

He stopped rowing and watched
to make sure Cameron was paying attention

He felt he was talking like a
Marine Sergeant. “You never shoot the gun unless you can see the beard on the turkey.
You do not shoot unless you are positive it is a tom turkey. Do not shoot at
something moving in the bushes. You can’t be sure it is a tom turkey unless you
see its’ beard. Do you understand?”

Cameron had heard this
lecture at least a dozen times but listened intently. This was the first real
turkey hunt he had been on and he did not want to screw it up.  

“Yes sir, I have to sit still
and see the beard before I shoot.”

John continued, “What we will
do is walk the woods to try to find where they have been feeding. We will walk
real slow and try to make as little noise as possible. We won’t talk unless we
have too, and then we will only whisper.”

The boat drifted onto the
sandy shore but John sat still.

“You have seen the scratching
in the leaves before, if you see any, point them out to me. When we find a spot
that looks active and fresh, we will sit down against a tree and I will start
calling. We will be close together, maybe five to ten yards apart, with you
positioned in front of me so I can see you and the turkeys.”

Cameron was staring into his
face, concentrating on the words he was hearing.

“You will make the decision
when to shoot. But remember the turkey has to be close, no more than thirty
yards. The gun has a scope, but beyond thirty yards it is hard to kill a
turkey.”

He stepped over the side of
the boat into the ankle deep water. Cameron did the same.

“After you shoot you will be excited,
but you must keep your gun pointed in the direction of the turkey. It might get
up and run, you may have to shoot it again. But the main reason I want you
keeping it pointed at the turkey is so you don’t turn towards me when excited
and shoot me. But no matter what, don’t jump up and run after the turkey, just
sit there until I tell you to move. Do you understand?

“Yes, papa, I understand.”

John pulled the boat further
onto the sand and picked up the shot gun. He had hunted this section of the forest
many times and knew there was an old timber road only a few yards to their
left.

He handed Cameron the gun,
“Show me how you operate the safety.”

The boy held the gun pointed
to the ground and pointed to the button in front of the trigger. “When the button
is pushed this way it is on safe. When I push it the other way the safety is
off.”

John smiled, “You are
absolutely right. Until we find turkey sign and set up to call, I will carry
the gun. I will wait until then to load it.”

They walked slowly up the old
timber road in the breaking light of dawn. There were dry leaves on the ground so
they stepped around as many as possible to be as quiet as possible.

As they neared the top of a
ridge John stopped and leaned down to Cameron’s ear.

“About a hundred yards ahead,
there’s a large oak flat. The turkeys usually feed in this area.” He pointed to
the tops of the biggest trees, “Watch the treetops to see if you can see any
turkeys still on roost.”

They moved along the ridge
even slower and watched the treetops and the ground for signs of Thanksgiving
dinner. Fifty yards into the oak flat John pointed to scrape marks in the
leaves. Cameron bent over and picked up a large turkey feather. He removed his
camo hat and inserted the quill of the feather into one of the hat vent holes.
He put the hat back on his head and smiled at his grandpa.

John pointed to a fallen log
and brush pile off to their right and motioned for Cameron to follow him to the
brush. John kneeled to the ground and as quietly as possible pushed away the
leaves from in front of the log making a bare spot in the soft dirt. He
whispered for Cameron to sit in the bare spot with his back against the log. John
loaded the shot gun with three shells, checked the safety, and handed it to the
boy.  

He pointed to a large fallen
pine tree about fifty feet to Cameron’s left. He whispered, “I will sit against
that dead tree. Make sure you do not aim the gun in that direction.”

Cameron nodded he understood
but grabbed the sleeve of John’s shirt, “Which direction will the turkeys come
from?”

John pointed straight ahead at
the flat and the slope into a creek at the bottom of the hill.

“Turkeys usually travel
uphill. Expect them to show up on the other side of the flat. You will probably
hear em before you see em”.

John moved to the fallen pine
and scraped away the leaves before sitting down. He put his mouth call into his
mouth and placed his box call on the ground beside his right leg. He pulled his
camo net facemask over his head and began calling using a box call.

They stayed in that spot for
close to thirty minutes while he made soft yelps and clucks but had no response
from the birds. He watched Cameron closely and saw him beginning to squirm and
fidget.  John was surprised the boy was being so impatient.

As soon as John stood up to
move to another spot, Cameron put the shotgun on the ground and jumped to his
feet. He kicked off his shoes and pulled down his pants as if they were on
fire. He began swatting at his legs and feet.

John ran to his side and saw
he was covered with fire ants. John kept on his gloves as he wiped the ants
from the boy’s legs and feet. When the last ant was gone he looked at Cameron
and did his best to hold back the laughter.

“Why in the hell did you sit
there getting bit?”

“I did not want to scare away
any turkeys, you told me to sit still”.

“Sitting still doesn’t mean
to be eaten alive.”

They were both laughing as
Cameron pulled up his pants.

John picked up the shotgun. “We
need to move along to another spot if we want a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“One with no ants.”

Cameron turned his socks and
pants inside out to check for ants. He picked off two or three before putting them
back on.

They had walked about a quarter
mile along an old timber road that ran along the edge of the ridge when John
heard scratching in the leaves in the holler to their right. He stopped and quickly
but quietly got themselves into position together against another fallen pine
tree. He checked the safety and handed the shotgun to Cameron.

“Be ready, they are right
down there.” He pointed down the hill.

He slid a mouth call into his
mouth and yelped three times and then some softer sounds with the box call. He
could tell almost instantly that the turkeys were coming up the hill in their
direction. He leaned to Cameron’s ear, “Bend you knee and rest the shotgun on it
so it is pointed right there.” He pointed to an opening in the brush.

Cameron was ready when a hen
turkey appeared coming up the hill. Behind the hen were several more turkeys.
John did not take time to count them, but there had to be at least a dozen,
four or five were gobblers. He whispered to Cameron, “Don’t shoot yet, wait until
they get past those two big oaks.”  

The turkeys scratched and
pecked at the ground as they slowly got closer. Out of the corner of his eye,
John watched Cameron’s gun hand. He saw the safety moved to the shoot position
and Cameron’s trigger finger tighten on the trigger.

Then, “boom,” Cameron fired
the gun. One of the big gobblers fell over backwards and flopped in circles,
feathers filled the air as the big birds wings beat against the leaves. Some of
the other turkeys immediately began to run, but some stayed where they were.

John reached across Cameron
and took the gun. He stood up and pumped another shell into the chamber. The
other birds saw the movement and all began a speedy exit.

John put the scope on the
last of the fleeing gobblers and fired just as the bird was flying from the
ground. Another batch of feathers filled the air and the gobbler fell to the
ground and rolled to a stop.

They stood still a long
minute observing the downed turkeys. John looked at Cameron and winked, “We
just got Thanksgiving dinner.

Cameron ran to his turkey and
strained to hold it up by the neck. John walked to his and held it up beside
Cameron’s. “Compare the beard’s.”

Cameron pushed the beard on
his turkey close the other one. “Mine is three inches bigger!” The smile on his
face could not have been any wider.

“You are right. But mine is
smaller and will be more tender.”

Cameron countered, “Yea, but mine
is bigger and we will have more white meat”.

John countered, “Mine was
flying. It was a harder target to hit.” He put the shotgun and his turkey on
the ground and hugged Cameron hard.

“Thanks Grandpa, that was
great.”

“You are welcome Cameron. I
think I enjoyed it as much as you. Let’s go show off Thanksgiving dinner.”

They picked up their turkeys,
slung them over their backs and headed home.