The Dying Heritage
When you think about hunting and the purpose of it, what do you think of? Just some guys with some guns, killing time (and hopefully some deer and turkey) in the woods? For some people, that may be all that comes to mind. But for those of us with an actual passion for hunting, it’s so much more than that. We often forget the true significance of the great outdoors. We seldom realize the healing powers of spending time doing the simpler things in life while developing a bond with friends and even strangers. The great outdoors is just that; the simpler moments we need to heal, bond with one another, and refresh our souls from the vast technological-filled world we have all grown accustomed to.
I began turkey hunting at a young age. My grandfather (pictured below with me as a child) was the reason for this. He held a great love for the outdoors and made sure that we kids were involved in every manner possible throughout the years. I spent many days at a hunting camp; telling stories, making friends, and sharing some of the most exciting moments with others when they were blessed with the chance to harvest an animal. But for many, myself included, these simpler moments have slowly become a thing of the past—overshadowed by the hustle and bustle of daily life, they are the dying heritage.
Throughout my younger years, we hunted in a hunting club in Northwest Alabama. You could guarantee that my grandparents were there for most of the year, and we kids would join them every opportunity we had. My grandfather was quite the character and known by most around the club as “Turkey Hunter” mainly because this type of hunting was his passion. I can remember hearing them reach out to him via CB Radio calling him by that name. He always met everyone with a smiling, bearded face and laughter that was typically generated by some type of prank he pulled. I joined the Marine Corps right out of high school and the time I got to spend with them at the hunting club began to fade as I started to make my own life. After returning home, I joined the club and only got to hunt in it for three more years.
One of the many turkeys harvested by my grandfather.
My grandfather became ill and eventually became unable to turkey hunt. Although I thoroughly enjoyed turkey hunting, things just were not the same due to him not being there or able to go. To avoid that pain, I just avoided turkey hunting. Over the years I got married and our family grew, adding two kids to the crew. My sisters also added their own children to the family around this time. Although our family dynamic had changed, one thing remained the same. My grandfather continued to involve the newest generation of children in the outdoors. He would sit around and teach them how to use various hunting calls. They would enthusiastically try their best to mimic what he had shown them but more often than not, the sounds they produced were not even close to what they should’ve been. The sounds didn’t bother my grandfather though, his eyes just lit up with excitement. Because this time was about more than teaching his grandkids how to use a turkey call, to him. It was about passing on a passion about the outdoors to the next generation.
Before my grandfather passed away, he gave me his turkey hunting shotgun, a Winchester 1100 pump. At first, I was shocked and didn’t want to take the gift—because in my mind it was his to carry. And without him, what would that time in the woods mean? But he explained how it was important to him that I made it mine to carry from now on. Over the next several years the gift sat in my gun safe, unused and protected. For the time being, it was merely a vessel to hold memories of the past.
About seventeen days before the 2023 turkey season opened in Alabama, I received a text from a good friend, Robert Paul. He asked if I would like to go to some public land and chase some birds for the opener. Like I said, I had mostly avoided turkey hunting in the recent years. But this time, I told Robert Paul I would like to go. We planned to go to non-disclosed public land to camp and turkey hunt. We headed out shortly after I came out of a surgical procedure on the Friday before. I was determined to make this trip. After a couple of hours, we arrived at our destination and began to look for the perfect camping spot. During this time, we met a young man named Daylan who we ended up sharing a camp with. We had limited time for this hunt, but we learned that Daylan was down from Kentucky and had seven days planned to chase some Alabama Birds.
On our first day, the radar was riddled with strong thunderstorms that appeared to be moving through at daylight. This did not impede Daylan and he headed out during the middle of the storm while I stayed in my tent and decided to wait until the weather passed. Robert Paul and I hit the woods once the rain ended with no luck. Daylon on the other hand, saw several Jakes. We scratched our heads and tried to figure out where these birds could be. We searched several locations and walked a few miles trying to find the elusive wild turkey. Later in the evening, Robert Paul and I had made some wrong turns on the roads but luckily observed an Ol’ Tom and a couple of hens crossing the road. Knowing we only had one day left; I told Robert Paul, “This is where we are hunting in the morning!” We agreed and headed back to our camp. That night, we all sat around and shared stories of old hunts, discussed life problems, and enjoyed something I hadn’t experienced in so long—the simpler moments.
On our last morning, we woke up super early and drove to our pre-planned location. Robert Paul and I split up and headed in different directions; both of us on various ridges, hoping to hear the thunderous gobble echoing through the woods. As I walked the ridge, bearing the Winchester 1100, I let my mind fill with thoughts of my grandfather. I thought about how many turkeys he had killed with the very gun that I was carrying, and I reminisced about how many of those times that I got to tag along with him. While my mind wandered down memory lane, I reached the top of the ridge system and heard the familiar sound that could excite anyone to their core. I began to press the gobbles and realized it sounded like there were seven or so birds around me bellowing their hearts out. I thought back to what my grandfather had taught me and put those skills to work.
My grandfather had a special case for all his turkey beards.
Over the next thirty minutes, I played cat and mouse with a big Alabama Tom. Light clucking, mixed with a few purrs, followed by silence drew him over a ridge. He came running right at me only to get distracted by a hen on the next ridge over and immediately, he changed his direction of travel. The open hardwoods made it easy for him to spot the silent hen on the other ridge. For the next few hours, I began stalking this tom and hen as they moved throughout the ridge systems scratching and calling. Eventually, they dropped off at a creek bottom and I wasn’t able to keep up with them anymore. Nevertheless, while walking around the ridge system I experienced time to self-reflect and gain some healing along the way. I realized that my avoidance of something I used to love, had caused my children to miss out too. They hadn’t experienced a turkey hunt, let alone heard a wild turkey gobble. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks, I was fostering the dying heritage. It was in this moment that I vowed to make sure to change this, right now. My hunt ended with no bird but it was anything but fruitless; I came home with a heart and head full of some much-needed self-reflection.
I eventually left the ridge system and met up with Robert Paul. I began to share the details of the excitement of my morning and learned that he was also pursuing a gobbling turkey. When we returned to camp, we waited on Daylan. When Daylan finally got back to camp, he let us know that his day was uneventful. So I shared my story and told him about the location of where all these birds were roosted so he could pursue fulfilling his tag. Robert Paul and I had to return home and depart the camp; but we left Daylan with the duty to harvest a bird and a promise to him that I would follow up with him about the rest of his trip.
Daylan called me and shared how the rest of his trip went. Over the next two days, Daylan began the cat-and-mouse game as he pursued these birds. On day One he moved onto the ridge system and set up a spot. He was met by the thunderous sounds of several birds gobbling. This hunt lasted most of the day, until the rain moved in, and the birds quit talking. He went on to say that he, too, experienced the pain of facing a tom in pursuit of a hen. We discussed the ridgelines each of us believed the birds were roosting on and narrowed down the ridges to a specific location. The next day, Daylan headed back into the woods—this time even more determined. There was an immense amount of fog in the air. The fog provided Daylan some added cover to be able to slip in close, really close. He was about 100 yards off of the location where he believed these birds were roosted. Once again, Daylan was met with the morning sound of a turkey bellowing its heart out from a tree. Daylan made a couple of tree calls to the bird and then went silent. At this point in his story, I took a moment and reflected on how my grandfather always stated, “If you call the birds, they know exactly where you are and can find you in a five-foot-deep hole.” He always taught me that knowing when to call and when to go silent is a game we all play, a gamble of sorts. We just hope to get it right in the heat of the moment. My focus went back on Daylan’s story; now Daylan had confirmed that the bird was on the ground. He began to call aggressively to the Tom and shut down quickly afterward. About a minute or so later, Daylan observed a white skull cap bouncing along the ridge. It was coming straight to him. The bird came within 30 yds, Daylan leveled his sights, and squeezed the trigger. He had just successfully harvested the Alabama Bird he sought after.
Daylan with his successful harvest
Shortly after Daylan harvested the bird is when I received a phone call from him. It was around 7:16 a.m. and I was getting ready for work. But when I saw his name on the caller ID, I immediately answered and asked, “Did you get him?!” Daylan’s voice was jam-packed with excitement as he began telling me all about the hunt and harvest. At the end of our conversation, I congratulated him and he told me that he had to call Robert Paul and tell him as well. I finished getting ready and tried to refocus on getting to work. I was driving to work but my mind was on anything except work, I was still full of excitement for Daylan. It wasn’t my bird, it wasn’t my story, but the excitement was still very real for me.
In reflecting on my experience from that trip I realized that a lot of times people get wrapped up in the size of the game, or the ability to always harvest an animal. We have all done it, we have all forgotten what matters. What actually matters should be those we share the hunts with, those people who get just as pumped as we do when we share the stories of our harvests, and the memories that we have made.
I want to personally dedicate this story to my grandfather, Raymond Victor Franklin Jr. who helped develop my love for the great outdoors. I also want to personally thank, Robert Paul, for the invitation to a turkey hunt of a lifetime that reignited a passion that I hadn’t explored in far too long. Because of his invitation to this hunt, I was able to spend quality time with a good friend who shared that passion with me, and moreover—I experienced healing that I was unaware I needed. I would also like to personally thank Daylan for offering his friendship and for sharing the adventure of his hunt with me; congratulations on a beautiful Alabama turkey!
Robert Paul, Daylan, and I have already started discussing next year’s turkey opener in Alabama. We are so excited to make this a new tradition between the three of us and hopefully our own kids one day; we want to do our part to ensure that this dying heritage begins to thrive again.
Written by: Zack Dockery 04/08/2023