March 30, 1986

Classic Ron Schara

 

Aided by moonlight, Rob Keck found a cow path that would lead us through the woods to the edge of a hardwood swamp.

 

"We've got a long walk to where those turkeys are roostin'," he drawled, pointing into the dark.

 

I looked at my watch.  It was 4:30.  We'd have to hustle to beat the dawn and the wakeup call of the wild turkey.

 

As Keck stretched his long legs down the cow path, barred owls hooted softly in the warm, dank air.  Whippoorwills tweeted whippers and wills.  And a strange bird squeaked every time Keck took a step.

 

Wild-turkey hunters take pride in fine-tuned ears.

 

Turned out to be Keck's left boot.

 

Didn't matter.

 

There's a reason for taking cow paths before the coming of dawn, an ungodly hour for almost all living things.

 

A record 46 states, including Minnesota, will hold such a spring ritual and a growing legion of camouflaged people – an estimated 1.5 to 2 million of them – will participate in the predawn joys of stalking the wild turkey gobbler.

 

And Rob Keck is leading them all – symbolically, speaking – as the boss gobbler of the 30,000 – member National Wild Turkey Federation, a nonprofit organization of turkey addicts.

 

Keck, the federation's executive director, assumed the post five years ago.  His qualifications include an unabashed interest in North America's  largest gamebird and an uncanny ability to talk like a turkey.  The latter talent also happens to be the goal of every hopeful turkey hunter.

 

The gist of spring gobbler hunting is to converse with the wily turkey, in a coy manner, so as to convince the tom (male) bird that a hen (female) turkey is anxiously waiting for him back in the bushes.

 

It helps if you can sound sex-crazy.

 

All of which explains why turkey hunters want good ears at sunrise.  Listening for the raucous gobble of a boss tom – and, then, hearing his booming voice in answer to your hen imitation – are two of life's finer moments at any hour.

 

Can 180,000 gobblers be wrong?

 

"We're looking at an estimated turkey kill nationwide of about 180,000 to 200,000 wild birds this year," Keck said.

 

"It shows why the wild turkey has become the best wildlife management success story in history.  The estimated harvest this year is seven times larger than what the nation's entire population of turkeys was 40 years ago."

 

As the federation's leader, Keck obviously contends the national organization, based in Edgefield, S.C., deserves some of the credit.  Indeed, the turkey's comeback has gained speed in recent years, although the struggle to restore the forest-dwelling bird dates back to the late 1800s, when the bird had been eliminated from most of its original range.

 

Two decades ago only eight states held turkey seasons, compared with the 46 states that today have sufficient turkey populations to allow hunting.

 

"The sport is booming and changing," Keck said.  "The interest in turkey hunting has led to more concern for the bird's future."

 

The evidence comes in a variety of ways.

 

Keck listed several, such as the boom in wild turkey art, turkey call manufacturers, turkey hunt schools and camps.  Even ammo-makers, such as Federal Cartridge, have produced shot shells aimed at turkey hunting.

 

The increased demand for wild turkey hunting also has led to increased needs for turkey management programs.  Some states, such as Alabama, have had turkey management programs since the early 1900s. But other state agencies, such as Minnesota's Department of Natural Resources, are recent newcomers of less than 15 years.

 

In fact, a hefty portion of Minnesota's DNR wild turkey management budget – upward of $15,000 to $30,000 per year – has been been  donated by Minnesota's Chapter of the National Wild Turkey Federation.  Leader of the state group is Bob Nybo of Red Wing.

 

"Without the Minnesota chapter, there probably wouldn't be much of a turkey program," Keck said.

 

The national organization last year donated a record $75,000 to state and federal agencies for wild turkey research projects, including a Minnesota study on genetics.

 

A la Ducks Unlimited, the federation's membership is the fund-raising power, derived from 213 chapters scattered in 37 states, which last year raised about $500,000.

 

Ironically, the national fund-raising leader is a Minnesota chapter, Caledonia, which recently grossed a record $45,000 at its annual banquet.

Although habitat destruction and disease are constant threats to the wild turkey, Keck said the federation's primary goal hasn't changed much in the past decade.

 

"We're still trying to help states introduce wild turkeys into suitable habitat where they don't exist at the moment," Keck said.  The introduction consists of live-trapping wild stock to be transplanted into regions where the bird is absent or scarce.

 

"There's still a lot to do.  We're looking at 10 million acres in east Texas right now that could support turkeys," Keck said.  Much of Minnesota's suitable turkey habitat, such as the St. Croix River valley and portions of the southeast, also is awaiting more wild transplanted stocks.  Game farm turkeys are not suitable, DNR officials say.

 

And now back to turkey hunting.

 

Keck's boot stopped squeaking when, in the dim moonlight, the swamp appeared at the end of the path we'd followed.

 

"They're roosting over there," Keck whispered excitedly.

 

Our ploy was to hunker next to a southern white pine and act like tree bark until a gobbler showed.

 

Keck started his hen turkey repertoire, a symphony of clucks, putts, purrs and other bird bedroom talk.

 

The trees and cow path belonged to the White Oak Plantation, a 7,000-acre deer and turkey hunting camp, opened three years ago by Bo and Tooie Pittman.

 

But the turkeys roosting in the treetops above the swamp were nobody's fools.  The hens talked; the gobblers talked.  And Keck maintained a turkey monologue sexy enough to make a bird blush.

 

The ploy, however, failed.

 

If there were turkey-eating snakes and alligators in the swamp below, the birds weren't worried.  The gobblers moved deeper into the swamp; the hens lollygagged toward the chufa patches.

 

The woods turned quiet again until we walked out on the cow path.

 

Heard another bird chirp.  Takes sharp ears to be a turkey hunter.

 

Keck wears low boots.