"To be wronged is nothing, unless you continue to remember it." -- Confucius
I have my share of faults, like everyone else, I suppose. Some of my misgivings, however, I am willing to admit to more than others. Humans are complex creatures, and God only knows why we are burdened with these faults—many of which, it seems, are self-imposed. Life's journey would be much easier if we didn't have them, but it seems that, for myself anyway, I sometimes choose to take the more difficult road. It seems no matter how much I preach to myself, I am hardwired to hold a grudge. It's something in me, and even though, as I get older, the years have softened the corners some, I still struggle with it.
A pertinent example is when I was in my late teens and had a girlfriend that I was simply and completely infatuated with. Her ex-boyfriend, Mitchell, and I were bitter enemies. We were rivals, and it seemed he despised me even more than I despised him—if that was possible. We had a couple of fistfights along the way, but he always chose a venue where he could be sure someone would jump in and break it up—a wise and calculated move on his part, by the way. As a result, I was never able to vent, shall we say, and get him out of my system. I think a good posterior pummeling would have done us both some good. Even after all these years, if I happened upon this guy now, well, I just don't know what I would do. I hope I would act like a gentleman.
I had been trying to kill this one particular gobbler for three years, and my proclivity to hold a grudge once again reared its ugly head. The first season ended with a simple dislike for this yet unseen avian creature. By the end of the second season, a simple dislike turned to stronger feelings, and by the third season, I had a serious grudge against this gobbler. I rationalized that, based on the way he was treating me, he obviously had a grudge against me too. Some mornings he would gobble at all my calls; some mornings he would ignore me altogether, and I do hate being ignored. I tried every trick in my arsenal of turkey hunting tomfoolery (hey readers—what a great time to fit that word in the story—hey?), but I came up short every time. Sometimes this bird would tease me and act like he was going to fully commit and come on in, only to ultimately retreat and give me a taunting gobble on the way out. He at times seemed to get into a regular routine of roosting in the same place—until, of course, on those mornings that I got up 30 minutes early to sneak into his bedroom before dawn, only to discover he had inexplicably moved to a new roosting area. This was the third year of my grudge match with this maniacal bird, and I set my sights on him with a vengeance. It turned into a turkey hunting chess match of sorts, with calculated moves on each side. The problem, I deduced, was that I was playing with the turkey version of Bobby Fischer. I was tempted to name this bird "Bobby," in deference to the noted American chess player, but my grudge against this gobbler had grown so intense, I decided to name him— you guessed it—Mitchell!
I experienced a turning point in my tenuous relationship with Mitchell, somewhat of an epiphany, if you will. Some of the time I should have been sleeping on Friday and Saturday nights, I spent lying in bed, devising complex battle plans with murderous intent. I would, however, soon learn an important lesson on the good things that can happen when we are loosened from the chains of a fervent grudge.
Previously, I was walking almost an hour in the dark to begin my hunt against this creature I had dubbed Mitchell. I was so intently focused on this one gobbler that I convinced a landowner to allow me access through his property, which reduced the walk to 15 minutes. I was very hopeful that Saturday morning was going to be the day Mitchell met his maker. I had a new plan, and I set up 20 minutes before first light, feeling pretty good about my chances. I can't say I was confident; this bird had stolen my confidence long ago. He was indeed roosted where I thought he would be, and I was positioned where he sometimes liked to travel. He gobbled good on the roost, and after flying down, he cut many of my calls. But he never stepped a foot towards me, as best I could tell, and after 45 minutes, the sound of his gobbles was fading in the distance, along with my hopes of killing him. I was bested once again, but tomorrow would be a new day—and, as it turned out, a glorious day—but not for the reason you might think.
I was out late on Saturday night, meeting some out-of-town friends in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in downtown Memphis for some cocktails and then on to Texas de Brazil for a fine carnivorous dinner. I admit to overindulging a bit on all counts, so when my alarm rudely announced that it was 3:30 AM and time for me to get moving, I did so somewhat reluctantly. I had yet another new plan in mind for this particular morning—a bold plan. Now that spring had fully arrived, the undergrowth and forest canopy was almost completely "leafed out." I decided to sneak in under cover of darkness and set up smack dab in the middle of his roosting area. The plan was to kill him when he flew down, and I would never have to make a single call. I crept in well before daylight and got to the spot I had chosen in my head the night before. As the starry black sky began to turn pink towards the east, the first gobbles of the day began to ring out. However, I heard nary a peep out of Mitchell. I wasn't too concerned at first—he had teased me like this many times before. I began to hear a virtual chorus of gobbles to the south. I was so tempted to break from my position and go to these vocal birds, and in most any other similar circumstance, I would have already been on my way. But my passion to kill Mitchell was strong, so I stuck it out, patiently waiting on him to announce his presence with that throaty gobble I had come to know and sometimes despise.
It was now that time of day when it wasn't dawn, but it wasn't dark anymore either. The gobblers to the south continued their siren calls, but Mitchell had once again outwitted me. He either chose not to gobble this morning or had moved to another secret lair. My grand plan to finally kill Mitchell had once again been stymied. It was about then that I had my epiphany. The thought crashed down on me like a ton of turkey feathers. I thought, "What am I doing?!?!" The only one being affected by this grudge match with Mitchell was—ME!!! Here I was, listening to a bunch of turkeys gobbling their fool heads off not a 10-minute walk from where I was, and Mitchell was the only thing keeping me from them. I decided right then and there to let go of this grudge match and do what any other normal turkey hunter would have already done—go to the vocal gobblers to the south and try and make something happen. It was quite a feeling of relief and a sense that a weight had been lifted from my shoulders as I eased towards these gobblers, walking away from a chance to take my revenge on Mitchell. I didn't know it at the moment, but that decision would result in a grand and glorious morning, void of angst and disappointment.
I had to pay for the valuable time spent deciding to let go of my grudge with Mitchell. By the time I hot-footed it over to the vocal gobblers to the south, it was getting "sho-nuff" daylight. They were roosted on the edge of a cow pasture, and I had to use the sparse timberline on the fence row as cover. One gobbler was roosted a bit away from the others, and as I was creeping along the wood line, he gobbled so close that I nearly jumped out of my skin. I had to literally dive into a tangle of sticker bushes and saw briars in order to get set up under a small sweet gum tree. I pawed into my possibles bag and frantically dug out my limb snippers. I had to hurriedly cut a hole into this tangled mess just to be able to sit down, scratching my hands, face, and back in the process. I was familiar with this area and had a good setup spot in mind under a huge cottonwood tree, but I was unable to reach it safely without getting busted. I had to settle for the mess of a briar tangle I was forced to dive into. I hurriedly got settled in, and a scant few minutes later, turkeys began to leave the roost and land in the pasture. There were five gobblers in all, accompanied by a handful of jakes and hens. They put on a show—gobbling, fighting each other, and chasing hens. It was quite a sight, and I enjoyed every single minute of it.
Two gobblers almost immediately left in a single file out of the pasture to parts unknown. Even though the remaining three gobblers would readily gobble and strut to my calls, it wasn't too long before a loud-mouthed hen drew them away into the confines of a large, wooded tract adjacent to the pasture, leaving the remaining hens and jakes to peck around in the short, dewy grass, picking up grasshoppers here and there, still lethargic from the cool morning temps. The jakes would feed away from me, and I called them back several times just for the sheer enjoyment of it. After the hens and jakes left the field, I was finally able to leave my hidey-hole in the briar thicket and stealthily move a short way to the big cottonwood tree that I had intended to sit under all along.
The next couple of hours provided for the best time I had spent in quite a while, enjoying a simply wonderful spring morning. Sometimes I am a "Run & Gun" kind of turkey hunter, but this morning, driven in part by the late hour out I experienced the night before, I decided just to stay put. The gobblers that had entered the woods earlier in the morning would gobble every twenty minutes or so, solidifying my decision to remain stationary.
Nature put on a splendid show for me this cool spring morning, and I had the opportunity to witness and enjoy things that only true outdoorsmen can fully appreciate. Some buzzards left their roost and landed in the pasture directly across from me. Now, many folks would not find beauty in a buzzard, but to me, it was a beautiful sight when they all lined up and extended their wings to warm up and let the sun evaporate the night's collection of dew from their feathers. Gray squirrels (those from Mississippi know them as cat squirrels) were teeming all around me, chasing each other from tree to tree. A fox squirrel made his way directly over me, and I marveled at his snow-white nose. Two large Indian Head woodpeckers foraged for bugs in the trees around me. The woodpeckers were especially rhythmic on a dead, hollow elm tree, making their usual rat-a-tat-tat sound more like a bongo drum. Yes, it was a fine morning, and I took great care to soak it all in.
Around 10:00 AM, a turkey that had been gobbling sporadically in the distance gobbled quite a bit closer, which caught my immediate attention. I instinctively called with a series of hen yelps but received no response. A few minutes later, he gobbled again—this time, measurably closer. His next gobble made me spit out the cigar I had been smoking and move around the tree I was sitting under since dawn to face the woods instead of the pasture. I called once again, and he cut my call. Hey now!
I put my gun up on my knee and to my shoulder and tried to "get my mind right." The next twenty minutes were spent with me softly calling, and the yet-unseen gobbler advancing ever so slowly. A movement caught my eye up the ridge from my position, and lo and behold, there were three gobblers headed my way. Two of them were in strut, and one of them, which to me appeared to be the largest, had his neck stretched out on full alert. I looked ahead of the direction they were headed, and there, coming through an opening in the canopy, was a large ray of sunshine—like a spotlight from heaven. I told myself that when they reached this spot, they would be in range.
The largest gobbler reached the spotlight first. It was then that he relaxed in the sun and went into full strut. I only had to move my gun a tad, made a sharp cluck to raise his head, and then pulled the trigger.
As I walked over to the still-flopping gobbler, I thanked the Lord for all the blessings He bestowed on me this fine morning. It was then I realized what I would have missed out on had I not let go of my long-standing grudge match with Mitchell. I continually search for lessons in life, and this morning, nature proved to be an artful instructor. That morning, I let go of my grudge against Mitchell—both of them.
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