Perhaps 15 minutes later we were at the top. The pre-dawn darkness was utterly without a sound and I remember conveying to myself to make mental note  how wondrous such moments can be.

   Just as the eastern horizon tantalized us with a whisper of pink, the first bird sounded off. So low at first  I began to wonder if I heard it at all. Thankfully, this was succeeded by a  louder   solitary "cluck".  And then moments later another bird responded with a sequence of yelps. Before long a dozen wild turkeys were vocalizing  all over the mountain topÂ…Â… a sweeter sound I may never have heard!

   Kevin began answering back. Slowly at times, more urgent at others. Although this was my first ever turkey hunt, I believe I witnessed every call known other than gobbling, which is a spring breeding  call. Kevin imitated the turkey talk flawlessly! After a while I couldn't tell his clucks, yelps, kee kees, and purrs from those of the nearby turkeys.

   At daybreak, the turkeys began to fly down from their roosts. ( I was amazed at how loud this was). Within minutes I glimpsed a couple birds cautiously working their way to Kevin's skilful calling. The lead bird was a big ol' longbeard, probably in the 20 pound range. The flock hung up just out of effective range but Kevin continued to yelp and purr the birds into a  feeling of safety and kept them coming. At roughly 20 yards I decided it was time to shoot. Heck, I was already tagging the big tom. I was already seated with a bead on the tom's red head. All I had to do was  lower  my head and shift myself ever so little to the left and go collect my first turÂ…Â…what the!Â…gone! disappeared in a heartbeat.

    I was busted big time! and had a new genuine respect for the quarry I had come so far to hunt.

When I looked over at Kevin and said " I barely moved" he pulled down his camo face mask and said " yup, they got pretty good eyesight all right I guess".

   And that my friends was my introduction to turkey hunting. We left the area and went to another farm to try our luck. Dylan, my 14 year old son was along on this trip and just as eager as I  to take his first wild turkey. He was to get his wish. Kevin set me up on another picturesque hillside while he and Dylan went about a hundred yards further and began calling.

   I was enjoying the  view while licking my wounds from the early morning's hunt when a 3 inch magnum  boomed from Dylan's 12 gauge. I looked down and saw them waving for me to come down to their location. To say I sauntered over would be a gross understatement. It was a nice bird in the 10 -12 pound range. As we stood around chatting (as hunters are apt to do after a successful hunt) admiring the beautiful bird I'm not sure who was more excited, me or Dylan!

The third and last evening of our New York turkey hunt unfolded as if  pre-written in a hunting show  script. Picture this: The sun is beginning to slip below the diverse stand of hardwoods we're hunting. I'm sitting against the base of a giant beech tree. The hillside is thoroughly full of turkey scratchings (made while the birds forage for food). Turkeys are yelping all around us. There are possibly 10 birds approaching  our calling. It's not a matter of if we'll see the flock, but when. If the birds make it to roost in the trees before we can shoot, they are safe. While it may be legal, shooting a bird off it's roost is akin to  shooting sitting ducks - simply not done old chap!  Suddenly, I see a large tom proceeding to investigate our calling. I aim at his red head and pull the trigger. Moments later I am securing my second turkey tag around his leg.

   Walking off the mountain in complete darkness, I am comforted by the hefty weight of the turkey slung over my shoulder (ALA Sunday morning hunting shows) and having had the chance to share this hunt with Dylan  I wonder to myself if it can get any better than this.

   The only way I can think it would be better was if we had wild turkeys in Nova ScotiaÂ…Â…..