(I didn’t think I’d ever be writing this one.)
Lucas and I just returned from the Lone Star State with nary a bird! As a matter of fact, we really didn’t even scare one. I wouldn’t be a turkey hunter if I had too many trips like this one. You know, I must be pretty dad-gum secure in myself to admit we took a big-league butt whuppin’ back to Georgia.

As a matter of fact, when I was locking the gate for the last time Sunday morning, I think I faintly heard a Rio holler something to the effect, “Them Easterns ain’t got NOTHING on us!”

Indeed they don’t. For two and a half days, Lucas and I cast call after call with hardly any interest shown. On top of that, every time a gobbler got fired up and ready to play, he’d be way over the fence, the real fence, the property line fence!

But, being the optimist I am, there were valuable lessons for Lucas to learn (Okay, No. 3 is partially for me):
1) If you don’t have permission, don’t even think about it.
2) Hunting doesn’t go your way every time you set foot in the woods.
3) There’s a lot of other ways to have fun with one of your boys when going on a hunting trip, like lettin’ ‘em drive the rental on the ranch roads, catching horny-toads, eating, encountering rattlesnakes, missing school, etc.

Midway through the hunt, I could tell this was going to be a tough one and I was really anxious to see how Lucas was going to handle it. Did he get frustrated? Absolutely. Did he want to quit early? You betcha. But in the end he kept plugging away because, as I explained to him, everybody’s trying their best, bustin’ their tail to try to get a turkey and he can’t be the weak link in the chain.

But a man can only take so much!

During the last night of our hunt a big-time thunderstorm rolled in and set up camp right over our farmhouse. About the time to get up for our last morning hunt, the rain was still coming down in sheets and Lucas and I gladly pulled the sheets back up and crashed for another three hours!
What a hunt!