April 25th, 2015
Double whammy: A twofold boon, especially favored in the United States as a reference for tagging two animals in a day.
Sharing: A hated word in my vocabulary.
Swallowing Pride
Swallowing the bitterness washing up my throat, I watched the tom strut into the open, and consequently straight into Mom’s sights.
Would she miss it? Would it be bigger than mine?
Mom had never killed a turkey before, so it was obvious that she’d get dibs on the first tom of the day. Well, that’s what Dad said anyways.
Why wasn’t I first? I thought I was his favorite.
It stung. But he was in charge, and I loved hunting with him too much to argue. Whiny babies didn’t get to go hunting after all.
Mom’s trigger finger inched from the receiver to the trigger. This was it. She was going to shoot.
My gut tightened.
I really hope I can shoot a bigger one…
“BOOM!”
The turkey’s head dropped, its whole body flopping to the ground. It kicked around, trying to shake off the aftereffects of the shotgun pellets. Then the lights turned off. All movements halted, the bird left still in the dirt.
Dad jumped up, Mom and I only a few feet behind.
The adrenaline of the hunt pulsed through me, a wave of happiness on its heels.
She did it! Mom got her first turkey!
The awful heartburn-like ache from the jealousy of having to share my hunting buddy, Dad, and the opportunities to get a turkey with my mom for the day, eased.
Mom was awesome! Just like Dad and me!
Halfway To A Double Whammy
Seeing the pretty colors of Mom’s turkey, I clapped her on the shoulder. “Congrats! That was awesome! Your bird is so cool! I love the coloring!”
I ran my fingers over the warm colors of the inner feathers, and then over the fan’s outer ring that tipped off into a light brown-blonde color. The featherless head repelled me, so I stayed away from the pale skin that faded into the blues and reds of the neck.
Why do their heads gotta look so weird? I mean, they can’t help what they looked like, but gross.
Stepping back, I gave Mom space to check out her own bird. The thing was pretty average, no monster or mouse. It’s coloring a striking resemblance to my own hair, and it was hers.
She did it. She’d gotten her first turkey.
Now it was my turn.
Dad picked up the turkey and turned towards us. “You ready to get yours, Araya?”
“Oh, heck ya! I was born ready!” I skipped back to the truck, an ear splitting smile, Dad, Mom, and the first turkey of the day, in tow.
Locating Another Turkey
“Cluck, cluck, cluck.” Dad paused for a beat, then resumed scrapping the two pieces of the wooden call against each other. “Cluck. Cluck.”
We’d been driving for hours, stopping at all the known turkey spots to call. But after each new call with no response, my huntin’ buzz had been fizzling away, bit by bit. The thoughts of being out hunted by Mom taunted me.
What if this means she’s the better hunter? Am I going to be skunked out? What if I don’t just not get a turkey today, but this whole season? What if my luck ran out?
Dad tried one last time. “Cluck. Cluck.”
“Gobble.” Came the tell-tale whisper of a tom responding a few hundred yards away.
I held my breath, blood thrumming with so much excitement that I felt like a live wire.
“Cluck. Cluck.” Dad responded.
“Gobble. Gobble.”
The call scraped gently, coming out at a lower pitch. “Cluck, cluck, cluck.”
Satisfied, Dad slid the strap back over the handle and said, “Let’s go.”
The Call-In
I shifted my elbows as I rested the shotgun on top of a small boulder. The makeshift gun-stand did wonders to cut my natural shaking to a manageable degree. The turkey, now silent as a mouse, lingered closer, still a good fifty yards off in the tree-line to the right of us.
You’d think they’d get louder and come a running. But no. They liked to surprise you when you least expected it. Damn birds, too smart for their own good.
Dad, two feet behind me, called softly again. “Cluck, cluck, cluck.”
Trying to be tricky, the tom responded with a soft, ‘yelp’ too low to discern its exact position.
My arms shook, the weight of the gun and my excitement wavering my steadiness. I set the gun sideways on the rock, needing a brief release to shake out my arms. Taking advantage of the break, I pulled the camo netting I wore, back onto my nose. Stupid thing.
Seeing Dad’s eyes bouncing back and forth from the gun to me with urgency, I repositioned myself. The gun rested and ready to go in my arms once again, I flicked the safety off.
Come on you little bugger, show yourself. I don’t got all day.
My eyes scanned the tree-line as I waited for the turkey’s bobbing head to come into view.
Please be big. Or at least a little bigger than Mom’s.
A rustle of leaves and an accompanying ‘yelp,’ drew my eyes to the right. It took a second for me to catch sight of anything. But once they did, they didn’t move.
The Second Turkey Of The Day
The turkey hid behind a stump twenty-five yards away, the bright tips of its fan, the only thing peaking above the wood.
My index finger settled onto the trigger.
The bird strutted a few steps, head bobbing. Then it paused, eyes locked right onto me.
I froze, the red and blue colors of its face fading into the background as its beady eyes stared me down. Damn. The thing probably thought my forehead peeking out from my neck guard and camo hood was odd. My eyes burned, the need to blink drying my eyes. Please don’t run.
A hair’s breadth away from blinking and busting us, the turkey turned its head.
Releasing a pent up breath, I blinked, gripped the gun tight to my shoulder, and fired.
“BOOM!”
The pump moved with my hand, sliding the next shell into place. The bird wobbled but remained upright. I rested my cheek back onto the gun, ready to pull the trigger.
Body slack, the turkey flopped over, the grass muffling its fall.
I stood up, intent on running down to it to ensure it was truly dead, but by the time I got up with the gun, Dad had already beat me to it.
Dad turned to Mom and me, dead turkey in hand. Blood dripped all over the place. But I did it. I’d gotten my turkey. There was no being skunked for me. Or being out hunted by Mom. Nope.
Now to see if it was bigger than mom’s…
Measuring Turkeys
If you learn anything about me, it’s that I sort of have a competitive streak a mile wide. Sometimes it reared its ugly head while I played games, but most of the time it was when I hunted.
“I think this one might be smaller than Mom’s.” Dad said, inspecting the bird dangling from his hand.
“WHAT?! No, it isn’t! Mine is totally bigger!” I exclaimed, voice pitched high.
“Okay, well let’s compare them, then.” Dad walked off towards the truck, the turkey and us in tow.
Whelp, I guess we’re going to settle this the old fashioned way.
The second we got back, Dad grabbed Mom’s turkey from the bed of the truck, and held them up side by side.
Dad took in each bird; comparing body sizes, weight, fans, and beards. It took only a moment, but it felt like forever before he made the decision.
“Well, Araya, I think yours does have a bigger body.” Dad surmised.
“Told ya!” Gravel crunched underfoot as I did a little dance.
Dad cleared his throat. “But, Mom’s turkey has a bigger fan and the beard is longer.” Done with his assessment, he shook his head at my continued antics. “You know most hunters go for the bigger beards and fans, right?”
“Yeah, whatever. Mine is bigger.” I shrugged, not in the least bit concerned about the beard or fan, continuing to do my victory dance in the middle of the road, not a care in the world.
How could I be upset? I’d killed a turkey. And so had Mom. You could say we’d had a double whammy of a day.
A Mother-Daughter Double Whammy
I may hate sharing my dad with others when hunting, and kills, but that competitiveness it stirred in me, paid off in the long run. As it kept the doubts about the shotgun from settling in while trying to get my third turkey ever. Too focused on beating Mom, and enthralled in the hunt itself, to be worried about whether I was going to miss or not. Instead, I had a blast turkey hunting with Mom and Dad, as we not only filled one tag, but two.
I just hoped we got to experience more days like this. Because not every hunt ends with one shot kills, and even rarer was it for us to tag two animals in one day. Rather, you could spend multiple days, and use countless bullets trying to just get that one animal for the day. But this amazing spring day, Mom and I pulled off what you could call: A Mother-Daughter Double Whammy.
I hoped everyday could be more like this one.
Pictured above is Mom (left) and me (right) with our turkeys.
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Well that is all she adventured, live life to the fullest and get out and hunt!!
Araya Rasmussen
June 21st, 2025