Just a Twenty-Pound Ruffed Grouse :: By George Calef

If there is magic on this planet,” wrote Loren Eisley, “it is contained in water.” The great scientist-essayist had deep philosophical thoughts in mind, but his words also have meaning for a first time turkey hunter in the arid Texas Hill Country.

About all I knew concerning wild turkeys and the art of hunting them was that you started by finding a roost, that turkeys roosted in big trees, and thus they would favor the giant pecans and oaks that grow along the Llano River, rather than the scrubby cedars and mesquite that cling to the dry flinty ridges.

When I hunt for a new species or in an unfamiliar area I often go in cold, without having read a lot beforehand, or seeking advice from more experienced hunters. I find that figuring things out for myself increases the fun and the challenge—keeps the kid-like joy and spontaneity in the too often overly-serious and sophisticated world of modern hunting. “Why not make things as difficult as possible for yourself” has always been my motto in hunting (some of my friends would say in life in general). So the first afternoon found me dressed in 3-D camo, sneaking among those giant hardwoods along the Llano’s banks, my recurve bow in hand.

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