Sydney Shaw was born into a hunting family.

Her sister took to the sport early on, but Sydney had other interests and wasn’t all that enthusiastic about cold, snow, wind or rain and the long hours often required to bag a deer or turkey.

However, times change, and Sydney suddenly felt a newly awakening desire to accompany Dad into the woods spring turkey hunting. Chris was thrilled at her decision.

Turkey hunting necessitates the proper hunting apparel; the idea is to be invisible to a quarry with six power eyes, absolutely no curiosity and is literally suspicious of everything that moves. Paranoid may be the best word to describe a big gobbler’s wary nature.

Camouflage clothing abounded in the Shaw family; dressing Sydney properly would be a simple matter. Neither would a shotgun, as her sister’s was sitting in the gun cabinet.

Shells, calls, boots, hat, facemasks and gloves were to be had in abundance. So, you may ask what hurdles I was referring to, since she was ready to go afield with all the proper equipment; her father, an excellent turkey hunter, as a guide and fortunate enough to be staying at a camp full of addicted turkey fanatics ready at instants notice to provide volumes of hard-won advice, often contradictory since turkeys are maddingly unpredictable.

The obstacles Sydney was soon to encounter come with the sport itself, not the material preparation.

As the first day drew near, the Shaws made all the proper preparations and, an hour or two before dark, Chris, his father Scott and Sydney arrived at camp Rack and Feather Friday night. Saturday was the opening day.

After a warm welcome, they hauled their gear inside and, as daylight began to fade, the Shaws hurried to a spot known to traditionally harbor gobblers. With a little luck, they might be able to hear a turkey gobble, and knowing where a gobbler is roosting is a very good thing.

Fate was smiling on them this evening, for as the darkness deepened and night slipped ever closer, an owl hooted and not one, but three gobblers cut loose close at hand. A big turkey’s gobble is an awe-inspiring, thrilling shot of adrenalin to any turkey hunter, but hearing three birds at once is electrifying indeed.

Chris, Scott and Sydney looked at each with huge smiles and shining eyes. What luck.

To hear three birds on the eve of one of Sydney’s first hunts was a stroke of good fortune. Success early in a hunter’s career is always encouraging and, as mentioned before, just hearing a gobbler is a special event. Even now, after all these years, a gobble still gives me goosebumps.

They returned to camp at dark, full of expectancy for tomorrow’s upcoming hunt. We all listened eagerly to their story, astonished at their good fortune; everyone was excited for Sydney.

Though there are never any guarantees hunting turkeys, having gobblers located and knowing where to set up the night before is at least half the battle.

Turkey hunting means rising early, and 4:30 a.m. comes quickly. Soon, the alarms sounded and the camp kitchen filled with bleary-eyed hunters.

Cooking breakfast takes far too much time, so an energy bar, cup of coffee or peanut butter toast is the standard fare at this hour. By 5 a.m., those that had to drive to their spots were already dressed and moving out.

Arriving at their spot, the Shaws grabbed their guns and headed out. The sky was barely lightening in the East when they reached the trees at which they had determined to set up.

Scott positioned himself 40 yards behind them to do the calling. Chris and Sydney were situated just back from the edge of the ridge, the birds were roosted immediately below them just out of sight.

They settled in and patiently waited for the coming dawn. Gradually, the sky lightened, the Eastern sky an air washed, clean, golden glow, the 28-degree air keen and exhilarating.

The trees appeared, invisible branches now silhouetted black and sharp against the dawn. Suddenly, the silence was shattered, as one of the turkey’s gobbled and the others joined in a heart racing chorus. Oh, the magnificence of that sound. The brazen voices boldly proclaiming their presence to the world.

Sydney’s heart raced as the gobbling continued nonstop. Oh, the thrill.

Finally, in the growing light the birds flew down, Scott called and they instantly answered, but as time passed, they moved away and finally quit gobbling altogether. What? A perfect set up and the birds refused to come in?

Frustrated, Chris arose and moved to the ridge edge, calling again. The birds answered immediately and, surprisingly, quickly moved closer.

Hope renewed, Sydney waited anxiously, but no birds appeared. Then, just a few yards behind them a gobble thundered out almost making her jump out of her skin.

Chris whispered for her to swing around and shoot, but even a 20-pound turkey is amazingly quick at flying and all vanished in a flurry of flapping wings. Despite the hunters having everything in their favor, the turkeys had won.

Later in the morning, I asked Sydney if she hated turkeys yet. She seemed surprised at the question and answered, “No.”

I laughed. Just keep hunting them Sydney, just keep hunting them.