After passing the hunter's safety test with a 100%, I was eager to go hunting. Uncle Courtney read an ad in the newspaper inviting all youth hunters into an essay competition to win a wild turkey hunt near Meeker, Colorado. It was more than a state-wide contest and only 6 lucky kids would be chosen. I was one of those 6 kids. Every winner got their own private ranch to hunt on, as well as a highly experienced hunting guide. The tags were free, and we were gifted with slate calls as well. 

The Friday my grandparents took me up, we were introduced to our hunting guide, given a couple-hour lecture on turkey hunting and conservation in general, given a tour of our hunting grounds, and allowed to sight-in our shotguns. It's not exactly an easy feeling to be around 5 other kids who were shivering with excitement and armed with loaded shotguns, even with game wardens and parents surrounding each kid. As soon as I shot my shotgun thrice just to prove I knew I was doing, I wanted to leave, so we did. 

My grandpa Lyle and I woke up a 4 the next morning. It was a freezing, windy morning where our hotel was, but our hunting guide, whose name was coincidentally Tom, took us to our hunting blind which was completely silent and still. It was so quiet, you could practically hear the worms below our feet. In fact, when grandpa started opening a mint in the blind, it sounded like firecrackers going off. 

Tom and I looked at each other, then looked back at my grandpa, who decided to put the mint away. We stared back out over the ridge our blind faced, and waited for a couple more hours. We didn't hear a single gobble. Tom led us out of the blind and down the mountainside, and then around the mountain to his truck. He knew about my difficulties, so he drove us to his cabin where he kept a side-by-side. 

Riding in the side-by-side was one the funnest things ever besides a dirtbike ride. We were racing along unkempt mountainside trails, running over 8 foot tall saplings and launching over the smallest bumps. While Tom and I had huge smiles across our faces, and I chewed on some beef jerky, my grandpa was in the backseat behind us, holding onto both sides of the side-by-side and cringing. We spotted some turkeys, and followed them over mountains. But those birds would be gone by the time we got in our hunting positions. I'd sit in the remains of animals that didn't make it through the winter, and took a few bones as souvenirs. For most of that day, Tom and I survived off of Mountain Dew and beef jerky, and my grandpa (who hasn't been blessed with the hunter's spirit quite as strongly) finally made us go to lunch with him. 

Tom and I wolfed down our meals and waited for my grandparents to finish slowly. Grandpa was already bragging to grandma about our hunting experience, even though I hadn't even gotten close to anything. Tom sorta ushered them along, and offered my grandma to come with. My grandparents would sit and watch from the car on the county road while Tom and I went hunting off the mountainside. We were running out of daylight, and Tom desperately wanted me to get a turkey that day. 

So, that's what they did. As my grandparents watched on the roadside in the shelter of their heated car, Tom and I trekked across the muddy floodplain in 40 mph winds and sleet, and I chased him on all fours along a dangerously steep mountainside, and almost fell off a few times. Every time I slipped and made a noise, Tom would glance over his shoulder and just keep jogging. Eventually, we hunkered down in a wooded gully, and Tom started using his box call. To our surprise, a huge lone tom turkey talked back, and started strutting towards us. He was puffed up and had a glorious fan, and every few struts he'd grunt and gobble. I was hit hard with buck fever as I aimed the loaded shotgun at the longbeard gobbler's outstretched neck. I pulled the trigger, and to my absolute horror, the forestock slipped back and the bright yellow round fell into Tom's hands. The turkey was alerted, but my guide called to him some more so he'd calm down. 

Tom helped me slip the round back in, and this time we made sure the forestock was shoved forward all the way. Meanwhile, Tom was using a throat call to keep the turkey nearby, and we watched the turkey circle above us, and then strut down below us. 45 minutes after the first failed shot, I had a second chance, and this time I was certain I'd have dinner. 

*Click*

I died inside. Once again, the forestock slipped back and the round fell out. But my guide was ready, and had a new round inside the chamber before the turkey even realized what was going on. Before he could spread his wings and fly, I aimed for one final shot and the world went silent. I saw that turkey tom blink one last time, and as he reached his neck to gobble some more, my guide whispered, "Kill." into my ear, and the shotgun finally kicked back. 

Before I could begin to process what I just did, Tom had taken the shotgun out of my arms and was in the willows below me, wresting with my turkey. While the turkey was dead, his nerves were still jumping. As soon as I realized this, I tried to stand up, only I was sitting on my foot for almost an hour, so I fell as soon as I tried to walk. While I was unable to walk, I decided to start smashing my foot against a tree while Tom continued to try and hold my bird still. After a few seconds of this, I decided I needed to get down there, and just slipped down the mountainside. My turkey finally rested on his back near a brambly bush, and I picked him up by his feet. Tom congratulated me with a hard pat on the back, and then offered to take the turkey to the car for me, so I could focus on walking on a numb foot that was slowly coming back to life. 

I didn't stop shaking for almost an hour. I filled out my tag, took a few pictures, and helped Tom clean my turkey back at the cabin, all the while struggling to hold my cleaning knife steady. I took the beard, feet, tail fan, and a few fist fulls of feathers from my trophy turkey, as well as all the meat I could get including the heart. Tom also gave me a few turkey tail fans he had in his garage, and told him to call him anytime with any questions I might have about hunting. I went home that weekend with a cooler full of game and a deeper love for hunting.