My heart was pounding a million miles a second as we turned onto the county road that led into the hunting grounds. It pounded even faster and harder when Tom parked the truck and asked me if I was ready to get myself a turkey. I nodded, and together we stepped outside, carefully closing our doors so they didn't slam. 

Tom retrieved the shotgun from the gun case in the truck bed, and rested it on his shoulder as I trailed just behind him. He led me to the edge of the boggy floodplain, and then across it to the woods on the other side. He then looked back at me and asked, with a little bit of orneriness in his eyes, if I was ready to keep up. We had less than two hours to cover a quarter-mile of steep wilderness, call in a turkey, and kill it. I nodded, and he took off in a jog. 

I followed him up the mountainside through the woods, and then along a very narrow "path", that I honestly don't even think was a path. It was just a lip of soft soil that lined the mountain near the crest. I started to slow down, while Tom didn't. I thought about calling out to him to slow down, but I knew that was a great way to ensure no turkeys would be shot that evening. So instead, I dropped to my hands and just started charging. To be honest, I have no idea what compelled me to drop on my hands and run like a bear, but I had an easier time breathing, my legs didn't feel like they were engulfed in flames anymore, and I was catching up to Tom. 

As I ran, sweat dripped off the bridge of my nose as sputum filled my windpipe and mouth, making my breaths sound like tiger growls. Luckily for me, the wind had actually picked up a bit, and was rushing through the trees and drowning out my growls. Tom looked back briefly to make sure I was still alive, and decided to pause for just a few breaths to give me a break. 

"From now on, I'm calling you Wildcat!" Tom declared rather loudly, though his voice wouldn't scare away the turkeys in that weather. 

I was actually flattered. I couldn't deny it either. I was galloping on all fours, making noises that could easily be mistaken for a pissed off mountain cougar, with sputum and sweat dripping off my face like rain. Plus, if the sun shines on them right, the irises in my eyes do look like gold, which has led to some pretty awkward staring contests with curious strangers. So, I accepted my new nickname, and then nodded my head to let Tom know that I was ready for the final stretch. 

Tom jogged ahead of me, as I continued to run on all fours. At one point, my back legs slipped out from under me on some mud, and I found myself dangling off the mountainside by my arms. Tom stopped and looked back as I pulled myself back up, but I was already sprinting at him full speed before he could help me. So, we just kept going, and going, and going, until finally the thick green woods gave way to a gully of aspens, which descended to the floodplain below. And, just across the floodplain, was my grandparents' SUV, where my grandparents sat and watched. They couldn't see me, but I could clearly see them. 

Tom and I crossed the gully, and I sat just behind one of the aspens. I didn't bring my tripod, but instead used a broken branch as my tripod, which jutted out from the base of the aspen. I aimed my shotgun into the thick wilderness ahead of us, and Tom handed me a yellow 20 gauge shell, which I carefully loaded into the shotgun and closed the chamber. 

"This is it." I thought to myself as I gazed into the empty woods, "It's now or never." 

Tom used his box call to call any possible turkeys. Nothing. Silence. We sat there for ten minutes while Tom mimicked various hen calls with his box call and a diaphragm call (which is a small plastic piece you put into your mouth and blow into to mimic turkey hen calls.). Still nothing. A few more minutes go by, and I started to feel my heart sink a little. 

"Please God." I thought, "Just give me one shot." 

Just as I ended that thought, a huge lone tom turkey came strutting towards us, proudly displaying his fan and feathers for us to admire. He gobbled in response to my guide's calling, and continued to show himself off. He was a strange turkey. He was old and alone, and later on I found out Tom had no idea that turkey was even living on his land. Maybe God just materialized a wild turkey just for me to hunt, though chances are the bird actually came from the wilderness across the highway, knowing that those 50,000 acres had more than enough hens to breed. 

But what was even stranger, is that the bird did not leave no matter what. 

Right as he came up, I had a good clear shot on his outstretched neck. The world fell silent as my vision tunneled through the sights. I had the little green dot right on the bird's neck as I slowly squeezed the trigger. 

Click. 

Nothing happened. The trigger gave way, and the forestock came loose. I more or less died inside, knowing that I'd probably scare the tom away if I tried to move, but Tom motioned me to open the chamber anyway, and then slip it forward again with some force to make sure the chamber was actually closed. Meanwhile, Tom used various hen calls to keep the tom turkey calm and distracted. 

Once I had the shotgun locked and loaded, I had to wait. The turkey had moved behind a few shrubs, but he was still clearly there. He moved up the mountainside to my left, slowly strutted across the gully no more than 20 yards away, and then descended the mountain on the other side. For about ten minutes, he disappeared and was not responding to my guide's hen calls. 

I thought we had lost him. Maybe he found a rafter of hens nearby. Maybe he got spooked somehow. Maybe he just gave up and flew away. Whatever happened, for about five minutes, I was convinced he was not coming back. I took advantage of his disappearance to turn around just in case. But, just when I thought to nudge my guide to ask if we should pack up and leave, the tom turkey came back. 

He was still puffed up, and he was gobbling; clearly trying to locate the two hens Tom was mimicking. The tom crossed the gully below us this time, and then strutted just ahead of some brambles less than 15 yards away. Tom helped to slowly guide my shotgun to another broken branch to use as a rest for the barrel. The tom turkey was right there. All I had to do was keep the green dot between the two red dots, as well as keep it on the turkey's neck. 

Again, the world fell silent, and my vision tunneled. It was just like a dream, only real. I slowly began to pull back on the trigger, and I felt it click, but again, nothing happened. 

This time, neither myself or my guide fooled around. Our tom turkey was beginning to grunt with suspicion. Normally, when tom turkeys do this, they're seconds away from taking off. Yet, my guide mimicked the chirps of a grazing hen to calm and distract the tom turkey, while I changed out the rounds. 

Finally, I figured I actually had a good round in the chamber. So, one final time, I focused my sights on the bird's head, slowly squeezed the trigger, and this time the shotgun kicked back into my shoulder.