It's easy to recognize Sam. He's got a slightly crooked smile on his face. That smile suggests mischief and wilful, friendly deception. I don't know if he was born with that smile or if it grew on him with each exaggerated story that he told. Sam usually wears blue coveralls and a checkered flannel shirt and winter boots--even in summer. He stands about six feet tall. He has a small brown-grey moustache, darker than the grey hair on top of his head. He wears an old blue baseball cap with pinned decorations on it. What you notice about him, besides his slightly crooked smile, is his playful expression. His eyes light up like a Christmas tree when he tells you a story. Sam is 65 years old. Before he retired, he hardly worked for the New York State Department of Transportation.
George, on the other hand, is less spectacular in appearance. He's about the same height as Sam and about the same age. He usually wears faded blue jeans, a flannel shirt and a blue nylon shell jacket. He's a retired school custodian. He has an intelligent and handsome face, a kindly expression in his dark eyes, and he has a full grey beard. He wears a blue baseball cap too, but it is plain and not decorated.
For several years, George and Sam have been meeting at Hyde's Diner in Cortland at 9 A.M. on Saturday morning. They've known each other since they attended high school.
George is already seated at a booth near a window on this crisp late October morning. And there's Sam coming through the door.
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| Mad River Wildlife Management Area (left click on map) |
"I went turkey hunting, George. Had something happen that never happened before. I got lost."
Sam takes a seat opposite George in the booth.
"Lost?"
"Totally, woefully four-lorn and lost. I went hunting for turkey near the Mad River Wildlife Management Area--north of the Salmon Reservoir--and I realized I was lost."
"You got lost? I don't believe it. Is this the start of another nutty story? Are you trying to pull my leg again?"
"No, sir. It's the truth, may God be my judge. Last week I parked my pickup at the end of an old timber road off Little John Drive and Oswego County Road 17. Then I took my shotgun and walked past a vacant hunting camp and into the woods toward the river. I've hunted in that area in the past."
"You say you got lost? How long were you lost?"
"I'll get to that in a moment. I'm telling you straight up. I never expected to get lost."
"You're here now. Now I wonder, if you got lost up there, how did you get found?"
"I said I got lost, George. I didn't say I disappeared. And I found my way out--you may not believe this--with help from a mind-reading supernatural bird."
"Uh-oh, this ought to be a good one." George smiles.
"I really had high hopes and aspirations for this turkey hunt, George. I had visions of Tom turkey roasting in my oven."
"Lost, you say. I suppose you didn't have a cell phone, GPS, or compass?"
"Hell, no. I was the perfect example of the municipal tenderfoot who thought he knew his way in the wilderness area."
"Serves you right, then."
"So this is how it happened. I started the hunt by following an old trail that led directly to the river. As I was walking, I heard a loud turkey cackle in the woods nearby--or maybe it was a crow--I wasn't sure at the time. A cackle usually means a turkey is running or flying away. I stopped and listened. No repeat. So I continued to follow the old path. It started to snow lightly--early for mid-October. No matter, I was dressed for it. I found a spot by a hemlock tree and sat down. I was facing the river and I had a clear view of the field in front of me. I started to call gobblers using my old Strut mouthpiece. Some yelps, clucks and purrs. You've heard me practice--I'm awful good at it. I heard nothing back so I called again. This time I thought I heard a long extended gobble in reply. I got excited. Tom's don't usually gobble in the fall. I got up and stood beside the tree and called again. Some nice little yelps and purrs--trying to sound seductive like a hen turkey."
"Somehow, Sam, I can't picture you as a hen turkey. Did you wiggle your ass too?"
"George, just this once, try to be serious and listen as I tell this incredible but true story."
"Go on...."
"Well, soon enough, I heard another loud gobble, much closer than before. I called again and heard that gobble again. My calls were getting results! I looked around the open field and waited. All of a sudden, a bearded turkey head appeared about twenty yards away, looking straight at me. That's when I lifted my shotgun and aimed. My finger went to the trigger to pull--and damn, that's when that turkey dropped its head and ran. I never got the shot off."
"Bye-bye birdie?"
"No, he was just playing hide and seek. He cackled when he ran and he yelped a few moments later. I saw him move by some rocks and bushes about 100 yards away. He stuck his head up and looked back at me. Reminded me of a scene in the old Roadrunner cartoons. I'd say he was thinking, your move, Sam."
"Did you oblige?"
"Sure, I aimed my shotgun at him again and just when I was moving my finger to the trigger, presto, off he goes, running through the bushes. I ran or walked through thickets for a 1/4 of a mile following him. Turkeys can fly but this one preferred to run. This smart turkey was deliberately showing himself every now and then, like he wanted me to see where he was. I got winded so I stopped. As I caught my breath, I looked around. I didn't see any sign of him. I was disappointed after the 1/4 mile chase and I thought he got away. I put that old Strut diaphragm back in my mouth and started to call again. Just as before, I heard a loud gobble ahead in the woods. I got the suspicion that he was running me in circles but I wasn't sure. I followed his tracks in the snow and went deeper into the woods."
"Is this how you got lost?"
"It was the beginning of it. I looked for the sun but all I could see were dark grey snow clouds in the sky. The snow had let up, but more was coming. I could see a thick white sheet in the sky drawing closer. I kept going. I never allow a turn in the weather to interfere with a hunt--something to reconsider and perhaps change someday."
"Could you still hear or see the turkey?"
"You bet. I followed that smart-ass turkey through the woods for several minutes. I stopped when I heard a familiar gobble in front of me. Obviously, a turkey can out-run any hunter any time if it wants to. Jeez, George, not this turkey. This turkey was using me as a damned playmate, and it was playing hide and seek. I was a dumb fool for getting caught up in it."
"Turkeys are supposed to be smart, Sam. I don't buy the hide and seek thing when the hunter has a loaded gun."
"I had some doubt about it too. Despite the doubt, I aimed my shotgun at him again. The bearded turkey stood in full view about 30 yards ahead of me. I thought, calm yourself, Sam. Don't miss this easy shot. But as soon as I moved my finger to the trigger, the turkey disappeared again. George, I was losing my patience and getting awful nervous. There was something different and suspicious about this turkey. It was at that moment that I entertained the idea that he could read my mind. Seriously. That turkey seemed to know exactly when I was going to pull the trigger. Now that may sound foolish here and now, George, but at that time and in that place I honestly came to believe it."
"If I was there to advise you, Sam, I would have shouted for you to wise up and quit the hunt."
"You know me better than that, George. Now I knew I was lost when I went deeper into the woods. By that time I didn't have any idea of north, south, east or west. More snow was falling. I couldn't see any turkey tracks, and I didn't hear the turkey either. I was in an area of hemlock, white pine, beech, blackberry vines and hundreds of rocks and boulders. It was a rugged place to walk for an old geezer. So I thought, where the hell am I? My recent footprints were getting covered with snow. So I made a quick decision then and there to abandon the hunt and try to find the river. If I get to the river, I thought, I can find the old hunting camp and my pickup and go home."
"So after pretending to be a hen turkey and establishing an apparent love attachment to a bearded Tom turkey, Sam getting lost, Sam and Tom get separated in the woods. Does that sum it up correctly?"
"Separated, yes, but it wasn't a divorce. I found my way back to the Mad River but I couldn't see my own footprints along the riverbank. Several inches of snow had fallen. I looked around. This wasn't the same place where I had been earlier. Nothing looked familiar. Panic isn't in my bones, George, but I was close to feeling it. I felt like the last soul left on earth."
"Hmmm. Sounds like trouble in the northwoods--if there is any grain of truth in the story."
"Not only true, but it was a defining moment of self-awareness. I was lost. I didn't know if I was north or south of my entry point. I made matters worse by taking the wrong direction along the river bank. Then, as I was trudging along, I heard loud gobbling behind me. Jeez, I turned and asked myself, what's this? Is that turkey making fun of me while I'm lost? The snow had stopped falling, and this feathered freak of the woods was standing on a rock and just staring at me. His head and neck shook, and another gobble rolled out. It's either the same turkey or a close twin, I guessed, still playing the game. Only one way for a sucker like myself to find out. I raised my shotgun and took aim at him. When I moved my finger to the trigger, he simply disappeared."
"So, it was the turkey you were chasing earlier."
"Appears so. But I wasn't in a mood to chase or shoot him anymore. I was tired, lost, hungry and cold. But that turkey wasn't going to allow me a moment's peace--not by a long shot. His game of hide and seek wasn't over. He strutted and gobbled and beat his wings in plain sight. Damned if he didn't want me to chase him again. He was leading me in the opposite direction. So I thought, why is he going in the opposite direction? That's when the truth hit me like Revelation and the words of Saint John. 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock.' This strutting turkey was the same smart-ass turkey that I heard as I left my pickup and entered the woods to hunt. It had been leading me in circles on a rough and tumble chase all day. I ran it through my head. No doubt about it. The turkey playing games seems to know I'm lost. He could read my mind, I swear. He may lead me back to my pickup truck, I thought. With the energy of desperation and little else, I decided to follow this hide-and-seek turkey and see where it took me."
"You've got to be kidding...."
"No, siree. It started to get dark about then. It gets dark early in the Adirondacks in fall and winter, as you know. So I followed the cackles, yelps and sightings of that turkey through the snowy woods. May God be my judge, a mind-reading wild turkey led me back to my pickup in less than an hour."
"I suppose, Sam, given your fantastic admiration of this mind-reading bird, with all the sightings and love mutterings, you never attempted to shoot him again?"
"Hell, no. I had a notion. If I shot it and killed it--if it could be done--God would have left me in the wilderness until I froze to death and then sent me to hell to thaw out. You don't bite the hand that feeds you, do you? Hey, speaking of food--it's time to order breakfast."
"Strange story, Sam, very strange. But entertaining and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Maybe someday you will tell me what really happened on your Mad River hunting trip, and how, several hours after you got there, you sobered up after drinking from a bottle of Wild Turkey and never got out of your pickup truck except to pee."
Follow Sam and George:
The Mouse with Three Legs
Also recommended:
Wild Goose Chase
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