On participation, by Guest Author: Alexandra McNeal

I think I have always been drawn to the idea of the land providing for me.  From a young age I had an obsession with survivor stories (think Robinson Crusoe, The Hatchet, My Side of the Mountain, etc.) where people figured out how to subsist on what was available to them.  My friends and I would play act our own versions of these stories in the woods: building shelters and attempting to start fires.  I remember specifically a time we managed to catch a crawfish on the banks of the Satilla River, and we were so proud of our prize we cooked it over a fire in an old, empty SpaghettiOs can.

Reveling in our bounty on the riverbank we thought, “We could totally make it out here”

Most of my life this interest was more lighthearted, but lately I have had the increasing desire to truly attempt to live “closer to the ground” - a phrase borrowed from Dylan Tomine’s book that’s played a part in rekindling this passion.  The way he writes about foraging mushrooms and digging for geoduck clams will make you instantly want to go outside and learn how your land can feed you.  The result has been a deeper connection forged between me and the landscape via growing, foraging, and harvesting what I can or sourcing locally the foods that I can’t.  It’s far from perfect (trust me, we order plenty of take out) but the pursuit of it is deeply fulfilling to me.

I love growing vegetables in our small garden and tracking the seasons to know when I should hunt chanterelles or check my persimmon trees; however, successfully hunting an animal (aside from the occasional fish) was something I had yet to achieve.  As someone who includes meat on their plate, I felt it was something I needed to experience to fully appreciate where my food was coming from and to understand the gravity of my choices at the grocery store.

Over the last few years, I tagged along on rabbit, squirrel, and turkey hunts with my husband, sat in deer stands, and truly enjoyed helping him process his successful deer harvests.  I was getting closer little by little but all that time I was still just an observer reaping the rewards of someone else’s hunting success.  Truthfully, I was dragging my feet and not making it happen because I was nervous.  The decision to take a life seemed like a heavy burden and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to shoulder the potential consequences. What if I made a bad shot?  What if I caused something undue suffering?

Of all the hunts I’ve gotten to be a part of I felt that turkey hunting suited me best.  There is a rhythm to it I enjoy. Walk a while. Listen a while. Sit and wait and watch a while. It’s a nice cadence that allows you to enjoy much more than just the task at hand.

A year ago, I was present when my husband and a friend successfully killed a beautiful tom on our Satilla River property, a piece of land my family has part owned for almost 2 decades. To bear witness to that and know all that went into achieving it made me want that experience for myself.

Fast forward to this turkey season and I’m back in South Georgia, but this time with a gun and intentions.  

We set out early, around 6:20 am, and I revel in our pre-dawn walk through the woods. I love this part of the hunt; something about being in the woods at this hour makes you feel exquisitely alive.  The only sounds are a chuck-will’s-widow singing his final set before first light, the swishing sound of our boots on the soft sandy road, and the occasional distant droning of a train.  Dark pines tower over us - silhouetted against the fading stars.  

We find a place to stop and listen for a while.  It’s amazing the contrast of sounds you’ll hear in just a 20-minute span of time.  As our chuck-will’s-widow finishes his solo, we have a brief intermission before our diurnal avian friends begin.  It starts out slow at first. One or two brave birds tentatively break the silence (why do I feel like it’s always a cardinal??) That seems to signal the rest of the choir to start up and within minutes it’s utter cacophony.  I close my eyes, leaning my head back, trying to parse a very different call from the chatter.

Maybe a half-hour goes by and we finally hear a gobble echo through the trees.  My heart skips a beat or two. The tom doesn’t seem far so we quickly set up our decoy, or “Winona” as our friend lovingly calls her, and get situated against a tree. I’m trying to compose myself and get prepared - going over in my head everything we had talked about shot placement.  After about 45 min my heart rate had calmed, my hands were numb from the cold, and it seemed this bird wasn’t going to play.  My friend gave one final call that was met with a silence we took personally. 

My husband was hunting a different part of the property, but he had texted that he wasn’t hearing much so we set off to check out another spot.  It's about 8 am at this point and the sunlight is streaming through the pine trees as we walk and call our way down a trail.  I think I hear a gobble over my friend’s mouth call but I’m not sure. He calls one more time and we get an instant response, closer this time. 

Again, we hurry to get set up against a good tree.  My friend and the bird have a nice call and response going on, so we can hear him getting closer and closer.  My heart is racing so fast. I do some box breathing to try and steady myself. I take the safety off and I am laser focused. My breath under control, I feel calm and ready but I also vaguely notice my knee is shaking uncontrollably. Hmm. I don’t think it’s just from the cold.  Also, why is my mouth so dry?

I truly cannot say how much time passed in these moments. It could have been 5 minutes. It could have been 20.  I am aimed exactly where we think the bird will come out. We see something through the bushes – not one, but two dark shapes moving towards us! Of course, they decide to come around to our left side, so we quickly have to shift so I can swing my legs around for my gun to rest on.  Hurriedly, my friend tells me when they come from behind that pine, they’ll be about 25 yards and I’ll need to take the first shot I get.  Otherwise, they will see us before they see Winona.

The butt of the gun is braced hard against my shoulder. Both turkeys come barreling around the pine tree, unable to resist one last call.  All I see is the bright red of the turkey’s neck, and I instantly pull the trigger, aiming where the plumage meets the skin.  The shot jolts me back and I blink… but see nothing in front of me but empty woods. I hear a rapid scampering away through the trees.

I missed.

I heaved a giant sigh and may have uttered an expletive or two.

I got up and walked back and forth between the trees and where I took my shot from, checking the trunks and looking for any sign of where I might have missed but found nothing. I truly could not believe I missed – I felt so sure about my shot! But there was no sign I had hit the bird at all, not even a feather out of place.  Maybe my shaking was worse than I realized?  I felt sick to think I may have injured the bird, but my friend said he watched it run off perfectly fine.

We walk back out to the dirt road and I see my husband way in the distance, speed walking down through the sand to us.  While we wait for him, we both hear a faint rustling out in the woods and look at each other questioningly.  We keep listening and hear nothing. My husband gets to us, breathing heavily.

“I started running when I heard the shot!” 

I was so embarrassed and disappointed to tell him I had missed. 

We start to check our maps to make a new game plan but I could not shake the feeling that I had injured this bird.  We decided to fan out and check the area again. 

A few minutes into our search I hear my friend whistle off to my right.

“Alexandra, I think you need to get over here!”

I am running before he finishes speaking and a few seconds later I can see a bird on the ground at his feet.  My bird!  More expletives (of a decidedly different tone) were uttered.

I quite literally fall to my knees next to the tom, hands against my face in utter disbelief. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. He is pristine and I sit in awe of him for a long time. I cannot stop stroking his feathers and marveling at his iridescence. My eyes fill with tears; I am choked up but also so happy.  Honestly, happier than I thought I would be in this moment and overwhelmingly thankful.  Thankful for this bird and his life. Thankful for my husband and friend who helped prepare me and make this moment happen. Thankful that we decided to check one last time.

I don’t know if other hunters feel the way I feel now, after taking their first animal. Maybe I’m a bit more sensitive and introspective than most; but I feel like my relationship with the land changed in that moment. I was no longer just an onlooker, but a participant in that ecosystem.

I initially wanted this experience to take part in the procurement of the protein I eat, but I won’t lie that I feel like I have reasons beyond that to pursue turkeys and other wild game in the future.  To look at the landscape through the lens of a hunter adds a new dimension to the outdoors experience.  It is an exceptionally grounding feeling. The absolute thrill of hearing that turkey gobble – especially when it’s responding to YOU.  That’s a feeling and a connection you can’t bottle.  To top it all off, these pursuits allow you to truly step away from the world and simply exist in the moment.  A day in the forest spent sitting, listening, thinking, observing…. I think most people could benefit from a day like that.

I understand that I’m exceedingly fortunate my first time hunting a turkey was successful. That’s what having excellent hunting mentors will do for you and I am truly grateful for them. I also understand that in the future, the turkey will likely best me 99% of the time and, luckily for us both, I am perfectly content with that.

That very night we thin sliced and cooked hot on the grill one of the breasts from the tom; it was simple and delicious.  I’d like to think the girl eating her crawfish out of a SpaghettiOs can would be proud.

Alexandra Nicole McNeal is a biologist turned wildlife artist as well as an avid angler and a lover of all things outdoors. She paints the subjects she is most connected with- feathers, shells, flora, and fauna with a strong nod to the Georgia coast where she grew up. You can follow and view her art @artbyalexandranicole on Instagram or at www.artbyalexandranicole.com

Photos provided by Clint McNeal and Swanny Evans.