The inimitable Gordon MacQuarrie wrote "Now in June," a tremendous piece celebrating the glory and wonder of trout fishing. I guess we can forgive him for that. There weren't any turkeys in northern Wisconsin when Mac plied the streams and gunned the marshes and coverts there. If there had been, "Now in June" might have been a weepy lament about the passing of spring gobbler season.
OK, probably not. After all, Mac loved all aspects of the outdoors, including summer fishing. I do, too. It's just that it takes me a while to shed my annual spring turkey hangover and get back to real life. I wonder if other turkey hunters are like this.
Do they drive past a pretty piece of timber, lush and green at its seasonal peak, and wonder if the gobbler they saw there a month earlier is finally without hens and ready to work?
Do they go to the basement on an urgent errand, see their friction calls, yelp for 45 minute and then forget why they went to the basement in the first place?
Do they analyze again and again that almost surreal May morning when they screwed up not one but two pepper-hot longbeards, and then swear a blood oath never to repeat that?
Do they look past July and August on their office calendars to confirm that fall turkey season is a mere 80 days away?
Maybe not. Mac would probably shake his head and tell me to go fishing. But I guess that's where I'm at. Perhaps that's unhealthy or even a bit weird.
What can I say, man? I'm a turkey hunter. Normal has nothing to do with any of this.