Oak Glen at First Light

It was 2024 when my wife first mentioned she might want to try turkey hunting.

Not in a big, dramatic way — just a quiet interest. Enough to matter. Enough for me to take it seriously.

The early archery season had just wrapped up, and opening morning of the spring shotgun season was finally here. I’d spent the previous week glassing birds, watching patterns, and taking mental notes on where they roosted and how they moved. When you hunt turkeys long enough, preparation becomes part of the experience. I had a spot in mind — my favorite turkey property, Oak Glen.

We packed the truck and pulled in well before sunrise. The kind of dark where the world feels still and unfamiliar. This was her first time walking public land in the dark, and I could tell she was nervous. I wasn’t. I’d already walked this ground, already knew where we were going.

We crossed a rolling hill and dropped down into the edge of a wide valley, surrounded by large oak trees. It felt right. The kind of place turkeys want to be.

I leaned in and explained the plan.

“Get comfortable against this tree. Make sure you’ve got shells ready. Keep the gun on safe. When the turkeys come in, move slow — too fast and they’ll catch it. When you think it’s time, take the safety off.”

Then we waited.

For nearly an hour, the woods stayed quiet. We sat under those oaks listening to the valley breathe. Finally, I gave a short, subtle yelp — just enough to let anything nearby know we were there.

The response was instant.

A thunder of turkeys erupted above us.

I looked over at her and saw a smile I’d never seen before. Pure shock. Pure joy. The kind that reminds you why turkey hunting gets under your skin in the first place. I felt it too — that same surge of excitement that never really fades, no matter how many seasons you hunt.

As the morning went on, we started hearing more birds on the opposite side of the valley, calling as they worked down off the roost. I never made another sound. I let the turkeys above us do the calling for us.

Then it happened.

Leaves crackled.

Not rushing — careful. Deliberate. The sound of a turkey walking into the valley. We could hear soft clucks… then the low, steady drum getting closer and closer.

I gave another yelp.

BOOM — a gobble answered back.

I looked at her again. She was shaking with excitement.

“Get ready,” I whispered.

She nodded.

Moments later, he stepped into view — an older jake. Not quite a tom, but more than enough for a first bird. We let him close the distance, six yards or so, when I noticed a second turkey behind him, lining up perfectly with me.

I leaned in and whispered, “Take him.”

I heard the click of her safety coming off.

She took aim. I held my breath.

Bang.

The bird dropped.

Seeing an opportunity, I swung on the second turkey and fired. He dropped too.

When I turned back to her, her face said everything. Shock. Excitement. Relief. Pride. Satisfaction. Every emotion hitting at once.

It was the perfect turkey hunt.

Not because of the birds on the ground — but because it was her first. Because she felt it. Because she understood, in that moment, why we get up early, walk into the dark, and sit still beneath oak trees waiting for something wild to happen.

Oak Glen gave us a memory that morning.

And my wife got a first hunt she’ll never forget.