Bear Grease - Ep. 321: This Country Life - Wes: 1, Bob: 0

Episode Date: May 9, 2025

Some turkeys are still gobbling and dropping all over the place, while others live to see another day. Brent’s got a story about a fairly recent father and son turkey hunt in Pennsylvania. He’s also sharing an oldie but goodie about his friend and filming mentor in Missouri. It’s time for MeatEater’s “This Country Life” podcast.  Subscribe to the MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Shop This Country Life Merch Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Welcome to this country life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my experiences and life lessons. This country life is presented by Case Knives on Meat Eat Eater's Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcasts that Airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some stories to share. Weston One,

Bob Zero I hope you all have enjoyed the last few episodes about turkey hunting because you're in for some more. I may have to change the title of this show to this turkey life, but for those that don't care about hearing about turkey hunting next week's shows

about making quilts. No, it ain't. We're going to be talking turkey hunting then too. I have had a great spring and I've got a lot to talk about. As a matter of fact, I can't wait any longer. So let's get to it. This story comes from this country life listener, Garrett Baker.

Garrett is from Smithport, Pennsylvania, which is 20 miles from the happiest place on earth. The Case Knife factory in Bradford. I actually met Garrett and his son Wes when I was in Bradford last summer tour in the factory, visiting with all my case family, John Pantuso, Tom Taylor, Fred Feitner, Marissa McGarry, and all the other case faithful. We had a good visit, and Wes walked away with a pocket knife, courtesy of John. Now, Garrett's talking about smashing turkeys, and if someone's willing to share a good gobbler beat down, I'm willing to listen. So in Garrett's words and my voice, here we go.

Wake up, buddy, it's time to go find you a turkey. West jumped out of bed like he'd never been asleep. The excitement had been pouring out of him in anticipation of the youth turkey opener. He spent just as much time as most adults scouting and working on his calling and testing different turkey loads and sighting in the red dot on his Mossburg 410. Now, that's not bad for a six-year-old. The 23-24 season had already been good to him here in Pennsylvania. We bagged his first squirrels and he helped me trap some beavers. Turkeys were next on his list and that boy was bound and determined to get one.

We added down to our friend Trays, and Trey and I grew up together spending most of our time chasing any sort of game that was in season. Trey had more experience in the turkey woods of me and was, in Weston's mind, the golden ticket to him getting a turkey. Now, we had permission to hunt a farm on the edge of town. It consisted of a few fields that are in the bottom of a steep valley with a good ridge line all around the top. This valley is full of soft and hard mass crops at a stream

running through the center and logging roads branching upward that the birds really like to travel. Every day, we'd see him come out to mill around in the field. Trey's dad, Bill, a retiree, gets his kicks out of sitting in his truck and watching these turkeys every morning. So we had a daily turkey report that kept us excited well before the season. It makes me wonder how I'll burn time off the clock at the end of my career and I can enjoy the simple things in life. I guess there's worse things that a person can do,

besides watching turkeys to pass the time. We were in the blind as the sun started to creep over the hill, and Trey's Owahooten had a turkey goblin soon after. It was finally daylight, and our turkey collar let out some soft yelps, and immediately we had an answer. Wes's eyes lit up. Did you hear that, Dad? Yeah, I heard it, bud.

Let's hope he decides to, pay us a visit. The time for turkeys to come into the field came and went, with sporadic goblin taking place. It started to rain, and Westford called that turkeys like to hang out in the fields during the rain. Maybe this will make the turkeys come out of the woods. Not long after, Trey called and a turkey replied right up the hill from us, and he was close. We couldn't see him with the roll of the field above us, but from his calls we could tell he was more. moving down through that field. We watched it rain and waited until we could see 11 turkeys headed towards us and our decoys.

Now, one after the other, their heads started popping up like periscopes when they saw our decoys. They stopped for a few minutes, slowly turned, and then they started walking away, gobbling occasionally, making us wonder what we'd done wrong. Why are they leaving? Well, because they're turkeys, and they make zero cents. Turkeys had walked back up the hill out of sight. Trey continued his calling when we looked across the valley to see four more making their way down the hill. They were 400 yards out, and they still had a creek, bobwire fence, and the dirt road to cross before they got to where we were.

A Trey said if they crossed that creek, they're coming in, and just like that, down the bank under the fence and across the road they came. Game on. until they hit the spot where the other turkeys had turned around and they followed suit going out of sight. Now, by now it was 11 o'clock and I was impressed that Wes had even stuck it out this long. Good thing he did because just then a big old redhead popped up about 100 yards in front of us. Then another one right behind it. Those birds had meandered at a snail's pace and it seemed like they would never get there.

Tracy, I don't know if I'm nervous or cold, but I'm shaking like crazy. Wes said I was shaking the gun with my shivering. I had never been more excited for someone else to succeed in hunting in all my life. The turkeys made their way down to 45 yards, and I told Wes we needed to get one within 30 before he could shoot. The 30-yard ring of death was marked with sticks and ribbons all around the blind for reference when it was okay for him to shoot. And just like turkeys do, they did something unexpected. They turned around to look back the way they came. But now what are they doing?

That's when the whole flock crested the knoll going as fast as a group of turkeys could run. We all started laughing at the sight of these turkeys jiggling their way towards us like bags of feathered jello. The mood quickly turned to panic as the turkeys got together, caused them to join the galloping goblers with a full head of sands. steam and started running right by our blind within 20 yards with no sign to stop it. It was a turkey stampede. Wes was trying his best to get his red dot on a red head. Trey, you've got to get one of those birds to stop.

I'm trying. Then in a last ditch effort, Trace took his head out of the blind and let out of hay! The last turkey in the group stopped and stared at us at about 40 yards. A young Jake, as confused as we were. was giving us a chance. He was right on the edge of what I wanted, and I told West to put it on his head and shoot. That turkey rolled backers and jumped back up and ran away.

He was gone in the woods a couple of hundred yards. We walked all over. We looked for sign. We wandered the hill for hours, even going home to grab the dogs to see if they could find him. Nothing. Not even a feather on the ground. I had made a bad choice to stretch out.

out what I felt was close enough and came up short with the possibility of a wounded turkey. Wes and I talked the rest of the day about it, how much we wished we had found him. Well, later I received a text from Bill who'd gone back up there to see if the turkeys were back. All the turkeys in that flock had returned with the luckiest Jake in the county with him in his spot, bringing up the rear. Now Wes and I'd be hunting the next weekend in a new spot, but this time I'd be doing all the calling. That Saturday was much hotter than the weekend before, and as we drove past Tray's house, I heard Wes say, I wish Trey was coming with us.

Well, me too, but we'll have fun, and hopefully we'll get to send him a picture of a gobbler. We walked a few hundred yards and crawled in the blind that we set up earlier in the week, and I set out the decoys. Did my best using my mouth call throughout the morning, One, gobbler was answering how on the hill do I write but not making any moves. He stopped answering, and I chalked it off to him just going silent. Second, gobbler was answering from a neighboring property straight out in front of us. Now, he sounded much more interested.

This went on long enough to get us excited, making me wonder if I should get Wes out of the blind and try to move in on that turkey. I talked myself into staying put. It's hard enough to not get busted by a gobbler in a blind with a six-year-old let alone keeping him still by a tree in the open. As quick as our excitement came on, though, it was squashed. What I thought was going to be Wes's first turkey was slowly coming closer by the minute when,

bang! Somebody shot, and it was all over. They had gotten between us and him on the other property. Well, excitement led to frustration with me thinking that our day had come to an end. West didn't seem to mind. He had little debby's to keep him entertained. He just had to wait for dear old dad to call him in another turkey. No big deal. I kept it by routine for another hour or so, calling occasionally, hoping that something would show up or answer with a gobble. Then 200 yards in front, I caught movement. Three black blobs were running down the edge of the brush line straight towards us. Weston, get ready, bud. Here come some turkeys. I got him on my knee and a shotgun on our wrist. We had the same 30-yard ring of death set up. However, West came with more firepower this time.

Trey let him borrow his 20-gauge, and in his mind there was no turkey that could get away now. They came in on a rope, three jakes, and they came within 10 yards of the blind. Black beady eyes that seemed to be looking right at us, and West showing signs of turkey fever shaking and breathing hard. Just put the dot on the head and squeeze the trigger for him. Wes took his time and the Jake started to get antsy and began walking away.

Got to shoot soon, Wes. They got the 35 yards when Wes let the bismuth fly. Bam! The turkey in the back of the group hit the ground. I grabbed the blind and flipped it backwards. I got it, Dad. I shot my first turkey. We both ran over to that bird and hugged and high-five and took pictures to send

the tray and everyone else that we knew with a cell phone. Weston retold his side of the story, and I watched the adrenaline pump through him as he did. The excitement we both shared is something neither of us ever forget. A great day made even sweeter by the craziness that we'd endured. This will always be one of my most cherished memories, and I hope it will be one of Weston's. And according to Garrett and Weston's, and according to Garrett and Weston, Wes Baker of almost the happiest place on earth. That's just how that happened.

Now, I love a good turkey killing story, Garrett, and any that involve family, especially youngings, I'm all in, my man. Thanks for sending it in. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps Game Calls in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called Prime Cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use.

I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts.

Check out prime cuts at Felts. I think you'll be glad you did and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. Let's slip back about 20 years to a farm in Missouri. I was just getting into filming and the man that taught me the most about running a camera was meeting me there to hunt for a few days. He shuns the spotlight like he's in the witness protection program and is happy just playing music and enjoys the semi-off-grid living out toward the East Coast. So, to honor his wishes of anonymity, I'm going to call him Bob. Bob and I had hunted hard every morning right up into the midday cutoff in Missouri.

On the second of the last day of our trip, I had killed a monster. To this day, it's still the biggest turkey I ever killed, but that's a, That's a story for another day. This story is about getting the cameraman in front of the camera, and I talked him into it. We were on the back patio, boiling crawfish, for a dozen kin folks and neighbors of our host when I convinced him to buy his non-resident license

and let me do the filming the following morning. We had one day to hunt, and he'd been filming me shoot turkeys for a couple years, along with a host of other folks too. He'd watched more turkeys, die in the last five years that most will see in a lifetime, but none of them he could put a tag on. He was like an umpire watching a batter hit a walk off Grand Slam to win the World Series, always close, yet so far away.

While he contemplated my suggestion, he had Toby and Mary's Beagle Conway in his lap. They'd become fast friends as Conway had shown a special interest in Bob everywhere he went from the moment we arrived. You didn't see one without the other around the house any time we were outside. And they both seemed to enjoy each other's attention. I don't know, Brent, you still got a tag left, and I'd hate to not be filming if something truly incredible happened. Now, I knew what he meant without him just coming right out and saying that he was a legitimate tier one outdoor cameraman, what we would call a cinematographer these days.

He was an absolute perfectionist on framing and shutter speed and white balance and always shot on manual everything. I was a student and he was a tyrant of a micro manager when it came to filming. Not in a rude or a mean way, he just knew what worked and I didn't. A secondary objective of our hunt was for me to get some behind the camera time for him to critique. But what we planned to do was after I had tagged out, we could. just sit and call in turkeys and he could watch what I was doing over my shoulder. But I hadn't filled my last tag, and we only had one day left. My argument for him to be the shooter was how incredibly good the footage of my hunt had gone.

We had absolute gold in the can, as they say, so anything else was just going to be gravy on the cat had biscuit we'd already served up. Bob looked down at Conway and said, Conrad, now I'm not sure. sure why he called him Conrad, but he never called him by his actual name. It also didn't seem to bother Conway. But he said, Conrad, what do you think? Should I let Brent film me in the morning? A Beagle just looked up at Bob as he petted him. He didn't say no, Bob. Bob nodded his head and said, all right, let's go get some license. And off the town we went. And when we got back later that afternoon Toby told us about hearing a turkey goblin across the road right in front of his house.

Well, can we hunt over there? Yep. I have full permission for me and anyone I want to go. Well, that's all we needed to hear. We'd been driving 45 minutes away from the house to hunt a different farm, always being extra early to account for dealing with cameras and tripods, external monitors, and everything else that went with how we did it back then. getting up later and walking across the road the next morning was going to be a real treat we set out on the front porch that evening me toby bob and bob's pal conway we heard the turkey goblin right before roosting time toby told us exactly how the land laid where he'd roosted and where we should start out the next morning i couldn't wait to punch record and bob couldn't wait to punch that turkey even conway was fired up his tale just a blur as he sensed Bob's in all our excitement for what we knew was going to be an epic hunt the next morning. I hopped out of bed as quietly as I could, and Toby and Mary and the girls who were still in elementary school were still fast asleep. Bob tiptoed out of his room,

and we met up in the kitchen where the coffee had just finished brewing. Mary had set it up for us the night before. That lady is a saint. We each poured a cup and out the door we went. Accessing the property was literally as easy as crossing the road, and when we did, we didn't have to use a light. The full moon was bright, the grass and the leaves were damp, and the whippoor wheels helped to mask what little sound we made as we slipped across the pasture to the edge of the woods 300 yards away. Toby is a contractor by trade, but he should be a turkey guide. He had told us exactly where he thought that turkey would roost and where we should set up and listen, and we would. walk straight to it without the aid of a light. 30 minutes early, right on time.

Bob pulled a jacket out of his turkey vest and draped it over both of us and the camera that sat on the tripod. Bob's small red LED light directed my attention to camera settings and filters and switches that I'd be using and the jacket kept us hidden from spooking any roosted turkeys that might see us. It felt like I was making one last pre-dawn map survey before. we attack the enemy. Bob was as excited as I'd ever seen him.

He loves to turkey hunt and is a dang good one and was satisfied up to that point of bagging his turkey, so to speak, by being in control and the one who said, shoot, to whoever he was filming when it was time. I watched him get emotional when my son killed a big gobbler on camera the year before by how good the footage was and how happy he was to have shared that with the two of us. It was a special moment. This morning, though, he was on another level. I could hear it in his whisper and see the red-lit smile on his face as he pointed to this and that on the cameras.

We stood there under that jacket. I did my best to pay attention, but I was distracted by how much fun he was having, and it was still 15 minutes before goblin time. For the next 10 minutes, we stood silent and motionless, listening to the world as it started to wake. up. The eastern sky had started to glow and a nearby Whipplewheel continued its incessant singing to the point of irritation. I whispered to Bob. I wish that joker would bust wide open. He muffled a laugh as best as he could but was cut off by a gobble, 100 yards away. We looked at each other and pointed at the same time an automated response but was totally

unnecessary. How could we not know where he was? Toby had told us the night before, and the turkey had just proven it. We slipped without making a sound 20 yards closer, and Bob sat down against a big white oak tree on the edge of a neglected cow pasture. I sat down against a smaller one just behind him allowing me full coverage of whatever was about to happen. There hadn't been a cow grazing on this property for years, and Juniperus Virginia, Virginia, the eastern Red Cedar that's taking the

opportunity to move in. Cattle farmers hate them because they compete with grazing by taking up

space where grass could grow and soaking up water that the grass could be drinking.

Not to us at that moment in time, those cedars were worth their weight and gold.

Grass was still short in that old pasture and the random placement of the cedars were

going to keep us out of sight of that gobler forcing him to come all

the way to us before realizing and the yelps he was hearing was from a dude hold a shotgun and not a gal looking for a feller. He was gobbling to the world that he was the king of spring, and off in the distance we heard a few faint responses, but they didn't dare challenge his authority,

and he didn't slack up gobbling when he hit the ground either. Bob had yet to make a sound. The turkey had seemingly dropped off his roof straight down to the base of his tree and gobbled. When he did, Bob sent three of the sons. softest yelps from a slate call I think I've ever heard. The response was immediate and forceful for the next 10 minutes that gobbler stood his ground, gobbling every minute or so demanding that we walk the 80 yards to him, like nature intended. During that time, Bob squeaked out one more set of purrs and clucks and laid down his call,

picking up his shotgun and resting it on his knee. Three minutes passed and he gobbled again, and this time he was closer. He continued gobbling and we could tell he was incrementally moving towards us ever so slowly as he drummed between gobbles, letting us know he was strutting all the way. My eyes were darting back and forth like a metal man in a shooting gallery, checking the monitor, the settings on the camera, the framing, being careful not to squeeze the camera arm and shake the camera. The red light is on, I'm recording. The furthest thing I can see in my monitor is in focus.

Good. ND filter is set where Bob said, it should be. All I had to do was keep the framing in the thirds, give the turkey space to walk on the screen when he appeared, and if possible, get Bob and him in the frame when the moment of truth arrived when that goblin beast stepped out from behind that cedar tree that was 20 yards in front of us and directly between us and him. Gobble, gobble, drum, drum, over and over. I glanced over the monitor, a definite no-no per Bob's instructions and saw him tighten his grip on his shotgun.

Don't ever take your eyes off that monitor, he told me. You're running a camera to film, not sitting in the audience watching. You can do that after the edit. I'd never forgotten that, and it served me well a few years ago when Claibault and I had the famous bear on a stick in the blind with us in Saskatchewan. This wasn't a bear, it was a turkey. and now he was no more than five yards on the other side of that cedar drumming like a wild man. If the cedar limbs hadn't gone all the way to the ground, we would have been able to see his feet.

Now that's how short the grass was and how close he was to us. It was just a matter of time before he steps out on the right side of that cedar and Bob punches him in the mouth. Then the drumming stopped and the goblin stopped. And for 30 seconds, it was like we were on a world. worldwide time out. I didn't hear a bird of any kind. A million things ran through my mind. Had he seen us? No, no way he could have seen us. And Bob moved, no, I was watching him on the monitor. He was rock solid. Then a cedar limb moved toward the base of the tree. This turkey crawled on the tree coming to us. This is going to be some national geographic footage.

An eastern wild turkey emerging from the base of a cedar tree like a phoenix rising from the ashes. saw Bob shift his aim toward where that limb was moving and waited on that gobbler to step out and get smoked when in his place Conway appeared out of thin air. Trotting over to Bob, climbing up in his lap and with his tail beating out a morse code of, hey pal, I've been missing you. Bob slowly turned his head back over his shoulder. He looked at me with the saddest eyes on a man I may have ever saw. He looked back down at that dog. Put his hand on his hand on his. his head and said, hey Conrad. Oh my gosh, turkeys drive me crazy and add beagles to the list. We never did get Bob a turkey on that trip or any other one after that. We did keep a valuable friendship and he taught me what little I know about running a camera on a hunt. Biggest lesson of

which helped me to get where I am sitting right now talking to you. Missouri turkey, a beagle, and a friend from the Carolinas prepping me for a moment in time that wouldn't take place for another decade with an old bear in Saskatchewan. Thank y'all so much for listening to all of us here on the Bear Grease channel. Claibault and I appreciate it very much.

If you like history and you want to learn some really interesting stuff, check out Dan Florey's new podcast called The American West. It just came out. I love it. Y'all know I wouldn't steer you wrong. Now next week, Monday, the Monday following this Friday, me and Tony Peterson got some dog stuff appearing right here an extra drop on this country life. I think you'll like that too. Man, we got some really special stuff coming up in June and it's really sharp.

I know you're going to like it and that's all they're going to let me say about that right now, but stay tuned. We'll be making the announcement very soon. Until next week, this is Brent Reed. Signing all. Y'all be careful. On Blood Trails, the stories don't end when the hunt is over. They just get darker. I've seen something in the road.

I instantly thought it was a sleeping bag. And there was a full of blood. Oh, my God, he doesn't have a hit. Blood Trails is a true crime podcast born in the outdoors. Where the terrain is unforgiving, the evidence is scarce, and the truth gets buried under brush and silence. Indications where he should be right there, but he wasn't. This season, we're going deeper. From cold case files to whispered suspicions,

from remote mountains to frozen backwoods. Each story begins in the wilderness and ends in darkness. Because out here, there are no witnesses, no cameras, just fragments and the people left behind trying to piece them back together. He's not an honest person. He's incapable of being honest. Somebody somewhere knows something. I'm Jordan Sillers.

Season 2 of Blood Trails premieres April 16th. Follow now on Apple, IHeart, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts.