Bear Grease - Ep. 439: This Country Life - The Art of Turkey Hunting According to a Finger Painter

Episode Date: April 3, 2026

It's turkey week and Brent's got a tale hot of the presses from a recent trip to Mississippi. The ups and downs of chasing the King of Spring are well described oil this epic hunt with good friends down in the Magnolia State. This is so good it should be a movie, and it is! You’ll be able to see this hunt from First Lite very soon. Until then enjoy the narrative version right here on MeatEater’s “This Country Life” podcast. Thank you to our sponsors, Case Knives and Stor-Mor. Shop This Country Life Merch Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips Subscribe to the MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Shop This Country Life MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

First Lights fieldwear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days in real use. Hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters. No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldwear gear at firstlight.

Welcome to this country life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining 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 from the Storemore Studio on Meat Eat Eaters 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. The art of turkey hunting, according to a finger painter.

When the folks I worked for told me we were going to have a turkey week, I got to wondering where are they going to put it? We already got 52. At least that's the way we think about it down here. And I just got back from Mississippi from hunting with my brothers of the turkey. And do I have a tale for you? I do have a tale for you. And there ain't no better time to get to talking about it than right now.

A wild turkey is a precious thing not to be taken lightly, and my reverence for them is only one generation deep. My father and excellent houndsmen, horsemen, fishermen, and woodsmen wasn't a turkey hunter. My passion for turkeys started when I was a young man. I would turn 19 before I ever had the honor of listening to a gobbler on the roost, hearing him fly down, then strut, drum, and gobble his way into the very, fabric of my life. I love chasing a wide variety of critters in a wide variety of ways, but there is something more alluring about chasing turkeys in the spring that goes beyond anything else.

It is a primal desire that has no off switch. Colonel Tom Kelly in his book 10th Legion in 1973 said, I do not hunt turkeys because I want to. I hunt them because I have to. And from that second week of April back in 1985 with my first glimpse of a mature gobbler only seconds old and before I ever moved my trigger finger into the position to take that turkey's life, I knew that I would do this again and would only stop when regulations or my health prevented it. I get asked often what my favorite thing to hunt is and talk about all of the different things that I enjoy and how I enjoy doing them. But the ultimate answer will always be spring turkey hunting in the south.

I'll take hardwood flats and cypress sloughs and mosquitoes, snakes, gaiters, hogs, and swamps over hills, rocks, and mountain vistas any day of the week and twice on Sunday. I can no more give you an explanation for this obsession than I can give you a reason for it. But it is real and never last. Last week I was in Mississippi at the invitation of my friend and colleague Lake Pickle. Now, Lake hosts our Backwood University podcast, along with an independent podcast called Speak the Language with our mutual friend and brother of the woods, Jordan Blissitt. I highly encourage anyone who likes good, practical, and interesting content to follow them both.

These boys are veteran turkey hunters and cinematographers from back when they used to follow me. Mr. Will Primos around while he was gathering up wild groceries from the woods. Lake would be running the camera for me, and most of my hunts would be on a piece of ground that Jordan manages. I stayed at Lake's house in the company of his wife, Lacey, and their two labs, Knox and Fern. And the alarm would ring at 4.30 every morning, and I don't think it ever caught me asleep. It was the first hunt of the year, and I couldn't wait to get started. The first place we hunted was at our friend Keith Polk's place. I hunted there a couple years ago and I sat through a tense morning of back and forth

calling and gobbling between us and a squad of hens and three gobblers. It was a chaotic morning of moving here and there and countering the moves the turkeys were unknowingly subjected us to. People describe turkey hunting as a chess match, but it's not much of a game when there's only one side playing. that turkey is just going about his life. He has three things on his mind in the spring. The rest of the year, only two.

But that morning two years ago, the third thing that had him gobbling at nearly every racket in the woods, owls, crows, woodpeckers, songbirds, it didn't matter, he was also responding to Keith's, Jordans, and my call. It had taken a while, but we'd finally gotten within 150,

yards of them and listening to them duke it out and have a goblin contest with our hearts full of hope as we determined he was finally making his way in our direction. Our morning of zigging and zagging, whispering plans and looking at on-ex trying to figure out our next move was finally fixing to pay off when boom! The neighbor shot him as he skirted off Keith's property and walked in his lap. apparently he'd been calling at him too that morning and neither one of us knew the other was hunting we never got close to the line and he didn't either he was just in a better spot than we were and fortune favored him and respecting each other's property is the only way that worked out

it was a good thing to see and be a part of even though i got the short end of the stick that morning congratulations keith's neighbor but i hope you peat in the bed that night That hunt was two years ago, and this morning we were standing over there, but there were three things different than the last one. Lake was there running the camera instead of Jordan. It was 30 degrees, and we weren't going to hear that particular turkey gobble at daybreak. Actually, we weren't going to hear any turkey's gobbling at Keith's place that morning. We heard one way off the property, but he only gobbled a couple times.

It was cold, I was cold, we were all cold, but we chose a good spot to sit down and listen for a bit and do some calling because where you're in a place where you know there's turkeys, you have to give them every chance to reveal where they are on their own. Plus, you don't just want to go gallivanting all over creation and bump turkeys that were either coming to you or in your general vicinity. We all picked out a spot, got comfortable, and started doing, a little call.

We got a yelp and response from directly behind us, and after listening to it getting closer, we decided we should spin around and face the direction in case a gobbler was trailing along with that hen. And one time before we saw it, I thought it might be a Jake. And I wish I would have said it out loud to late, because when he finally stepped out into the open and revealed himself as a nine-month-old baby boy, I would have looked like a real turkey-hunting genius. Then for the next 15 minutes that clown walked around in circles between us and Keith

close enough for me to hit him with pool cube, clucking with every breath, looking for the hen he heard but couldn't find. Finally, he and his IQ rating of somewhere around a boiled turnip walked away, freeing us to get up and find a better spot. By 8.45, we'd walk less than 150 yards from where we called in that Jake and bumped two hens off the roost. Apparently, nobody wanted to get out of bed that morning except me, Keith, and Lake, and that feathered, bold turnip we had just run into. We decided to make a bold move. Keith went to work, and Lake and I headed the Jordan spot about 45 minutes away. After our pit stop for fuel and a convenient store fried pork chop, we got the Jordan's place around

11, where we spied a couple hens about a quarter mile away on a power line right away. We saw him into the woods and quickly made a plan to loop around in front of them, and the off chance there was a gobbler walking with them, which is a good plan this time of year, especially. We hoft it down the road. We entered the woods and found a spot to sit and settle in to spend some time. We designated 1230 as I get up and try another spot time. Now, that's my least favorite way to hunt turkeys.

It's basically deer hunting them, and that just ain't how I'll. like to do it. Since the first time I saw Will Primos get up and moved after he heard a turkey gobble, I knew running and gunning was the style of turkey hunter that I am. I told Lakey's we sat there whispering back and forth between calling and listening for a response that I remembered seeing the first Primos video on VHS and watching it at my brother Tim's house with his brother-in-law, Joe Bryant, and his father-in-law, Mr. Billy Bryant. Now, Mr. Bryant was and was in remains to this day a mentor not only in the turkey woods to me but to everyone that knows him how a man should live his life but running gunning calling loud and often wasn't in mr britt's playbook

he grew up when turkeys were scarce it was more or less a southern doctrine of yelping three times on a wing bone or a box call and sitting still until the gobbler showed himself or it got dark maybe not to that stream, but you didn't get up and move and move on a goblin turkey? That never happened. His philosophy was if he answered you, he was more than likely at some point during the day going to come see you if you were still there. 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 go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's 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 Phelps gamecalls.com. 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. Now, I can't tell you how many times over the past 41 years that I've gotten up and moved after a turkey went silent, only to have them gobble in that spot I left from or have them roosted in that spot the next morning. Now, I bet that's happened to some of y'all, too. And at 1230, I asked Lake if he wanted to get some support and footage and cutaways or B-roll is what we call it before we moved. He popped up with his camera and started getting shots from different angles.

We'd been sitting there in total stillness for an hour and a half at this point, just calling occasionally. He moved out in front of me, about 10 yards, and I picked up a pot call and started yelping and clucking, and as he was filming, a turkey gobbled no more than 120 yards away. Blake's eyeballs looked like they were on stems when they bugged out of his head as he scrambled to get back in position to film. I called again once Slate was back in his spot and the gobbler cut me off. 1235 and I had a turkey answered me. Now by every rule in the book, that turkey was a dead man walking. More times than not, if I get a turkey to answer in the middle of the day and cut me off,

that joker is as done as cornbread. We figured him at 80 yards or less the last time he answered me. He'd cut the distance by a third, and even though the hardwood flat we were sitting in was pretty open, there was a tangle of brush and briars about 40 yards in front of it. He was going to have to pick a side to go around, and the natural lay of the land had him stepping out to my right, and when he did, he was going to be close enough to shoot.

On his approach, there was no way he was going to see us. With the short privy bushes leafed out and staggered between us and him, we were absolutely invisible. We knew that for a fact because Lake had just sat in that spot between us filming and saw it for himself. And what we guessed him to be less than 60 yards, we started hearing drumming.

He's drumming. I nodded my head in acknowledgment and tried to calm my breathing down. This joker was fixing to step out to our left instead of the right, but it didn't matter. Either way, I was fissing to push his nose in with a tablespoon full of number 10 TSS. Any second now, I'd see him step from the shadows into the sunlight,

and it would be the last time he'd have to squint his eyes looking into the sun. Any second now. Any minute now, he'd step from the darkness of the leafed over hardwood flat. Any minute now. Any minute now, for the love of humanity. Where'd he go? Immediately you replay the scenario in your mind wondering what you did wrong. At least I'd do, no matter what happens.

Both Lake and I were looking at each other. other like a calf looks at a new gate. What just happened? No putting, no running off, no nothing. Just silence. Now, Lake had him coursed pretty well by hearing him drum as he walked away. I missed it, but I knew he knew what he was talking about, so we had to plan to get around in front of him. Off we went, back toward the truck. We made a big loop and got set up on a food plot, one of many that Jordan has put in since taking over that piece of property, turning it into it. to ground zero for Turkish deer, and we even heard quail whistling out there. If he kept going in the general direction, Lake had him leaving in,

we'd be in a good spot to cut him off once we got there. It was a pretty good haul to get around him, but we made it quietly. Got settled into a new spot and waited to hear him and see what our next move was going to be. Well, about two and a half hours later, after calling session nine million, a turkey gobbled, and he was a long ways away. but he answered me nonetheless. We gave him a minute, and he gobbled again, and this time he was on the move, and so were we.

A quick check of the old old A knack showed him moving down the edge of a scope of pines into a bigger hardwood flat. The dude was walking towards us and gobbling every so often. Maybe he was coming to turn himself in. He must have heard who was on his trail. We beat feet toward where we thought he was going, and after a couple hundred yards, we were surprised by him again when he gobbled less than a hundred yards away.

He had been coming towards us as fast as we've been going towards him. We planted our behinds on the ground before a barn cat could lick his, and I gave out a soft yelp and, he answered right back. Then a Jake tried to gobble, and then I heard wings slapping, and I knew immediately that there was a fight taking place just out of sight. Once you've heard it before, that sound is unmistakable. We were sitting on the edge of the road,

Jordan had planted as one big long food plot. To the right was some cover that buffered a pine plantation that had been burned a couple years ago. To our left was an open hardwood flat full of white oak, red oak, and beech trees. We were looking down the food plot road for about 200 yards before it turned back out of view. All at once, I saw a big turkey with a red head do a forest gump imitation as he hit the road like he was flying by his mailbox on his cross-country run. I could almost hear Jackson Brown playing in the background. Good riddance, the gobbler has beat up to Jake, and he's headed for greener pastures.

Now there's nothing left to do but uncork this load of number tens I got from my boys at Rocky Ridge Ammo and go put my foot on the reason I'd driven five hours in Mississippi as soon as he steps out into the open. Let me go on and make him gobble one. more time just for fun. I called to him, and he didn't answer. And I waited. Nothing. I called again.

He didn't answer. This was starting to not be fun. Right where that turkey got scooted out of the woods and down the road, a band of four Jakes walked out. I was a detective for a long time, but it didn't take a Sherlock Holmes to figure out the Jake I saw smoking it down the road like a roadrunner cartoon, wasn't a Jake. That was the gobbler.

He was being bullied by that quartet of juvenile delinquents on both times he tried to come into our calls, the first time on the other side of the property, and this time that had just happened. Good night, nurse. Now, there wasn't a whole lot to complain about. We'd been on turkeys all day. had come really close twice on filling one's lips full of high-speed steel, and I was hunting with my friend, and we were hunting on our friend's land.

And like Scarlett O'Hara said, after all, tomorrow is another day. It was another day. And when the sun started turning to Magnolia State sky pink, Lake and I were standing 250 yards from where Jordan had heard that turkey gobbled three or four days in a row. but you already know what happened. He gobbled twice and he was so far away we'd had to call an Uber to get to him. Alas, all was not lost.

For a second, Turkey was gobbling on the other side of the property. And although it wasn't that long of a walk to get to him, it's going to feel like a week before we get there. Literally, a week. Like next week on the next episode. Brent, what a dirty trick extending the turkey hunt for a week. It better be good.

Well, it will be good. I promise. At least for someone. Riva, insert the foreboding music here because something akin to skulldugger is afoot on the next episode. Oh, that's scary. Hey, don't forget, it's still turkey week going on over at store.

Themeatater.com. Until next week, when I finish this turkey hunting saga, this is Brent Reeve. Signing off, y'all be careful. First Lights Fieldwear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days in real use, hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters, no shortcuts, just gear designed for the work that earns the season.

Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Lights new fieldware gear at firstlight. com.