An Article On Robert's Experience Hunting the Gould Turkey

Trophy-minded turkey hunters should head for the Sierra Madre Mountains near Durango, Mexico where they may be able to break the records of the National Wild Turkey Federation by taking a Gould turkey. No one has yet reported taking Goulds weighing 35 pounds or sporting 13 inch beards and two inch spurs but I believe they are in these mountains. The one I took weighed in at 23 pounds, with a ten-inch beard and three-quarter inch spurs, but I saw signs of much larger birds. The Goulds have a bright white band on the end of the tail that makes them appear even larger than they actually are.

The credit for my successful hunt goes to Jorge Breton, who was my guide from the time he and his sister-in-law met me at the airport until I left for home four days later. They even took me to the market so I could select the food I wanted to take on the hunt. I wrote Jorge to ask if I could hunt with him after I read about him in, "South of the Border," a story by Lance Vincent and Tim Lewis that appeared in the January/February 1990 issue of Turkey Call Magazine. A veterinarian who also has a small guide service, Jorge is an excellent hunter who has hunted wild game in Mexico from the time his father taught him to hunt turkeys when he was only a small child. Jorge's sister-in-law, Alma Navarro, who speaks fluent English, assisted him in planning our hunt. There were six in our hunting party, two local guides, Jorge, two friends of his, and myself.

On the first day of our hunt we arrived at our destination at about 5:30 in the afternoon after a 29-mile ride over roads you would not believe. Jorge will tell you that it will take about 25 minutes to get to the turkey woods from the main road, but I suggest that you plan for at least two hours, because you never get out of low gear and never go more than five miles an hour. However, the privacy is worth the bumps; no dirt bikes, no off-road vehicles, not even any other hunters. Finding no tracks or droppings and hearing no gobbing at our first location, we moved slowly further into the mountains, stopping about every 20 minutes for Jorge and his guides to scout for signs. Because I had never scouted for turkeys at night and couldn't understand a word of their Spanish, I hardly knew what was going on. There I sat in the camper while they disappeared into the dark. But around 2:30 A.M., when they came back from a 30 minute scouting trip, I didn't need to understand Spanish to know that they had found the Gould: Jorge and his guides were talking turkey. Nearby, in the road and along a creek, were hundreds of tracks and droppings, some of which appeared to be left by Trophy Toms. Two hours later at dawn, as we stepped out of the camper we were greeted by the Gould Gobbler.

It looked as if the morning hunt would be over quickly. Within 500 yards of our camp we heard two gobblers welcoming the morning. We chose the one roosting in the bend of a dirt road that snaked its way up the mountain. We set up within shooting distance, our face masks on, our guns ready. After waiting for a little more light, Jorge gave a soft yelp, and the old boy went crazy on the roost, turning toward us and strutting. Jorge called softly, and the trophy tom triple gobbled. All turkeys look big on the roost, but when you can see the beard dragging on the limb and the spurs shining in the morning light, your heart skips a beat. This hunt would truly be over quickly. But five minutes later the big tom flew away from us, all the way to the bottom of the mountain. I knew then that these Mexican turkeys, for all their heroic proportions, were no different from others.

Each morning, after we returned to the camp, the Mexican hunters recreated the hunt: missing a turkey, killing one, failing to shoot--it was all acted out around the camp fire. I relived every detail of the hunt, even though I didn't understand a word of Spanish. After the breakfast show and another hour or two of talking turkey, we either moved to another location or stayed put if we had seen or heard gobblers in the morning. My Mexican friends spent most of the afternoon sleeping. In the afternoon I have always liked going out, where I had seen or heard turkeys in the morning, and sitting still for two or three hours. This has produced several turkeys for me. The late afternoon was spent attempting to roost a turkey but to my surprise we were never able to do so. This was in the area where we had encountered much gobbling throughout the day. Jorge had no explanation for this.

On the first afternoon, as I sat against a large oak tree, I heard what sounded like a turkey walking in the dry leaves two or three hundred yards away. Not being sure there was cover between me and the turkey, I turned my head only about two degrees, just enough to catch sight of two beautiful Gould gobblers, moving ever so slowly. My heart beat faster with each of their steps; the muscles in my neck tensed to near bursting; my vision became slightly blurred. As they came into my line of fire, however, I was suddenly calm and steady. Moving my gun up and around, I put a happy ending to a turkey hunter's dream.

I watched the gobbler flop his way down the slope toward me, ready to shoot again if I needed to; but I came unglued from the ground as Jorge and his hunting partners and guides ran out of the woods, where they had been hiding and watching, to retrieve the turkey. Jorge and his friends, each taking a turn, stepped off the distance from where I was sitting to the spot where the turkey was when I shot him. They could not believe I had killed him at 89 steps.

Earlier I had spotted the Mexican hunters eyeing my camouflaged, 12 gauge, 303 Bretta with its 21-inch barrel. They probably thought I had brought my son's gun by mistake. I can thank Mark Bansner of Adamstown, Pennsylvania for making it possible for me to kill that Gould. Mark cut the barrel of my gun to 21 inches and inserted a choke that causes the gun to place 20 or more shots in the killing zone at 50 yards. I don't advocate shooting a turkey at more than 35 yards, nevertheless, with this gun I have taken several at 50 yards or more without ever losing or wounding one.

They were also surprised that I killed a turkey in the afternoon. They are early morning hunters. Even though the season lasts until after sunset, most of them were out of the woods by 9:00 A. M. Not even Jorge had ever killed one in the afternoon. It occured to me that this relaxed schedule gives them the opportunity for telling their stories while they are still fresh in their minds.

I soon learned that the Gould Turkey will come to you even if you are separated by a two-mile-wide canyon. He can be 100 yards in front of you in less time than it takes you to put on your face mask. On the second morning before daylight a guide and I worked our way to the top of a steep mountain and took our positions on a point about 50 yards wide. Within about 15 minutes we could hear four gobblers talking to one another from various directions, but a two-mile-wide canyon separated them from us. I motioned to the guide that I would call the turkey across to me. His disbelief gave expression to mine; nevertheless, I sat down by a tree and pulled out my box call, at the same time using hand signals to tell the guide to sit down and remove his white cowboys' hat. I learned long ago that, when hunting turkey, you should always try something. A turkey gobbled several times but not necessarily in response to my calling. Sunlight was just beginning to appear over the mountains. The red line painted on the crest of the mountain in front of me rose and gathered into a bright orange ball. At that moment came a sound that all turkey hunters love to hear. The tom had flown across the canyon to look for that hen he had heard a few minutes before. Between him and me was only a small valley.

I moved across the valley to meet him on the same level, again motioning to the guide to take off his white cowboys’ hat and to stay behind me. I sat down by a tree, made one call, and waited. After about twenty minutes I heard movement behind me and over my left shoulder. How lucky that I could easily swing around and shoot with my right hand. Slowly turning my head and my gun, I sighted the biggest turkey I had ever seen, wearing jeans and a white cowboy hat! Since he had not seen me or heard me call for a long period of time the guide had come to investigate. The white hat ended my hunting for the morning, you can bet I will take an extra camo hat with me on my next trip to Durango.

The Sierra Madre Mountains can be a nightmare for turkey hunters, but Jorge is careful to place his hunters in situations that match their physical and mental skills. My 65-year-old guide was always ready to carry my gun and equipment, sometimes along with his 14-pound World War II rifle. There seemed to be few insects in this part of the Sierra Madres and no chiggers, ticks, or black flies. Only after the hunt was over did Jorge tell me that the mountains around Durango are famous for their scorpions. He and his friends had killed several each day of the hunt but had agreed not to tell me. To remind me of what I had missed, Jorge gave me an ashtray decorated with a scorpion sealed in plastic and, for my wife, a jewelry box with a similar decoration.

To hunt in Mexico, you need a Mexican hunting license and a gun permit if you take your own gun. To get the gun permit, take a copy of your birth certificate, a good conduct letter from your hometown police chief or county sheriff, and $47.50 in cash to the Mexican Consulate Office nearest you. You must also supply the make, model, and serial number of your gun. You do not need a passport to enter Mexico. If you have one, take it with you for identification, it is better than a driver's license. Someone in Mexico--perhaps the guide or a hunting partner--can obtain your hunting license and mail it to you. To get the license the person will need copies of: your permit, the police letter, your birth certificate, a money order for $50.00, and three passport photos. You will need the permit and the license (then again maybe you won't) when you enter Mexico. Even with all of the above, I had to go to the Mexican Army Headquarters in Mazatlan, my point of entry into Mexico, for another gun permit signed by the Commanding General before I could continue my journey to Durango. To issue this permit, they required four copies of all documents and four passport photos; it's like their money--it takes a lot of it to make a difference.

If you want your turkey mounted, Jorge, who is an excellent skinner, will prepare the skin for you. U.S. Customs and the Department of Agriculture allow you to bring the skin back with you if you follow a couple of rules: the taxidermist who mounts the skin must be registered with the U.S. Department of Agriculture, and either the taxidermist must pick up the skin at the Customs office at your point of entry, or you must ship it to the taxidermist by a bonded shipper.

Now, months away from the hunt, my memories of the sport, the companionship, the mountains, and the Goulds are vivid. My appreciation of the place and the people prompts me to think about returning soon and next time I will bring home that Trophy Tom.