Striking Gould’s

The treasure hidden among the hills of Sonora, Mexico, calls to us in spring. Like adventurous prospectors we pack our gear and cross the border in search of the bounty that is Meleagris gallopavo mexicana. It’s a Gould’s rush; dreams of completing the turkey royal slam work our winter-dormant minds into a frenzy.

Sandy, prickly and largely devoid of trees, the sprawling landscape of Rancho Mababi in northeastern Sonora is imposing. First-time Gould’s hunters have immediate questions on arrival: Do turkeys really live here? Where do they roost? How do we find them?

Ted Jaycox of Tall Tine Outfitters, no stranger to the challenges of Sonora and its turkeys, has the answers. Turkeys need to drink. Find the water, and we’ll find the birds.

Any water source in the high desert is worth investigating; a sizeable stock pond tucked among likely roost trees could be the mother lode. Tracks in the mud leave no doubt turkeys frequent this area.

A trailside chat with a vaquero yields more info. Sí, he’s spotted guajolotes (turkeys) on this hillside several times. Ted suspects the birds likely water at the pond in the morning and then feed across the hill before returning to roost in the late afternoon.

Soon we have a plan. The best way to surprise a Gould’s gobbler in the sparse bottomland is by hiding in a blind. Tactfully placed branches add to our cover. The ambush is set for tomorrow morning.

Gobbles greet us at dawn. We peer from the blind window and there, at the top of the tallest tree in full-fan splendor, is our Gould’s. Time after time he hammers our ears, but he is for now out of reach.

Wide-eyed in the darkness of the blind, we wait with shotguns ready. The gobbler has many hens, but we are between the birds and their water source. Surely they are thirsty after a night in the trees.

Time drags as the longbeard flies down and attends to his ladies. Slowly, though, they move in our direction. Just a few more yards …

The Mossberg barks once, and the Federal 3rd Degree pellets find their mark. Finally, the Gould’s is in our hands.

Illuminated by the morning sun, the bird’s feathers gleam as though they are precious metal. Sonora has given up its treasure, and we are captivated by its beauty.

The big gobbler’s weight hangs heavy across the shoulder as we begin our trek back to the truck. We feel lucky, blessed, rich to add this hunt to our bank of memories. Truly, we have struck Gould’s.