Command Sergeant Major Turkey Wrestler

Command Sergeant Major Turkey Wrestler by Irene Pawlisch

After three days of hunting, I leave Kansas humbled by the weather and proud we were the first hunters to not quit on our guide, Don Wright.  My husband, Tom and I met Kirk Cherry, Chief Executive Officer for Tallgrass Outdoor Adventures, LLC, and Don December 26, 2009, the day after a blizzard, to hunt Rio turkey.  After discussing the hunt plan our conversations drifted towards Fort Riley.  It was an impressive sight to see all the helicopters and Big Red One out front as we drove past.  That was when we learned Don was on a few days leave from his duties of Command Sergeant Major to be our guide.  Don is a proud member of the Big Red One and has completed many tours, including Iraq.  Don’s wife has also done tours in Iraq and Kirk’s wife was a helicopter pilot for the army.  Having a deep respect for the military this was a treat to speak openly with these men.

Kirk then mentions in these bad conditions Don was the best man to be our guide.  Thanks to a former hunter, “Git yur gun-Git yur gun” Gus, Don earned the title of turkey wrestler after a 100 yard up, down, all around  dash after a wounded bird, that ended in knock the wind out of him tackle.  As Don lay there gasping for breath binoculars imprinted in his chest with a turkey staring at him eye to eye he earned the nickname of the turkey wrestler.  If there was a wounded bird Don would not stop until it was under him Kirk joked at Don’s expense.

The next morning we hiked the ranch in hopes of cutting tracks.  Anytime we would finish trudging over a section of Kansas wind blown drifts Don would always turn around with two fingers held high and a big ol’ grin on his face, “Only two more miles.”   It was his standard response to tired men when completing drills.  Occasionally, Don would say, “Let’s take a knee,”- to rest, catch our breath, or to stop sweating in the cold.  Two days into the hunt Kirk admits he was a little nervous that Don might work us into the ground like he does his men.  It wasn’t uncommon for hunters to quit on Don, too tired to move on.

The blizzard had changed all turkey habits leaving us to do a great deal of glassing on foot and by vehicle to locate birds.  As we drove around I sat in the back seat of the “zebra” H2 Hummer listening to Don tell stories about his men and his role in the army as he answered our many questions.  I could feel his chest swell with pride in the emotion of his words.  Once in awhile a member of his family would call to get updates on our hunt.  Every conversation ended with kisses and him saying I love you with utmost sincerity.  In the context of knowing the amount of time they had spent apart from each other serving our country I realized how much of a luxury it was for him to say, “I love you,” and how important it was to end every conversation with these words, no matter how often they spoke.

Thanks to generosity of a Kansas farmer, Mr. Chaffee we were given enthusiastic permission to remove a couple turkeys from his bean field.  Belly crawling the last 10 yards behind a clump of dirt we laid there prone for 70 minutes waiting for something to happen.  At one point Tom turned to me whispering, “When Don says go, jump up and start shooting.”  I just rolled me eyes.  I was frozen stiff with my arms extended with muscles well past fatigue from trying to keep my muzzle out of the snow. I didn’t know if I could lift my barrel off the ground high enough to shoot a bird let alone jump up.  When we were back at the lodge that evening I asked Don about this plan.  He exclaimed, “I was pulling his leg!  Good thing I didn’t say go.”  We all had a good laugh.

Thankfully, we didn’t jump up.  I lay there with my hair working it’s way out of my hat into my eyes until a group of hens were about to bust us.  Tom pulled the trigger first, scattering shot at the confused hen’s feet.  We both had to roll over to pump our guns back into action with much struggle.  Don took off after the birds herding them back to us.  I can only imagine he had experience taking off like that in Iraq because I never saw him go.  As a group flew back over our heads I harvested a Rio Eastern hybrid hen in a poof of feathers.  We joked with Don that he should add occasional turkey herder to his guide resume.

Next day, we asked permission to sneak across another area to the same bean field to avoid many snow drifts.  We got out to the field a little late after listening to Mr. Sherbert recount his entire gun deer season to us, a true country character in his own right.  Two –thirds the way to the field three hens spooked across the way and flew directly into the spot we had intended to wait the incoming flock.  Now we had to quickly come up with plan B.  We sat down in a large snow covered brush pile.  Within minutes turkeys were entering the field, gradually scratched all around us, but never came in shot range.

There we sat perfectly still for 2 hours and 15 minutes.  When we finally got a chance to belly crawl out Don had been shivering uncontrolled for a good hour.  We were all cold but Don was the coldest.  It was all he could do to talk as his jaw chattered.  He wanted us to sneak up on some snow covered brush where the turkeys last passed.

When we arrived at the drift Don did a quick peek and scurried back to us.  Wide eyed he gave the orders, “get up there, jump up, and start shooting.  Not joking!”  The wind had worked in our favor covering the sounds of our footsteps across the crunchy frozen snow.  He wasn’t kidding they were feet from us on the other side.  There was no time to find a good beard in the bunch before they began to scatter.  We had all endured the torture of feeling a stick up our rear too long to not harvest a bird from this panicked flock.  Tom connected with a hen and rolled her.  Don was halfway around the brush to recover her before we had our guns down.

We continued to storm the hillside behind.  We were motivated.  I was sent to the left and Tom went to the right with Don.  The turkeys were at the bottom on the right too far for a good shot.  Just then a couple birds flushed next to Tom.  He shot; a bird hung in a hover, glided a moment, and then dropped from the sky.  Don was after it instantly.  Fortunately, the Jake wasn’t as dead as he had thought.  Once again highly trained Command Sergeant Major got to use his turkey wrestling skills to put a life ending choke hold on the flapping winged beast.  By the time Tom had rounded me up and got back to Don he was sprawled out sitting down against an old stone barn foundation with a bird on either side looking mighty exhausted.  As he said many times since we arrived, “this is the hardest I have ever worked for a turkey!”

We continued to drive, glass, and sneak on birds but never crossed another turkey.  We got to know Don well in those three days riding in his “zebra” pushing him to his limits of frustration trying to find a trophy Rio in the snow.  The love Don expressed for those that serve beside him in the military, his family, and hunting were seamless in all of his conversations.  How much of it was real or just talk, it didn’t matter.  It was all good to me.

The sincere generosity and hospitality of both Don and Kirk were exceptional.  They made a hard hunt enjoyable.  The military stories of sacrifice and the manner of pride in which they were told spoke greatly of the character of these men.  Mostly, I left Kansas filled with a love of family, country, and hunting experienced in the shadows of Fort Riley.