Spring Gobbler Hunting in Our Mountains

Every year on the first weekend in April, my wife Elaine and I drive to the Johnson City area, stop by Mahoney’s Outfitters to pick up a hunting license and chat with staff members about the outdoors, and then head for a rental house on the side of an East Tennessee mountain. Elaine comes to keep me company, and I come to hunt the first three days of the state’s spring gobbler season. But for many of us that venture into the highlands this time of year, we do so for reasons that go far beyond the supposed reason of our presence—the calling in and killing of a male turkey.

We come to experience what Henry David Thoreau waxed poetic about in his seminal work, Walden: the importance of living deep and sucking “out all the marrow of life,” about putting “to route all that was not life.” And to ponder the meaning of these words of Thoreau.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Larry Proffitt, owner of the Burgie Drug Store in Elizabethton, understands about the need to learn what the forest has to teach us. For him, the blooming of the crocuses in late March signals that it’s time for him to soon return to the Southern Appalachian woods.

“As the days draw nigh to the first of April, I scout for the season to come every morning,” he says. “I want to be atop a mountain listening for the first gobble of the day. The daffodils are in full bloom and the tulips are close to blooming. The smells of spring are in the air, especially that sound of fresh, new earth being reborn as winter has ended and a new season has begun. After a 45-minute drive to the foot of a mountain, I park the truck, put on my hunting vest, and pause in the dark to listen. It is far from the lights and sounds of a city.

“I gaze up at the millions of stars out bright, and as always I am amazed how the Lord created such a beautiful sight. I head up the mountain, carefully avoiding the blowdowns and limbs. I use only a little flashlight to ease quietly along.”

Proffitt’s quest is to reach the top of the mountain at least an hour before official sunrise. Part of the reason for the early arrival is so that he won’t miss the sounds of the first turkey gobbles of the morning. But a large part of the reason for the pre-dawn trek is for him to suck out all that marrow of life that Thoreau so eloquently describes. Larry says that some individuals seem to be afraid to sit in total darkness—with only their thoughts—for the some 30 minutes before first light in the east. He is not fearful.

“After several stops to catch my breath as I climb, I think that this mountain grows steeper each year,” Proffitt continues. “I am soon on the top of the mountain where I can hear into three different drainages. Sitting there in the total darkness with no moon or wind, it seems one can hear for miles. I sit motionlessly listening intently for the first sounds of daybreak. If it’s a warm morning, the cardinals start their high pitched, clipped chirps early. Then a barred owl sounds off in the distance. In the total darkness, I call back to him with the same sounds he has just made. 

“Shortly I hear a swishing of air nearby. Then the owl’s call is all but deafening overhead as he has sailed in and settled on a limb above me. Still not a sound from a gobbler. More barred owls in the distance start belting out their “who cooks for you, who cooks for you, baaaah” song. Still, no gobbling. It is now light enough for me to see the ground and the trees. I am almost holding my breath at times listening intently for any sound of a gobbler. Then way over on the next ridge three or four coyotes start their loud yodeling type howling, and the gobblers just roar from at least four different directions. It’s spring now for sure!”

The Songbirds

It’s not just the sounds of barred owls and tom turkeys that herald the spring. One of the aspects I relish most about being in the Tennessee mountains now is listening to the songbirds—some of which are year-round residents, others are transients that stop by for just a few days or a fortnight, and others come to breed, nest, and rear their young before departing in autumn. Mike Donahue, a biological science technician for the United States Forest Service, is an avid birder and agrees that April is a splendid time to bird watch.

“In the spring, the birds that migrate to the Southern Appalachians select places based on their elevation and habitat preferences,” he says. “For example, at 4,000 feet or better, we can expect to hear and hopefully see Canada warblers as well as blackburnian and magnolia warblers. Veeries, which are members of the thrush family, are also attracted to upper elevations. If we’re really lucky, we might hear a black-billed cuckoo.”

Of course, they all don’t flock to the same higher elevation forests. Blackburnian warblers prefer old growth spruce, hemlocks, pines or balsam firs. Canada warblers, black-billed cuckoos, and veeries prefer deciduous forests with well-developed understory. The magnolia warbler has an entirely different preferred habitat—forest that has been clear cut and has grown back into dense thickets.

Drop down to 2,500 feet, and we’ll encounter different songbirds, especially in the oak/hickory/pine areas that so characterize much of the Southern Appalachians.

“At 2,500 feet, expect to hear ovenbirds, scarlet tanagers, and worm-eating warblers,” says Donahue. “Sometimes, those birds won’t arrive until later in April. But you never know when some individuals of these species will show up earlier. If the area has thickets, look for chestnut-sided and prairie warblers, indigo buntings, and towhees. Wood thrushes, which are close relatives to the veeries, can be found at this level, too.”

An approximate elevation of 2,500 feet is often where I find some of the best turkey hunting in East Tennessee, and the songbirds present here are the ones I know the best and so much look forward to hearing them greet the cool Appalachian mornings. 

In my opinion, the wood thrush sings the most melodic tune of any creature. Imagine a bird playing a flute, and the “ee-oh-lay” sounds that the bird generates are guaranteed to thrill any concert goer in nature’s chapel. The ovenbird, which sports the same type of olive green back and spotted white bellies that many thrushes do, is not the singer that the wood thrush is, but who is for that matter. The ovenbird belts out its “teacher, teacher, teacher,” song as it flits about the understory.

Last spring, I heard large numbers of chestnut sided warblers while I was afield on my Virginia mountain land. The creature’s greenish-yellow cap and reddish brown streaks on its sides are as distinctive as is its song. Look for this warbler to concentrate in second growth thickets, and listen for its “very, very pleased to meetcha” song.

While I believe the wood thrush sings the most beautiful, lilting song, the scarlet tanager rates the nod as the most gorgeous bird in the spring mountains. Its bright red body and black wings are distinctive as it flies among the treetops, and the tanager’s song sounds like that of a robin with a sore throat. 

The worm-eating warbler is not a particularly attractive bird, doesn’t sing particularly well, and doesn’t eat worms, but is still one of the birds I associate most with these mountains. This creature features a drab yellow body, a buzzy trill more like an insect than an avian, and a diet largely of caterpillars. Look for it on steep slopes with lots of undergrowth.

Donahue lists two other birds that very much characterize the April Appalachian woods: whip-poor-wills and chuck-wills-widows, both of which repeatedly chant their names as night gives way to dawn, and both of which have bodies the color of leaf litter. Many veteran turkey hunters believe that if these two songsters are eagerly belting out their tunes during the pre-dawn period, the gobblers are likely to do the same a few minutes later. An opinion held with great justification as turkeys like whips and chucks are more vocal on crisp, windless mornings.

Of course, some birds that are found in our backyards also dwell deep in the forest. Donahue says that Carolina wrens, cardinals, blue jays, and song sparrows are habitat generalists that can thrive just about anywhere. He especially touts the Carolina wren as an excellent example of a habitat generalist, as both of us have found them nesting deep in Appalachian wilderness areas and around our homes. I’ve found wrens nesting in Elaine’s ice skates, apple bushel baskets, Christmas wreaths, and exhaust vents for our house. This bird is easy to identify with its white eye stripe, long, cocked tail, and cinnamon plumage. The male warbles out its rollicking “teakettle, teakettle, teakettle” tune year-round. The male is a devotee of monogamy, too, staying with a female of the species for life. 

One of the great joys of an April morning is hearing a male wren sing his teakettle song and listening to the female “churring” back at him. And here’s one more reason to hark to a wren’s songs or call notes. Both sexes often sound off when a creature enters their domain, whether that creature may be another wren, human, or… turkey gobbler.

Besides the aforementioned song sparrow, at least two other members of the sparrow family deserve attention at the advent of April: the white-throated and junco.

“White-throated sparrows live here nine months of the year, coming early in fall and staying late into the spring” says Donahue. “These sparrows are not here only during the summer breeding season when they live in the North.

“Another sparrow that is very interesting is the junco. They are winter visitors in much of the Mid-Atlantic, but in mountains with elevations over 4,000 feet, they actually breed there.”

As thrilling and soothing as it is to hear and see all these songbirds come spring, I would be remiss if I didn’t comment on the “rawness” of avian life in these mountains where the credo is eat or be eaten. For example, the most amazing sight I’ve ever witnessed was a bald eagle attacking a flock of turkeys. Six times from on high, the eagle (emitting its high-pitched whistles) swooped down on the flock, attempting to scatter the members so that it could concentrate on one of them to attack and kill. But the turkeys instinctively realizing what the eagle was attempting to do, clumped closer together and responded with their own harsh sounds—high-pitched “fighting purrs” as they are known. After the sixth aerial bombardment, the eagle gave up its attack, perhaps instinctively knowing that it was not energy efficient to continue its assault.

Another remarkable event I observed took place on a mid-morning hunt in Tennessee’s Sullivan County. Setting up high on a mountainside, I placed out a hen decoy in hopes of drawing in a gobbler. As I was making some hen clucks and yelps, a red-tailed hawk sailed in and its talons struck the fake bird’s head. This resulted in the lifeless decoy falling on its side in a very unnatural position. The hawk retreated to an overhanging limb, stared down at the pile of plastic that it had “conquered,” and then flew away. 

Finally while on the topic of birds, Southern Appalachian landowners who own mountainous property might want to consider doing something to help out both wild turkeys and songbirds. For example, through the USDA’s Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS), I have enrolled two of my Virginia highland properties in the Working Lands for Wildlife program. Wild turkeys, golden-wings, and some three dozen species of songbirds rely on early successional habitat (think clear cuts and overgrown, shrubby fields). With help from the NRCS, I’ve created several “pockets” of early successional habitat on my properties. Google up Golden-winged Warbler Initiative for more information.

Spring Showers, Spring Flowers and Butterflies

Of course, turkeys and songbirds are not the only flying creatures that brighten the April Appalachians. Mike Donahue is also a lepidopterist – someone who studies butterflies and moths. He relates that the hairstreaks, brown elfins, silver blue falcades, orange tips and numerous species of duskywings and swallowtails can appear this month.

Regarding flowers, perhaps the most popular one and the species that is most regarded as a herald of spring is the great white trillium which thrives throughout the Southern Appalachians in mixed hardwood forests. The three-petal flowers that often spring forth in very early April are diagnostic for this perennial.

As fetching as the trilliums are, I confess that my favorite spring plant smells to the proverbial high heavens – the aptly named skunk cabbage. Typically found near spring seeps and highland rills where it often grows in great profusion, this perennial thrives in deep shade. Skunk cabbage features leaves that can grow well over a foot tall and that very much look like those of a cabbage. Don’t expect to see this plant blooming in April as this species can produce flowers as early as February.

 Often when I have to cross a stream to reach a gobbling tom, I will have to ramble through a swath of skunk cabbage. Doing so makes the plants emit a smell as if a skunk had just waddled through them. Merely rub your hands against the leaves, and you’ll quickly see why the plant’s moniker is justified.

Another plant that says April in the Appalachians for me is the mayapple. Despite its name, this perennial springs forth in April and sends out its white blooms then, too. In May or June, though, the green “apples,” which are about the size of golf balls, become ripe. Traditionally, mountain folks gathered these fruits and made pies, jellies, and other desserts from them. I confess that I’ve always found the taste of mayapples mildly appealing at best. Please note that the unripe green fruit is toxic as are the seeds. Mayapples grow about 15 inches high and have one-foot across or so leaves that look like umbrellas.

Donahue says that one of the most gorgeous blooming species in the April Appalachians is not a flower at all but a small tree or shrub.

“With its pink blossoms, the Eastern redbud is a real harbinger of spring,” he says. “It often blooms in early April, depending on the elevation of course. The heart-shaped leaves are also quite attractive.”

Morels in the Mountains

Once while hunting in the East Tennessee mountains with Larry Proffitt, I came across some morel mushrooms freshly sprung from the spring soil and immediately paused to gather them. To many hunters and nature lovers, searching for morels is one of the premier spring rituals. Elaine and I like to eat them with scrambled eggs, and they go well with a variety of other entrée’s as well.

Morels (several species exist) often thrive around sycamores, ashes, and poplars, but I’ve even found them among pines. The caps are ridged and pitted and are hollow from the tip of the cap to the stem’s bottom. The cap is also attached directly to the stem. My best advice for foraging for any of the mushroom species is to go with a veteran gatherer the first few times you seek them. Some morel lookalikes are very toxic to humans.

Summing Up

Larry Proffitt and I have been hunting in the East Tennessee highlands for some 15 years now, and I eagerly await our opening weekend rendezvous this April. Yes, I humbly enjoy killing a wild turkey gobbler and feasting on its grilled breast, its legs in a hearty soup, its neck in a salad, and its wing meat in hors d’oeuvres. And, yes, I relish the artistry of attempting, but never fully mastering the two dozen or so sounds that gobblers and hens can emit. I cherish the sight of a mature tom in full strut, his long beard dangling from his chest, his sending out a deafening gobble just yards from me as he scans the forest for the hen he wants to mate with. When I’m pursuing gobblers, I really do feel, as Thoreau wrote, that I’m sucking out all the marrow that the woods and life have to offer.

But what also makes me return to the Southern Appalachians every April is the totality of the experience – the turkeys themselves along with the songbirds, owls, hawks, eagles, and all the other flora and fauna that characterize this majestic landscape. Matt Linder, vice president of communications for the National Wild Turkey Federation, calls this landscape his “cathedral” where he is “at peace,” thoughts that I echo. Last words come from Larry Proffitt. 

“I wish the season opened tomorrow,” he says. “It is a joy beyond measure to enjoy these sights and sounds of an early spring day alone on the mountain with only the creatures of the wild around.”

The Best Spring Songsters

Mike Donahue and I engaged in a light-hearted debate about which Southern Appalachian birds perform the best songs. His top five are the bobwhite (a lilting, whistled “bob-bob-white”), wood thrush, veery (a cascading “veer, veer, veer”) and “any species of warbler” for slots four and five.

My fab five were the wood thrush, veery, the migratory hermit thrush (“oh, holy, holy, ah, purity, purity”), scarlet tanager, and Carolina wren.