Kent and I walked through the woods, checking the field and trail lines, hoping to catch a gobbler strutting. Kent hit his box call every so often, thinking we may catch a break and hear one let off a gobble. This time, luck was not on our side. As Kent hit his call, there were two toms out in a clearing that we were not able to see yet. Unfortunately, they were able to see us and took off running. I was bummed at this point, thinking it just may not happen. We walked about 20 more yards and started looking, and off to our left side, we noticed movement at about the same time. Kent was the only one who had binoculars because I had forgotten mine. Kent excitedly said to get down because he saw a tom about 160 yards away.
For over a year, I had seen pictures of a friend of mine know as Caribou Chuck and his friend, Kent Kaiser, going on hunting trips. In 2017, I followed them on Facebook knocking out the Grand Slam. In early March, Kent and Caribou were posting on Facebook again about trying another Grand Slam. I contacted Kent on Messenger and joked about him having an extra spot to kill an Osceola. I quickly learned not to ask for something with the Legend Kent Kaiser if you aren’t ready to go. Kent immediately responded and said he would make it work. Kent was able to get with a friend and landowner in Florida, the same one where Caribou killed his Osceola the prior year. I gave Kent two weekends I would be able to go, and the next day, Kent called with all of the hunt details.
Kent had secured some private land outside of Orlando to hunt March 24th and 25th. Kent had done his research and told me we would hunt public ground during the week and days before we could go to the private land. I had just went through a separation and was itching to get out of the funk I was in. I am usually a planner and not one to make quick decisions, but I told Kent I was in. The plan was to fly into Destin, Florida where I would pick up Kent. We would drive south 400+ miles and get a hotel around Orlando to start. The next day, we would finish the drive and hunt if we had time. I booked the flight and hotels and still couldn’t believe this hunt was really going to happen. I packed all my items days in advance for the hunt. I had researched what I needed to do to fly with my guns.
The morning came, and I couldn’t have been any more excited. I had a friend drop me off at the airport. I walked up to the counter to check in my guns. I had them in a hard-shell case with two locks on the case. The attendant said he could not check-in my case because it had four holes for locks and all holes needed to have a lock. I became frantic. My bag had to be checked in within 30 minutes. I had no car, and it was 5:30 in the morning. Luck was on my side because my friend who had dropped me off was able to make it to Walmart and back with one minute to spare. I boarded my plane, and off I went to Florida.
I landed in Destin, picked up my car, and off I went to pick up Kent. I arrived at Kent’s condominium resort and let him know I was there. I was not sure what to think. I knew Kent had a sense of humor from all the jokes he and Caribou posted of each other on Facebook. I am a bit of a joker myself, so I thought this would be a fun trip. Kent came down with his bag, introduced himself, and off we went.
As we drove south, Kent and I joked and laughed about stories of Caribou. Kent and I hit it off right away. Kent kept receiving call after call about a hunting special he had just emailed out. After a long drive, we made it to our hotel just south of Orlando. I watched some TV, and Kent went to check his emails to catch up on his business.
On Tuesday, the 20th, we woke up early to finish our drive and try to get some hunting in. We made it to our spot with plenty of time to hunt. We checked in and asked a few questions. The gate worker told us not many birds were killed on opening weekend of this 60,000 acre state land. This didn’t concern me. I knew Kent and I would put in the hours and distance to make it work. Kent already had a location picked out, so we drove through the land. We got out of our vehicle, and off we went. Right away, I spotted turkey tracks. Kent and I walked that day about seven miles. We saw about five hens, but that was it. We never heard one gobble. We spent the rest of the day knocking on doors and stopping at local gas stations, trying to find private ground to hunt. I quickly found out Kent was not scared to talk to anyone or ask for permission. We did some more research and came up with a game plan for the next day thanks to Google Maps.
We woke up bright and early on the 21st. We parked the vehicle and began our hike. We knew we had about a three-mile hike ahead of us to get to our spot. We sat down right as day broke. There was a 300+ lb. hog about 40 yards out. He finally spotted us and took off. A short time later, I saw a turkey off to my left. I told Kent, and he began to scan the area. Kent spotted a hen off in the distance. My blood began to flow fast. We were on the birds. We sat for a while but did not have any other activity, so we moved on.
We had walked about another mile when a crow started piping up. Thank you, Mr. Crow! Immediately, a gobbler let out a thunder. Kent and I both snapped our heads and started that way. We were not 100% sure where the bird was, so we walked down a big ditch to keep our movements concealed. We sat down on the edge of a small clearing for about 20 minutes, calling, but we never heard another gobble. We decided to keep moving forward very slowly, hoping to catch the bird. Kent finally caught a glimpse of the tom strutting. We made our way to the edge of the tree line and hid behind a thick patch of brush. My heart was beating fast. Kent and I both thought this was a done deal. Kent made a few soft calls, and the bird started coming our way. We estimated the bird was about 65 yards away, but there was a heavy wind in our faces. Just like that, he was gone as I now realized these Osceolas were super smart and cautious compared to the Eastern in Indiana. I caught a peek of him walking away from us about 100 yards out. Kent and I followed cautiously in hot pursuit.
We spotted him again. Kent said he would stay back while I crawled to the bird through the tall weeds. Kent guided me with pointing out where I needed to go. I crawled for about 30 yards and lost the bird. I was behind another thicket and could not see. I looked back at Kent, and he was pointing aggressively straight ahead and finally whispered to shoot him. The thicket had my view blocked, and I could not see the tom. Finally, Kent said to stand up and shoot him. As I stood up, the bird was directly in front of me, but at this time, he was spooked and hot footing it out of there. I watched in disappointment as the bird ran off. Mad at myself that I did not get a shot off and thought this may have been my one opportunity. We stopped for the day and decided to go and pound doors more to look for private ground. Again, nothing panned out. We had a tom 50 yards away, and the property manager would not give us permission even for some green in his pocket or a steak dinner. Worn out from about a 10-mile walk that day, we went to bed knowing we were going back to the hot spot.
On Thursday, we headed back to the same spot where we saw the tom the day before. We got there early and set up. As the sun broke, the sound every turkey hunter loves to hear broke the silence. Nothing beats the sound of a hot gobbler in the morning. We were only a few hundred yards away and closed the distance while it was still dark. Once the birds hit the ground, they were quiet. Kent and I were on the move again. We saw a tom way off in the distance. We tried to cut him off but lost him in the process. We walked miles and miles, trying to find where the three toms we had heard that morning had disappeared. My knee was killing me. I had injured it a month prior, but I was not going to quit. Kent and I were on a mission. Fast forward to May, and I ended up having surgery to fix a tear in my knee.
There we were, staring at a tom and hen 160 yards away, knowing this could be our chance. We decided we would belly crawl through a thick patch to close the distance. As Kent kneeled down, he stuck his hand in a fire ant pile. He quickly regretted this as I caught a chuckle or two. We began crawling, and I quickly knew this was not going to be fun. There were small plants that had thorns on them. Our bodies were getting poked by them the whole crawl. We would stop every so often to see how close we were. The hen had disappeared, and the tom had gone into the thick woods. He must have been on a death wish because he came right back out. Kent and I knew this was our chance. He was about 50 yards away. I was very confident in my ability to shoot as I had killed a bird at 50+ yards before. I knew this bird was dead. I fired off a round, but to my surprise, he did not drop. He began to run towards us. I quickly jumped up and let off another round. This time, the bird hit the ground. My new Mossberg with a Pattern Master choke had done the job. The bird began flopping, and excitedly, I fired off another round, not wanting to lose the bird.
My body was filled with so many emotions. I was shaking and yelling with joy. I had just accomplished my goal - kill an Osceola! Kent was happy for me and had a big smile on his face. We both took videos and pictures with the bird. He was 17 lbs., had 1" spurs, and had a little over 9" beard. We had walked about seven miles already and had many more miles to walk out. I called my local taxidermist on our walk out to prepare to get my bird home to mount.
We took Friday off from hunting to let our bodies cover. We drove to Kent's friend Jay’s who had the private land for our second part of the trip. We met up with him and talked about the plans for the weekend. The next morning, we drove and met Jay at his place. Here is where the trip took a turn for the worse and a lot of laughs were had at my expense. We sat up and immediately started hearing a few birds gobble when daylight broke. The one tom was full of himself and gobbled for hours at the back of a huge field. Every so often, we would see him with some hens, but we never gave up. We were patient and waited, calling every so often. He would answer but would not leave his hens. After waiting about two hours, he finally broke. Kent imitated fighting purrs, and he couldn’t take it. I thought I saw movement but was unsure as I had forgotten my binoculars again. Kent was sitting about 20 yards back from Jay and me to get this hunt on film. Kent called to us that the tom was coming and on the run.
This hunt was playing out like what you would watch with Durry Outdoors. That morning, I had made a mistake I would soon forget. I had hunted with my Mossberg 9200, ol' faithful, with a Pattern Master tube for years. This is the setup I had killed a turkey with at 62 yards a few years back. I knew this gun like the back of my hand. I had just bought a Mossberg 935 for duck season in 2017 with a Pattern Master choke tube. I swear by their tubes as they are some of the best in the business. I had used the new Mossberg 935 two days prior to kill the Osceola. This morning, I decided to go back to ol' faithful. While walking in the woods, I knocked off the front sight. Kent swears he even told me to go to the truck and change out guns. I don’t remember that part.
I caught a glimpse of the tom, and he was running hard. His big chest was bouncing, and his long beard was swaying back and forth. I raised my gun and told myself to take my time since my sight was off. He stopped through a small clearing, and I let it rip. I thought he went down, but suddenly, he took off running. I fired another shot with no luck. I threw my gun in frustration. My heart sank, and I felt like I was going to vomit. I had been so confident in my shooting. I hung my head, frustrated at myself. That bird was on a string to a huge opening just 20 yards away. If I had just waited, I could have thrown a rock and killed him. In true friend fashion, before 30 seconds could pass, the jokes started coming. Jay was the first to make a comment, telling Kent that if he was going to bring someone that couldn’t shoot he wouldn’t have let us come. For the next few hours, this was all I heard. This was the first bird I had shot at that that I didn't not bring home. It was a tough pill for me to swallow, but all I could do was laugh with them. We met back up with Jay on Sunday and worked a bird for a few hours but did not have any luck. I still stay in contact with Jay and hope to hunt with him again.
This hunt was a memory-of-a-lifetime that I will never forget, from the fresh Florida oranges that were amazing, watching a family of otters play in a creek, to eating lunch at the Yeehaw Junction Desert Inn that dates to the 1880s. I made a friend for life and wouldn’t have changed the experience for anything. We had so many laughs that week, and most of them were making fun of Caribou Chuck or me pretending to answer Kent’s hundred calls for his moose hunt or his hunting trip to New Zealand. I joked with Kent that I would be his extra hand to New Zealand so I could kill a Chamois or Tahr. The hardest laughs from Jay and Kent’s comments at me missing. Kent and I keep in contract often, and I can’t wait for our next adventure.
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