Sitting in a dead quiet auditorium, I listened in awe as one of the finalists wrapped up his last calling sequence on stage. As soon as he was done, Rob Kinney, a Mossy Oak photographer, leaned over and asked me, “Well, what do you think?”
“I think these guys are making me really insecure about my turkey calling.” I responded, laughing.
This was no run-at-the-mill calling competition. This was the Grand National Turkey Calling Championship, held annually at the NWTF convention in Nashville—and it was my first time seeing these guys compete in person. Only the best of the best take the stage here. These guys are not hobbyists. They are craftsmen, obsessives. The finalist that we’d just heard, was Josh Grossenbacher, who, without having a better way to put it, might sound more like a turkey than an actual turkey. Closing your eyes and listening to Josh call on stage is the closest thing possible to being teleported to the turkey woods on a crisp spring morning when the turkeys are talking. Little did I know, six weeks later I’d be sharing a tree with Josh, watching three longbeards fly down off the limb right to our feet.
Texas Turkey Camp
Two months later, I arrive at Mossy’s Oak’s Texas turkey camp, aptly named the Rio Roundup, and immediately see four turkeys walk by as we entered the driveway. This is going to be good, I think to myself. I’m coming to camp with a pre-existing appreciation for Rio Grande turkeys, as all of our turkeys in my home state of California are Rios. I’m no stranger to this subspecies. But while our birds are similar, I could already tell that something was different about this place.
Outside the front door of the camp, there is a metal sculpture of a dog holding a shotgun, wearing a pair of custom snake gaiters sewn out of Mossy Oak Obsession fabric, and holding a sign that reads “If you’re not God or George Strait, take your boots off.” A full-size flying gobbler mount graces the wall as soon as you walk in. On another wall, there’s a map, with a ’90s film photo pinned over it of Tom Kelly with Toxey Haas and friends, standing shoulder to shoulder with turkeys fanned out in front of them. The camp property has that feeling certain places get when enough stories have been told there. A feeling that doesn’t get created overnight; one that you certainly can’t fake. It had all the makings of a place that has turkey hunting lore coursing through its existence.
Knowing I was about to go hunt with Josh, I contemplated just leaving all my calls at home when we went out. Trying to let out a series of yelps around Josh would be like sitting in the back of a drift boat while floating down the Madison in Montana, and pushing your guide out of the way, grabbing the oars, spitting your dip in his spitter, and then pretending you know how to row. I wasn’t going to be that guy. But he encouraged me to call anyway, because he’s like that.
The plan was to go after some gobblers that Josh had been watching for a few days prior, and I was prepared to hear Josh work these turkeys into range. It turns out, his woodsmanship is as good as his calling, as we snuck right into their bedroom under 75 yards from their roost, and the turkeys flew off the limb and right to us without a single call. Five minutes later, they were strutting and drumming their way to us until I had a perfect shot at 22 yards. I could hear Josh whisper: “Take a deep breath, put it right on the base of the neck. Nice and easy.”
My shot went off. Then came about a minute of silence, after the birds all vanished. I then proceeded to have Josh compare me to Cleveland Browns running back Earnest Byner—who, in 1988, fumbled the ball at the 1-yard line while heading for a game-tying touchdown in the AFC championship game, sealing a 38-31 loss for the Browns. I absolutely deserved it. We both had a laugh.
About an hour later, I had redemption on a different bird. We ended up striking up a number of other birds over the course of a few days, and sealed the deal on a few. Josh took a bird that had a triple beard, and for someone who’s seen the show as many times as him, it was incredible to see him shaking with excitement as if it were the first time one came in on a string for him all over again. Seeing that gave me hope that it will still feel the same way when I see a turkey walk in for the 200th time.
Home Away from Home
On the final day, Neill Haas led us to a new spot, and we had barely sat down and looked up, when there were already three longbeards running in our direction. Neill quickly got their attention, and within seconds we had a bird in our lap. Back at camp, I heard stories of all kinds, of turkeys acting here in Texas how you wish they’d act back home. Turkeys rarely read the script. But here in Texas, your odds seem to be better at them doing so.
Mossy Oak’s Rio Roundup began as just a small tight knit group of friends—the original employees of the brand—going down to Texas together, more than 30 years ago. I like to believe that the first time that they discovered the quality of turkey hunting down in Texas, it felt to them as if they’d discovered a place that nobody knew about besides the local ranchers. Like they’d stumbled into some secret country still untouched by hunters. Jaw dropping numbers of turkeys, and wild things behaving the way you always hoped they would. Those turkeys in Texas back then had probably seldom heard a turkey call, let alone one from the vest of a seasoned southern turkey hunter. People weren’t traveling to hunt turkeys back in the early ’90s. There were no 49-state slams or turkey-season van tours on social media. It was just a group of die-hard turkey hunters that stumbled upon a goldmine of unbothered turkeys, and developed a love for an unfamiliar place. And they loved it so much, they kept going back.
And that kid-in-a-candy-shop excitement—to be there, to be in a place as special as the middle of absolute nowhere in west Texas, playing chess amongst the mesquite trees, the cedars, the rattlesnakes and the cactus, with a healthy population of Rios—remains there at camp today. As a turkey hunter, it’s impossible not to be excited about being there with the sheer number of turkeys that are around.
Sitting around the pavilion on the last night of camp, I asked Daniel and Neill Haas a very straight forward question. Why do you guys keep coming back?
Their answer was simple: “This is our home away from home”.
And that’s when I started to get it. Texas turkey camp for the Mossy Oak family is that once-a-year comfort food. It’s familiar, reliable, and it’s always gonna be there when you need it. It’s what they’ve done for decades, and it’s as a part of them as any other turkey camp is—even if it’s only one, fleeting, 5-day trip down there each year. It’s a change of scenery, and a foreign yet familiar place—but at this point, it’s a place that’s part of their internal wiring of what turkey season is. If you’re having a tough season back home, don’t worry. When you get to Texas, you may be dodging cactus spines and stepping over rattlesnakes. You may sweat a little more than you’re used to. But sooner or later, somewhere across the endless country, one will hammer. He will. And when he does, for a moment, everything is right in the world, and it’s hard to stop the nostalgic feeling of being there from taking over. Even if it’s your first time there, you can feel it in the air.
THE 1871 CLUB
