Taking a youngster turkey hunting? These 9 tips will help make your gobbler hunt a success

A blind can save a foul-weather hunt with kids

#1  FOSTER INTEREST EARLY

My sons were hammering out yelps on a box call from the time they were buckled into front-facing car seats. They had the Pye family minivan rocking like a lonely hen every time we slowed down to watch a field full of gobblers during the morning commute to daycare. But the boys also enjoyed a conservation connection that brought them even closer to the outdoors than a mere drive through the countryside.

They were raised on nature hikes, for starters. Their fascination for things such as mud and bugs, and trees and tadpoles shaped their outdoor confidence and gave them an early environmental education. It also gave them an appreciation for wildlife and outdoor places, and sparked their genuine early interest in hunting.

Building forts and make-believe hunting blinds instilled habitat awareness. Flinging arrows and plinking targets created respect for the shooting sports. And tagging along with a hunting role model led to their understanding of personal ethics, firearms safety, hunting regulations and the privilege of taking home wild food for the dinner table.

#2  DON’T PUSH IT ON THEM

By promoting access to these kinds of outdoor experiences, mentors can cover a lot hunting ground with children before a conversation about formal hunter education even begins (see “Higher learning”). And the decision to take up hunting must always be the child’s—knowing a hunting invitation will always be there—not the result of parental pressure.

So, by the time my eldest son, Charlie, was eight, he was ready to wake up early and join me for all the great opening-day action he’d heard about his entire life, including the first day of the spring turkey season here in Ontario. He couldn’t wait.

#3  BE COMPLETELY PREPARED

Chalk the calls. Pack the decoys. Purchase the tag. I had everything prepared for Charlie’s first turkey hunt. Or so I thought. The warm and sunny late-April season opener I’d imagined turned out to be a miserable day, with a mix of rain, snow and freezing temperatures. Charlie’s lightweight rubber boots—suitable for the schoolyard but not the turkey woods—just weren’t going to cut it.

After a long walk across a sopping wet pasture, his boots were like ice packs around his little feet. When we reached the blind, he didn’t say a word but the agony of cold feet was becoming real. He was already too cold for an immediate retreat; turning back to the warm truck would feel twice as far, even though I offered to carry him.

My dad-fail called for a dad-solution, so I hunted that morning without a coat and in bare feet. Charlie’s boots were replaced with my warm socks, as well as my knee-high insulated hunting boots that went to the top of his little legs. And my thick hunting coat covered him like a blanket. While he played Angry Birds on my phone, I played frustrated bird on my box call.