A Lesson from the Nebraska Sandhills

As I left the airport, the world slowly fell away. No traffic or noise, and bustle gave way to wide-open space; the endless rolling dunes and the soft whisper of wind over grass setting the rhythm of the land. I was headed to Arterburn Outdoors’ spring Nebraska turkey hunt, and as an Oklahoma girl, something about the Sandhills felt oddly familiar. Grass-covered dunes stretched for miles, broken only by sparse trees and winding valleys. The openness is breathtaking but challenging for turkey hunters. Limited cover, long sightlines and constant wind make calling unpredictable, and the birds move quickly, using the landscape to their advantage. I had learned a lot from hunting western Oklahoma, and it seemed like those lessons might come in handy here.

Day 1 with Arterburn Outdoors focused on establishing our base camp in a valley. Setting up camp was just as important as the hunt; it set the atmosphere. It was everything you imagine when you think of an old-fashioned turkey camp: simple, rugged and a touch of nostalgia that seemed traditional. The main wall tent served as the meeting place, with a wood-burning stove. It was connected to the camp kitchen tent, featuring a full Camp Chef setup with a beautiful display of cast iron. Each hunter had a personal tent set up around the main wall tent.

The morning came early, with temperatures still dipping into the low 30s overnight. Thankfully, I had stuffed my camo and socks into the bottom of my sleeping bag to take the edge off the cold when I got dressed. I emerged from my tent before daylight, hoping for a hot cup of coffee. In the camp kitchen, Brooks from Camp Chef already had everything fired up and the percolators full. One by one, hunters filtered in, and our guides from Hidden Valley Outfitters arrived.

After hunter-guide pairings were made, we headed out. As we walked to our first location, a few gobbles broke the quiet just before sunrise. If you have never hunted Nebraska, the vastness can be deceiving. The birds can cover ground quickly, and closing the distance is no small task. It didn’t take long before it felt like we were trailing them more than working them. I found myself split between staying in the moment and trying to soak in the experience. After a morning of run-and-gun setups, finding hens without gobblers, or toms that refused to show and missed opportunities, we broke for brunch to regroup. During that break, we were given a master class by Jack Flatly about onX Hunt, and learning to use the mapping tools and its features proved invaluable for navigating such a large, open landscape.

That afternoon, we returned to a property we had scouted the evening before. We had hesitation initially because of the openness of the field and the challenge of getting close. Sure enough, a large flock of Merriam’s made their way into the open. To make a move, we had to hike around the entire field, dropping into and climbing out of a valley. The Sandhills have a way of humbling you physically. If you are out of shape, they will let you know. When in position, my guide, Logan, and I split off while the others held the tree line. Using a berm from a tractor plow for cover, we crawled into position behind a decoy. Three toms suddenly appeared over a slight rise. I wasn’t fully set, but not wanting to miss the opportunity, I took the shot and missed.

I had never missed before. I’ve had busted hunts, missed opportunities and moments I regretted not taking a shot, but I had never missed. I could have left that part out, but it was a significant mental obstacle I had to overcome during this hunt. Not enough people talk about the misses, hard hunts and moments when everything goes wrong, but for me, hunting has always been about more than the harvest. It has taught me about myself, perseverance and navigating challenges in the field and in life. Hunting has been a teacher, shaping how I face setbacks, and reminding me that the real story isn’t just in the successes, but in the lessons learned when things don’t go as planned.

By the next morning, Day 3, it was even colder, and I was slower to crawl out of my sleeping bag. I said my prayers, knowing I needed to shake off the previous day and reset mentally. After going to the camp kitchen for coffee and a plan, we loaded up and headed back out. Much like the day before, the turkeys sent us on a chase. We would get close, only to feel like we were right back where we started. I could feel a bit of hesitation creeping in. I appreciate my guide’s patience with me that day.

We decided to head to a property we had scouted on the first day. There was no shortage of birds. It was simply a matter of getting close in such wide-open terrain. Every move required long hikes through cow pastures and up and down steep hills, often circling wide just to avoid being seen.

After climbing a large hill to glass, we spotted several turkeys, including a mature gobbler we had seen earlier in the trip. He was across the road with a large group of hens. Our calling brought in a group of jakes, which was a neat experience to watch up close, but not the birds we were after. After they moved off, we made a plan to circle around and come in behind the flock. It sounded simple, but it turned into a long trek. By the time we got into position, the birds had crossed back to where we had started. It was one of those moments you can only laugh at later.

Thankfully, the situation worked in our favor. We crossed back again and moved to cut them off. Almost immediately, we saw a large group of hens moving quickly across in front of us, too far to make a play. For a moment, we thought we had lost them, but it wasn’t the same group. Our birds were still working through the area. We pulled out a tom decoy and called, but the tom showed no interest.

With no other option, we ditched the decoy and committed to a crawl. It turned into a 200- yard push across the terrain; just me, Logan and my Savage Renegauge 12-gauge loaded with Hevi-18 TSS. The turkeys were on a road, and we used the hillside to stay concealed as we worked our way closer. At 30 yards, I finally had my opportunity. This time, I was ready. He was a beautiful double-bearded longbeard and the final piece of my Grand Slam. As a mom of five who is grateful for every hunting opportunity, this one definitely ranks at the top.

It was a hunt I will never forget. I worked for that bird, and in the process, I learned more than I expected.