A Trumpet and an Old Fox

The morning was clear and crisp, and I had a good idea where the gobbler would be. A place I had hunted most of my life, everything had a familiar feel. The trumpet around my neck and an old Fox double gun in my hand. But this morning was different. I was on a mission, and I had purpose. I wanted to fulfill a promise.

The trumpet and the old Fox were not my usual. The wind instrument was made for me by my old friend Zach Farmer, and the Fox was his. The Rev. Farmer, an ordained Methodist minister, was undoubtedly the best I had ever heard on a trumpet call. His calling was realistic in every way, and he could get rasp on a woodwind like no one else I had heard. His influence on calling and call making were second to none when it came to suction-style calls. Mr. Zach, as I called him, had passed away just before this past turkey season, and I was fortunate to acquire his Fox. He had spent many years hunting with the 12-gauge Fox Sterlingworth, made in 1921 and accompanied by his old leather turkey strap. His stories of using it to chase “gobblas,” as he would say in his Low Country South Carolina dialect, and deer throughout the Palmetto State were renowned.

I had seen the gun in action a few years before when I hunted with him in the swamp near his home. We filmed the hunt with the NWTF, and in my opinion, it was one of the greatest hunts ever filmed. Titled “The Reverend” because of his work preaching the truth in holy places and wooded sanctuaries alike, we documented a true legend of the turkey woods and his unique calling ability, as well as knowledge of turkeys and turkey behavior. He made me a trumpet caller a few years ago, and as hard as they were to come by — Mr. Zach had a waiting list years’ long — I never took it in the woods until we hunted together. Still, he always encouraged me to use it.

The fact that I even got to hunt with him was special because he only hunted alone. I know of maybe one or two people who were ever allowed to tag along while he was hunting. Known as “The Old Mockingbird” because he could repeat the sound he heard in his calls, Mr. Zach and I spent hours talking turkeys, callers and places we hunted. I learned many things from him about calls and sounds I never knew were possible on a woodwind. We had many things in common. I had learned to hunt in the Francis Marion National Forest, as he had years before. We had studied Henry Davis and Archibald Rutledge, who were legends in our area of the Low Country. And we loved old double-barrels. On our hunt, I took my Fox as backup, although I knew it wouldn’t be needed.

After his passing, my goal this past season was to take the trumpet he made for me, a beautiful desert ironwood caller, and his Fox shotgun to the woods for a special hunt. I didn’t use a decoy because he didn’t believe in them, and I rarely used them anyway. As I arrived in the dark to my listening point, I had to laugh to myself as the turkey was roosted all the way back near my truck. It was funny because on the hunt with Mr. Zach, the same thing happened. He was sure where the gobbler was supposed to be, but we knew there are no absolutes in hunting.

Making my way back, I realized the gobblers was already on the ground, and I got in as tight as I could and readied the old Fox. Mr. Zach’s relic was not a show piece; it was obviously well used and worn. Every scratch told stories of the gun’s experience, and he had spray painted it green to hide the glare. I’m sure A.H Fox would not have approved, but Mr. Zach believed in function over anything else.

I made sure I was settled before bringing the caller to my mouth, and the first yelp was just as Mr. Zach had intended it to sound. The gobbler agreed and instantly responded as if he had been mesmerized by a siren’s song. I gave a cluck and then another short series of plain hen yelps, and the bird was nearly in range. Because of the thick cover, I could not see him until he was within 30 yards, and he had my location pinpointed. I gave one more soft yelp, and he answered right on top of me. I let him get within 20 yards before I squeezed the back trigger.

Just as it had done for many years, the old Fox “got the game” (as its advertisements once promised). The turkey did not move, and neither did I. I sat there for a time in reflection of Mr. Zach and what had just occurred, knowing that he would have been pleased. Before I got up, high in the tree above me, a mockingbird began to sing. And I knew it was a sign of a job well done.