.jpg)
18 x 24
Oil on Wood Panel
For Sale and on Display at Artsource Fine Art, Raleigh
One of many things that separates turkey hunting from other kinds is the story telling that follows each hunt. Duck hunting stories are often based off numbers and how they did or did not fly into the decoys, etc, etc. Deer hunting stories can have a little spice, but usually are summarized with the same 'ol same 'ol about how the big buck came out right at dark chasing does, etc., etc. A turkey story, however, is never the same and is often filled with intense moments to reflect upon after the hunt. Every hunt holds a different account of how a Tom strutted forever before coming in, how he attacked the decoys, how the hens were pulling him away, etc etc. The hunt is often filled with "military style" stomach crawling coupled with long pauses of not moving a muscle, and finally full adrenaline as a full blown gobbler is barreling in as the gun's safety is clicked off and the trigger is squeezed. .
On opening day my son and his friend came back home with a nice Tom measuring an eleven and half inch beard. As always, the bird was spread out on the tailgate of a pick up as someone yells out to the harvester, "Let's hear it!", signalling the beginning of the oral recount.
The young hunters said that they had set up on a path locally known as the "Camp Road" which is under lease from a local gun club of which my son's hunting partner is a member. The club has more members than not owning deer hounds and fox hounds so muddy pickups with dog boxes in the back are the norm - not the exception. The Camp Road is the I95 of dirt roads as there have been hundreds of thousands of miles logged here just riding "looking dogs" (aka retrieving deer hounds). This road and this activity is held with great passion and is not just a road for deer season, as members get their full money's worth year round "running cats" ( aka unleashing their hounds on wild bobcats). My son said they had a couple of decoys setup on the Camp Road and had a gobbler thundering and coming in from behind in no time. He was answering the call and in full strut. Everything was coming together for a great hunt when suddenly a blue pickup with a cab high dog box in the back came cruising by slowing down just enough to drive around the decoys. It was White Tom - a club member who hasn't missed a day in decades driving down that road with his dogs. The good Lord willing and the creek don't rise, two young boys trying to turkey hunt were not going to stop him from his daily ritual as he just smiled and drove on as if hadn't harmed a thing. The boys shook their lowered heads in disappointment as the gobbler retreated into the woods. The hunt was over as quickly as it had started - so they thought.
As White Tom's truck disappeared around the curve, the gobbler, out of nowhere, suddenly came back out in full strut, spitting at the decoys and ready to fight. My surprised son was able to swing the gun around just in time to make the shot. Got em!
As he was finishing the story back at the truck, he said, "We couldn't believe it. We thought White Tom had ruined the hunt and it was all over, when all of a sudden the bird was right back out as if the truck hadn't spooked him at all. We couldn't believe it!"
A couple of us, who were familiar with the club and especially White Tom's penchant for religiously riding that road day in and day out, started laughing. The boys were a little befuddled at our response as they certainly didn't see any humor in that particular situation. When I caught my breath, I said, " Boys, since the day that gobbler cracked the shell as a poult he has seen that truck, those dogs, and White Tom cruise by. White Tom was nothing more than another Tom to that Tom!" Someone then spread the feathers out and said, "White Tom's Tom!" as we all laughed again.
Nixon Rascoe and Miller Trowell holding White Tom's Tom
Bertie County, NC
2015
Good 'ol tailgate court doesn't end there - especially if there is a beer or two in the cooler, so conversation then shifted towards how White Tom got the nickname White Tom. No one really knew the answer but only could agree that is what he has always been called. There was one school of thought that held the theory that since White Tom had platinum blonde hair as a young man and his first and real name was Thomas, that folks naturally started calling him White Tom. It was agreed, however, that this explanation was way too plausible to actually be true in Bertie County. There had to be another less sensible reason for this nickname's origin that wouldn't quite dovetail as easily and would leave one in full head scratch. An investigative committee was formed and dispatched on recon to gather intel. A few days later a personal interview was conducted with Mr. White Tom himself, and sure enough the first theory that made the most sense was proven to be false.
Back at the tailgate, it was reported that one day young Thomas drove over to Roper in neighboring Washington County to see a man about a dog. He returned home with a white dog. When everyone saw him suddenly with a white dog, they started calling him White Tom. It was then deduced at the follow up meeting that their logic would have been the same if young Thomas had returned home with a black dog since his white blonde hair had been given no consideration and had no bearing at all on the origin of the nickname. It was then unanimously agreed with all Yays and duly noted in the minutes that White Tom could have just as easily been named Black Tom if he had returned home from Roper with a black dog. Court was adjourned. Case Closed.
