The US Slam: What it is, and Why so many turkey hunters are attempting it.
Well, the short answer to the first part is that killing a turkey in all 49 states where we can hunt them (Alaska being the only state missing from the list) encompasses what's called the US Slam, or the Superslam. It ain't an easy thing to do, nor cheap, and it entails great effort and multiple hardships suffered over a long period of time. Only the most dedicated of turkey hunters would even dare to begin the challenge. Or, maybe only those who are crazy as bedbugs. Being just five states short of finishing up my fourth Superslam, I'm still not so sure which of those qualifiers are most important, but I lean towards the crazy part....
Turkey hunting is addictive. We all know that. It's also a sport unlike any other type of hunting, insomuch as it's open to the masses. Turkeys are the "Every-man's Big Game," and you don't need to be rich in order to participate. Licenses are relatively cheap, it doesn't take much of an initial expenditure to get into this sport, and turkeys fill nearly all of the suitable habitat found across this beautiful country of ours. If you've got a gun and ammo, a little camo, and a call or two, anyone can get started down the road to becoming a turkey hunter.
The gobble of the wild turkey (or, simply seeing one strut for his hens) generates such a high level of excitement that it's a wonder to me why every person in America isn't crowding into the woods. Fortunately, we're all different in our motivations and passions in life, and as hard as it may be to comprehend, some poor souls in this country thrill to other endeavors in the spring; things like fishing, hiking, biking, etc. No complaints, here! That just makes the woods less crowded. Well, at least in theory. The pandemic of the 2020 season changed all of that!.
For these reasons and more, many turkey hunters these days choose to state-hop beyond their home turf in order to experience just a little more hunting during the all-too-brief spring season. The craziest amongst our ilk take this turkey hunting passion a bit further, and set their goals quite a bit higher, by pursuing the US Slam. What motivates a man, or a woman, to forsake any semblance of sanity and devote so much time, effort, and money (not to mention the blood, sweat, and tears) to accomplishing that difficult goal? Is it looking forward to the long days and too-short nights of restless sleep which keep us wandering around all spring long like zombies? The quest for fast-food or processed meat products, granola bars, and peanut butter? Incurring the ire of family members and employers as we forsake duties and responsibilities back home?
Something deep within a "Slammer's" soul drives them. Something beyond rhythm or reason. Something that's hard to put your finger on as being THE reason why, but yet, something which motivates us to keep plugging along far beyond what any ordinary, sane person might endure.
Perhaps it's that magical, final hour before daylight, after already rising long before then in order to climb a steep unknown ridge to its highest point, merely to gain the listening advantage that elevation provides. Sitting there cooling down from the exertion, with random sounds of night creatures filling our brains with musings. The peaceful, tranquil feeling that comes from watching a new day form on the horizon, and slowly, almost imperceptively witnessing the dark corners and folds of the valleys below fill with the grayness of dawn. That anxious anticipation of the day's first gobble, a proclamation which will let us know that our beloved opponents haven't all died during the night, and are eager for battle. Could it be the chills and goosebumps which rake up and down our spine when that glorious awaited sound finally does echo out from so close that we can feel its rumble in our chest?
Maybe it's none of these things. Maybe it's simply the anticipation of the hunt that will occur after our opponent has flown to ground, and the unknown outcome waiting in the wings. Or, the simple hope of "talking the talk," and "playing the game," with one of nature's most wild creatures. Can it simply be the thrills that well up inside our hearts when an old tom answers something we've said in his own language? What about that silence which often then ensues, when we know not whether he's coming in or going away, and the palpable feelings of building tension coursing through our veins like steam in a boiler? I know; it's the low, building hum starting out as merely a question in a back corner of our brains at first, but eventually becoming the most glorious sound in all of turkeydome...the drumming of a tom in strut. Then again, I guess it could just as easily be the shocked excitement that occurs when a gobble erupts from right BEHIND our setup! That's a time when urgency makes your brain feel like it will surely explode into a million tiny pieces if SOMETHING doesn't happen SOON?!
And then, you catch the first peek of a rounded tail-tip moving up above the contour out in front of your setup, or maybe a fleck of bright white skull-cap peering out from behind a distant tree where moments ago there was nothing. A splash of crimson red in a mosaic of browns and greys. What comes next, but the glorious personification of beauty itself, as that master of the unknown finally steps plainly into view for the first time, and we can once again witness his majesty in all its glorious splendor.
Walking up to our fallen opponent a minute or three hours later, we gaze in wonder at his feathers laying so perfectly aligned on that magnificent body, and radiating every color of the rainbow. That's a time when emotions run a muck: Joy. Elation. Awe. And yet, at the same time: Sorrow. Remorse. Even Sadness. But always: Thankfulness. Wonderment. Respect.
And an unbinding, unilateral, driven desire to do it all again. Tomorrow. Someplace new and as-yet unexplored.
Tom “Doc” Weddle, written summer 2020