This turkey season felt different than any before it. On April 14, 2026, my grandfather, John Hubbard, passed away. He was a triple amputee. He lost both legs and his right arm in a lineman accident as a young man. High voltage ran through his body and left him hanging. Many thought he was gone until they saw his fingers twitch.
He woke up to a new reality, one that would have stopped most people. But not him. That moment lit a fire in his soul to work hard and hunt even harder. He was the strongest man I have ever known. The lessons he taught me growing up are ones I still carry every day. We called him “The Miracle Man” because he lived through more than most ever will and never let it define him.
He passed away the day before turkey season opened here in Minnesota. I did not have the spark I usually do. My heart felt heavy and my mind was crowded. Hunting this year became something different. It became reflection, peace, and a place to sit with memories of him.
I hunted hard that first week with little action. Hunt after hunt, I was getting beat, not just by the birds but mentally. I could not stop thinking about him.
A few days before it all came together, I roosted three toms in a spot I have had success in before. I started thinking through everything, access, decoy strategy, and how I was going to make it happen. Turkey hunting for me has always been about the group, the laughs and the shared success. But this year, I needed to do it alone. I needed to be in a place where every decision was mine and the Lord’s. I knew if it came together, it would mean something deeper.
On April 24, I woke up at 4 am and made the drive. I crossed a creek in waders and set up about 150 yards from where I knew they were roosted. As the sun came up, they gobbled right where I expected. Like so many hunts this season, they pitched down the other way and followed hens out of my life.
It was discouraging, but I could hear my grandpa in the back of my mind. Be patient. It is not always instant gratification.
After they moved off, I said a prayer, just giving thanks for another day in God’s creation. I am incredibly blessed to be able to chase these birds.
Around 8:45, two hens came into my decoys and started beating them up. It was one of the coolest things I have seen. They eventually moved on. About 20 minutes later, a lone hen showed up 100 yards out. I sat there with my bow in hand, waiting.
Time passed and the doubt crept in. They are not coming. It is too good to be true.
I started packing up. Before stepping out of the blind, I glassed one last time. I looked up and there they were. Three toms. Gobbling hard and working my way.
Finally,
After all the hours and all the close calls, I thought this was it.
But they swung wide and ended up behind me about 200 yards out. At that point, I was questioning everything, every move and every call. They were still gobbling, so I decided to go all in. One last effort.
I called and they gobbled.
I called again and they hammered back.
Over and over until finally I caught movement behind the blind. One tom broke off and came running straight for the decoys.
I was at full draw before he ever stepped into view.
Six steps.
The shot happened fast. Everything happened fast.
And just like that, I went from doubt to emotion.
This hunt was not about the kill. It was about him. About the impact John had on my life. About the peace the woods can give you when you need it most.
I felt him there with me.
This bird did not come easy, and I sat with that moment for a long time. Hunting is so much more than the kill. It is connection. It is lessons. The wild teaches you to earn what you receive. That feeling cannot be bought.
It is earned.
This one is for the man who taught me everything and led me to a place I now call home.
God bless the wild turkey.
Love you, Gramps.
