Hunting mountain turkeys isn't easy. It requires plenty of grit and determination.
Editor’s Note: This guest post is by Murray Road’s Jake Dahlke. It comes after a challenging turkey hunt in the mountains of Idaho.
Some hardcore elk hunters have a chip on their shoulder. Spend five minutes talking to one and you’ll leave the conversation with a sound understanding of how hard it is to tag an elk. You’d almost think a successful elk hunter to be a hero. Well, after spending a week hunting Merriam’s turkeys in Idaho, I’m here to tell you that it’s not the elk hunter who is the hero. It’s the Idaho turkey hunter.
Although I have yet to hunt elk myself, I’ve seen enough videos and talked to enough folks to say hunting turkeys in the Idaho mountains is as close as you can get to hunting elk.
The only difference? At least, from a mental standpoint, it’s harder. I know. I just upset a lot of those elk hunting heroes out there, but hear me out.
Rugged places require rugged hunting gear.
About Idaho Turkey Hunting
According to Idaho Fish & Game, Idaho is home to three subspecies of wild turkey, including Merriam’s, Rio Grande, and Eastern wild turkeys. There are also hybrids present.
Turkeys are not native to Idaho. In 1961, the first subspecies introduced to the state was the Merriam’s. It’s the most successful subspecies to take root in the state, thanks to the work of the National Wild Turkey Federation (NWTF).
The Merriam’s is the subspecies found where I hunted near the Payette National Forest. Pro tip: If you’re a public land hunter, the 2.3 million acres of Payette National Forest might be worth checking out. That said, I was fortunate to hunt on private property adjacent to the Payette. So, I can’t speak too much to the public land hunting in the area.
However, while in town at a local gas station, I noticed a jovial group of public land hunters with arms full of Red Bull and beef jerky. I asked how the hunting was and one of them was quite proud to proclaim they tagged seven birds in four days. Based on this bit of gas station insight, it’s safe to assume the Payette National Forest holds a few turkeys.
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Calling these mountain Merriam's is as fun as it gets.
Hunting Turkeys on the Slopes
As I write this article, it’s 2025, and those mountain Merriam’s have had 64 years to get acquainted with the slopes they reside upon. They say, if someone breaks into your house at night, leaving the lights off is best because you can find your way around much easier than the burglar, thus putting you at an advantage. In this turkey hunting scenario, I was the burglar. And even with the lights on, the burglary wasn’t easy.
Once at the property, an abundance of turkeys was clear. Our group was the first to hunt for the season, so turkeys weren’t pressured. You’d think that some slam-dunk turkey hunting, but you’d be wrong.
I watched one of these white-tipped Merriam’s strut while silhouetted against a magnificent backdrop of white-capped mountains.
Huh, an alone, unpressured longbeard out in the open? This should be relatively easy, I thought.
Well, as most turkey hunters know, “easy” is an adjective unfamiliar with turkey hunting conversations, let alone for an Idaho Merriam’s.
Our total posse had a head count of eight. However, I was hunting in a group of three with my friends Ben O’Brien and Tom Gresham. This was a three-day hunt, and as we approached the end of day two, our group as a whole tagged a few birds.
To keep with the burglar analogy, Tom, Ben, and I seemed to stumble into every counter, coffee table, and piece of decor in the “house.” I lost count, but we must have had at least six take-the-safety-off encounters.
During the final hours of day two, we had a bird dead-to-rights. This was a turkey we had become familiar with. One we coined the “Bridge Bird,” as we had seen him near a small bridge on several occasions. We glassed him for a while from high up. He was by himself hammering away in a creek bottom. You’d think that in such a vast landscape, a solo turkey would be but a small blip, but this white prince stuck out like a red fox in a snow-covered hay field.
Use HuntStand to keep track of turkey locations.
Using HuntStand for Turkey Hunting
We used the HuntStand 3D Map to analyze the terrain and plot our kill plan. He was out in the open by a creek with steep mountains sloping down on either side. So, our approach had to be perfect. Otherwise, he’d spot us.
We also had to get close enough so our calls wouldn’t get drowned out by the rushing water. From where we glassed, we were on the opposite side of the creek as the Bridge Bird. From higher elevation, it was difficult to tell how wide the creek was. So, we used HuntStand’s Measure Distance tool to get an accurate measure. It was too wide to jump and deeper than we wanted to cross. So, we had to approach the bird a different way.
Upon further HuntStand investigation, we determined our best approach was to come at him directly from the south, which in this case, was downstream. There was a two-track we could walk most of the way and enough folds in the landscape to keep us hidden until we were within calling distance.
In such instances, when losing sight of a turkey to reposition, it’s best to drop a pin for its last known position. That way, you know can gauge its potential position throughout the re-route to the new setup.
We left our side-by-side, sun shining, and as we walked the two-track toward Bridge Bird, we heard his faint, unsolicited gobbles in the distance. As we neared, Ben let out a couple of yelps with his mouth call, only to be cut off with a gobble. We guessed Bridge Bird to be about 200 yards away, which is the perfect distance to engage in conversation. Pushing any further would put us at risk of being seen. We hit the deck and the back-and-forth ensued.
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The mountains often deliver unpredictable weather patterns.
Saved by a Snowstorm
As Mr. Bridge closed 50 yards, I felt a cold, wet sensation on my nose. I realized it was starting to snow. Five minutes later, we were in a full-blown blizzard. So much so that we had to tuck ourselves in under some pine trees to keep out of it.
Despite the three of us having grand visions of Mr. Bridge appearing through the wall of snowflakes like Darth Vader entering the scene in A New Hope, he never came, and we never heard another word from him. A wet blanket of snow is a real mood killer for turkeys, it seems.
This tango with Bridge Bird is a prime example of what it’s like to square up against an Idaho Merriam’s. If you don’t screw something up, the weather will do it for you, or the white prince will use one of the many escape routes he’s established over 64 years to disappear himself as you stumble around like a burglar in the night. Plus, unlike elk, the blasted birds can fly.
Prepare for long hikes in the backwoods.
One More Merriam’s Chance
Our final day came and our happy-go-lucky demeanor shifted. This was a mission and one we didn’t intend to fail. Through our trials and tribulations of the week, we identified a roosting area that we knew held birds along a corridor of alder thickets and patches of ponderosas that butted up to yet another small creek.
Off we went into the corridor, walking and calling as we snaked our way through. Sure enough, we struck one up about 500 yards away. We were headed straight toward him going from north to south.
After reviewing HuntStand aerial imagery, we realized that rather than continuing on our path, it would be best to go straight east to a two-track, walk the two-track south, and then cut in on him from the east. This provided us with more cover to get closer.
Dahlke's approach and setup were perfect.
We did just that, and once we got as close as we comfortably could to where we last heard the bird gobble, we let out a soft yelp. Bam, he hammered, and close. We hugged the nearest ponderosa and I clicked off the safety on my Savage Renegauge.
With Ben sweet-talking behind me, there appeared not a white-tipped prince, but the white-tipped king. As I raised my Renegauge, a half circle of snow-white feathers illuminated against the vibrant green Idaho pine needles, followed by a glowing orb of a red head. The color palette of this display nearly made me forget what I was there to do, but after three days of stumbling around, the mission was not all forgotten. As I squeezed the buttery trigger on my Renegauge, my time in the Idaho mountains ended with a bang.
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Dahlke is all smiles with his Merriam's wild turkey from Idaho.
A Savage Gun for a Rugged Place
I’m convinced there are few places more beautiful to hunt turkeys than the mountains of Idaho. Even so, don’t let the views fool you. If planning your own hunt in those mountains, be prepared for a lot of hiking, climbing, breaking brush, rain, snow, sleet, graupel (a new word our crew came all-to-familiar with during this hunt), mud, and of course, killing longbeards.
It’s one thing to prepare yourself for those things, but is your shotgun prepared? Do you trust it to perform accurately after days of being peppered with graupel? Well, after putting the Savage Renegauge through the test, I confidently trust it.
The Savage Renegauge launched in 2020, and has since won many awards. It’s built around a Dual Regulating Inline Valve (D.R.I.V.) gas system, which means less recoil and consistent shell ejection. That consistent shell ejection is very important. The last thing you want after chasing a longbeard up a mountain is to need a follow-up shot that you can’t take because your first shell didn’t eject.
The chrome-plated features on the Renegauge are an added touch that give you piece of mind when breaking through alder thickets and pine branches. Combining the durability with the ability to customize the length of pull, comb height, drop, and cast, you have a rock-solid turkey gun that you can depend on in any terrain or weather you’ll encounter on a turkey hunt.
And there’s much to encounter when hunting mountain Merriam’s, especially hunting Merriam’s turkeys in Idaho.
