There’s something haunting and sacred about the Alabama Black Belt in late spring. The dogwoods are blooming, the mornings hang thick with dew, and the gobble of an Eastern turkey echoing through the hardwoods can stir the soul of any hunter. It’s not just the hunt that draws folks to this land rich with history, it’s the challenge, the camaraderie, and the stories that linger long after the guns are stowed, and the birds are tagged.
This hunt was more than just a personal pursuit it was a media camp hosted in partnership with Black Belt Adventures, Riton Optics, Twin Oaks Plantation, the National Wild Turkey Federation (NWTF), the Professional Outdoor Media Association (POMA), and Benelli Shotguns. A gathering of writers, content creators, and passionate conservationists, all descending on Alabama’s heartland for a few days of chasing late-season gobblers and celebrating the culture of turkey hunting.
I’d been on plenty of hunts before, but this one had a different feel. I was playing hunter, cameraman, cook, and friend—helping a new turkey hunter, Alex, chase his first longbeard. Alex had the nerves of someone who respected the animal and the land, which made him the kind of hunter you want to take under wing.
The mornings started early, as they do. Up at 3:30 AM, gear checked and coffee in hand. We’d load into truck and drive dark winding roads until the first light pushed shadows off the pines. The Alabama Black Belt isn’t easy country. These turkeys have seen it all by late season. They’ve dodged yelps from box calls, ignored decoys with too much shine, and been educated by every seasoned hunter who’s walked this dirt since March.
Day one, we set up before first light in a green pasture skirted by thick oak ridges. They’d heard gobbles the night before and hoped the toms had roosted nearby. The woods woke up slow. A distant gobble stirred the air, as a hen pitched down. We got into position—Benelli Super Black Eagle 3 ready, Riton red dot dialed in, camera rolling.
The toms skirted us wide. Silent as ghosts. We waited, whispered, moved, and tried again. Late season turkeys don’t play by the rules. They’d gobble once and hit the ground running—hens led them away, and our best calls fell on deaf ears.
But Alex never lost heart. Each blown setup became a lesson. We’d walk back to the truck with quiet laughter and a mental checklist of what to try next.
By the next morning, the pressure was building. The other media hunters had seen birds, but no one had connected. We needed turkey for tonight’s dinner. The Black Belt was testing us, and we respected it. We set up in a open field bottom, where two tree lines funneled into a clearing—a classic pinch point. A place a weary gobbler might pass through alone, late morning, looking for love.
We called soft. Tree yelps, then fly-down cackles. We heard three sound off in the distance. An hour passed.
Then, the sound we’d been craving—slowly became, distant, cautious, and gone.
We packed up and headed to another spot when suddenly we saw 4 toms out in an open field. We dropped and set up knowing we couldn’t move. With a few quick yelps the four came running down the field headed out way.
“They are coming,” We whispered, heart racing more for Alex than myself.
The birds didn’t gobble again they just ran our way. We kept our patience, adjusting just slightly to cover the shooting lanes. Then a flicker of movement. Beards swayed through the grass this wasn’t just the tip of a fan. The gobblers weren’t smart and slow, they were fast and dumb scanning for hens.
We whispered, “Get ready.”
The birds eased into range. Alex waited. The toms stopped, made a quick turn and stretched their necks, suspicious.
Boom.
Feathers puffed in the air. The bird dropped. The Black Belt had finally given up a prize.
Alex sat still for a moment, the adrenaline freezing him in time. Then he turned with a look I’ve seen before—the blend of disbelief, pride, and gratitude that comes with a first harvest. There were laughs, high-fives, and raising the gobbler in thanks.
We took our time packing out, letting the gravity of the moment settle in. That evening, the group gathered at the plantation. Spirits were high stories buzzed louder than the quail calling the distance. Some had struck out. Others, like Alex, now had a story they’d tell for years.
It was my turn to contribute the next part of the tradition: the meal.
I took that wild turkey breast and went to work.
I butterflied it open, carefully removing any sinew, then filled it with a rich stuffing of cream cheese, sautéed spinach, sun-dried tomatoes, finely chopped parsley, and oven-roasted garlic. I rolled it tight, brushing it generously with a homemade glaze made from Clyde May’s Alabama-style bourbon and dark brown sugar—sticky, smoky, and sweet.
While the turkey roasted in the oven, the kitchen came alive.
In one oven, bourbon and bacon Brussels sprouts sizzled—crispy edges glazed in rendered fat and caramelized bourbon. Another held roasted carrots, blistered at the tips with a kiss of honey and thyme.
I mashed potatoes with not one, but two cheeses—sharp cheddar and creamy gruyere cheese—whipping them into silky peaks. The wild boar chorizo stuffed mushrooms were a hit, earthy and spicy with melted gruyere baby portabella caps.
To finish, I pulled out a Granny Smith bourbon apple crisp—baked low and slow, topped with oat crumble and served warm with vanilla bean ice cream.
We gathered around the long wooden table, white plates and bourbon mugs in hand, as the sun dipped below the Alabama tree line. Someone said grace, and then the feast began.
Bites were passed, drinks poured, stories told. Alex shared the play-by-play of his hunt, his voice still buzzing with awe. Others chimed in, comparing turkey behavior, terrain, call preferences. The talk turned to family traditions, favorite recipes, and what makes this bird—this land—so special.
That’s what hunting in the Black Belt does. It connects people to place, and to each other. It challenges you, teaches patience, and demands respect. And in the end, it gives back more than meat—it gives memory.
As the laughter crackled and the dishes being washed, I sat back, content—not just from the food, but from the full-circle nature of it all. We had hunted with intention, cooked with heart, and shared with joy.
The gobblers may have made us work, but the story we took home was worth every silent morning, every missed chance, every mile hiked under the Alabama sun.
And now, it’s a story that lives around the table, told again and again—just the way it should be.
The Main Course: Stuffed Wild Turkey Breast with Bourbon Glaze
Ingredients:
For Turkey:
- 2 large wild turkey breasts, butterflied
- 8 oz cream cheese, softened
- 1 cup fresh spinach, chopped
- 1 blub of roasted garlic
- ½ cup sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
- ½ tsp garlic powder
- ½ tsp onion powder
- ½ tsp black pepper
- ½ tsp kosher salt
- 4 strips thick-cut bacon, cooked and crumbled
- 2 tbsp olive oil
- Butcher’s twine
For the Bourbon Glaze:
- ½ cup bourbon
- ¼ cup brown sugar
- ¼ cup honey
- 2 tbsp Dijon mustard
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar
- ¼ tsp cayenne pepper
Instructions:
- Preheat oven to 375°F.
- Lay the butterflied turkey breast flat and pound to an even thickness.
- In a bowl, mix cream cheese, spinach, sun-dried tomatoes, mushrooms, garlic, garlic powder, onion powder, black pepper, salt, and crumbled bacon.
- Season both sides with garlic powder, onion powder, black pepper and salt
- Spread the filling evenly over each turkey breast. Roll tightly and tie with butcher’s twine.
- Heat olive oil in a cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Sear the turkey roll on all sides until golden brown.
- Transfer to the oven and roast for 25-30 minutes, or until internal temp reaches 160°F.
- While roasting, combine all bourbon glaze ingredients in a saucepan and simmer for 10 minutes until thickened.
- Brush the glaze over turkey for the last 10 minutes of roasting.
- Let rest 5-10 minutes before slicing.
