The first wild turkeys I laid eyes on – a tom and three hens – emerged from steamy palm shadows shrouding a Florida dawn. That was while turkey hunting a few years ago. The last wild turkeys I saw – a flock of 28 – materialized from frosty pine shadows shivering in a Maine dusk. That was while observing a “trap-and-transfer” operation a week ago.

On a clear wind-chilled morning, Pat Corr, a wildlife biologist with the Dept. of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife and I arrived at a sprawling Waldo County farmland. Preceding us by an hour or so were wildlife biologists Brad Allen, Randy Cross, and Lindsay Tudor. At the edge of a pine grove bordering a field, they placed a camouflaged box containing a capture net. About 30 feet beyond, corn was scattered on an apron of snow.

Originally, capture nets were fired over baited flocks by small cannons, hence the name, “cannon nets.” Nowadays, however, the nets are propelled by attached rockets that provide thrust during the entire deployment of the net. The rockets’ fuel is ignited by electrical current generated by an automobile battery located in the blind. Needless to say, the net and rockets are arranged carefully to minimize chances of malfunctions. Coaxing a flock of wild turkeys into keeping a “blind date” is difficult, to say the least. But imagine the humiliation of being “stood up” by a net snarling or rockets misfiring when the wary birds cooperate.

The farmer who owns the land and observes the turkeys daily said the flock fed at 6 o’clock that morning and should return for lunch between noon and 2 o’clock. But rather than approach the blind and risk spooking turkeys we perhaps couldn’t see, Pat and I waited on a knoll near the farm house. From there we could see the bait and the box camouflaged with pine boughs. Shortly thereafter, we were joined by Game Warden Mark Thompson of Morrill and DIFW wildlife biologists Gene Dumont and Sandra Ritchie of Augusta.

Nearly 10 years earlier, Gene and Wildlife Division Director Gary Donovan selected the Waldo County farmland as suitable habitat for wild turkeys. But because of several cold wet springs, reproduction success wasn’t immediate. Today, however, the flock includes many juvenile birds, attesting to last spring’s ideal hatching and rearing conditions.

In the mid-1960s, sportsmen’s clubs in the Bangor and Windham areas – with DIFW approval – released wild turkeys that were hatched and reared on game farms. Unfortunately, the pen-raised birds lacked the physical skills and instincts necessary for wilderness survival. Therefore, wild breeding populations were not established.

Other states, however, had achieved success in re-establishing turkey populations by live-trapping wild birds and immediately transferring them to selected release sites. Accordingly, in 1977 the DIFW’s Wildlife Division acquired 19 wild turkeys from the Vermont Fish and Game Dept. The 14 hens and five toms were released in the town of York. As that population increased under the watchful eyes of wildlife biologist Phil Bozenhard, turkeys were trapped and transferred to other sections of the state.

In 1987, ’88, and ’90, additional turkeys were obtained from the state of Connecticut. This was accomplished through the cooperation of the Connecticut Fish and Game Dept, the Connecticut and Maine chapters of the Wild Turkey Federation, and financial assistance from L.L. Bean.

Thirty-one of the Connecticut turkeys were released in the Richmond-Bowdoinham area. But according to a report from a game warden, a group of free-spirited toms left the flock and winged it to Dresden this winter. There you have the reason for last week’s trap-and-transfer operation in Waldo County – to provide hens for the transplanted toms.

It was late afternoon when the turkeys came running out of the woods like kids turned loose on the last day of school. As they scrambled over a stone wall we counted aloud: six…. eight…. 10…. 14…. 20…. 28 in all. For more than an hour the flock scratched and fed in the far corner of the field. But while we shivered and wished them toward the bait, the farmer who knows the birds by name, said soberly, “I don’t think you’ll get your turkeys today.” From the way the bone-chilled bystanders dispersed, it was obvious no one doubted him.

In fact, Pat Corr and I were about five miles closer to home when Mark Thompson’s voice came over the truck’s radio: “You left too early,” he said. “They look like they’re heading for the bait.” We arrived in time to see the flock turkey trotting toward the corn. Immediately, though, the wary birds noticed the mound of boughs camouflaging the box. With necks outstretched and heads cocked, a few tiptoed toward it cautiously, like setters scenting birds.

Anxiously we watched, waiting…. shivering. I was convinced a mechanical problem had developed or the biologists in the blind had succumbed to the cold when the rockets flaired and the net unfurled like a flag in a 40-knot wind. The net profit, so to speak, was 15 turkeys – two “jakes’ (juvenile males), nine “jennys” (juvenile females), and four adult females. After their ages, sexes, and weights (8 to 15 pounds) were recorded, the birds were given identification bracelets. Seven of the captives either flew or ran for their lives when released. Soon afterward, eight hens were trucked to Dresden. With a little luck, they’ll clip the wings of those wandering toms.

Don’t you love it when a plan works?