For the past few years, I’ve sat patiently and listened as friends and acquaintances and total strangers regaled me with stories about the thrills of turkey hunting.

“Ohhh,” they’d coo, eyes beginning to gloss over. “What a blast! It’s the most thrilling hunting experience in Maine!”

Then, to a man, they’d say the four words that would start my blood boiling again.

“You’ve just gotta go.”

Unfortunately, I was unfortunate.

My name wasn’t drawn in the state permit lottery … and each year I ended up sitting on the sidelines, talking to glossy-eyed turkey fanatics and wondering what the big deal was.

Finally, this year, everyone got a permit. Even me.

On Wednesday, I found out exactly what the big deal is.

And as it turns out, the glossy-eyed turkey-heads were right the whole time. You’ve just gotta go.

Before you begin thinking turkey hunting is a sure thing, let me assure you that no actual turkeys were injured in the creation of this column … despite my best efforts.

But as I keep trying to convince you (or myself), success, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. And my hunt was plenty successful … except for the part when my turkey refused to come home for dinner.

My brother-in-law, Carl Urquhart, was my host, unofficial guide, and an able linguistic tutor in this quest to talk turkey.

The birds: some of Alna’s finest, a sizeable flock virtually guaranteed to show up … or at least talk to us from afar.

The venue: a ground blind that allowed us to move, twitch, scratch, and drink coffee without any wily birds sending up the alarm.

Over the course of a magnificent Maine morning, we saw a pair of hens, a couple of toms, and called to several others. None of the males moved within gun or bow range (though the two hens decided to taunt us by milling around 20 feet from the blind for about an hour).

It really didn’t matter. After 10 minutes spent listening to the turkeys chat before flying down from their nighttime perches, I was intrigued.

After a few of our calls were answered, I was interested.

And after two strutting birds marched brazenly over a knoll and into sight, I was hooked.

One of the most enjoyable things about turkey hunting, I figure, is that it’s interactive.

Turkey hunters are encouraged to talk turkey … and are rewarded by turkeys that talk back.

A hen yelps and purrs. A tom gobbles. And even a novice can hear the difference.

After borrowing Carl’s calls on Wednesday, I returned home and bought a few more. First was a “locator” call. Second: an easy-to-use box call. And third: a tougher-to-master diaphragm call.

I haven’t been back in the woods yet – my season’s first week is nearly over, and I’ve been busy working … and buying calls and decoys – but soon enough, I’ll be back out there.

In the meantime, I’ll practice my calling. The diaphragm, while challenging, is addictive. Ever since I nearly flunked out of fourth-grade recorder lessons, I’ve been a bit leery of anything remotely musical (which, I have convinced myself, this call is … at least to a turkey).

But I’m working. I’m practicing. And I’m getting better. Kind of.

So far, I’ve had limited success at the necessary “turkey yelp,” but I have avoided choking on the pesky device, and have officially mastered a call I like to call “scream of pain from a seagull-chicken crossbreed.”

Sooner or later, I’ll get better. And sooner or later, I’ll get back out there.

This turkey hunting thing, you see, is pretty addictive.

And I can’t even imagine how much fun it’ll be if I ever actually get a bird.

In search of …

The state’s wading anglers have had a rough time of it recently as wet weather, combined with melting mountain snow, have turned rivers inhospitable.

A case in point is the Shawmut section of the Kennebec River in Fairfield, which is open to fishing year round … as long as the river cooperates.

Lately, it isn’t cooperating. The problem is that that water levels on that section of the Kennebec are dependent on what’s happening elsewhere … especially in the mountains upstream.

The Carrabassett River is one of the tributaries of the Kennebec, and as snow on Sugarloaf and other nearby mountains melts, that river rages … and subsequently (especially when it rains), so does the Kennebec.

With Down East’s Grand Lake Stream and the East Outlet of the Kennebec near Moosehead Lake also running high, fly fishers are looking for other options.

And I’ve got one.

On Friday I took a trip to the Piscataquis River between Dover-Foxcroft and Guilford, and was pleased to find that the river has receded nicely after recent rains.

Though this weekend’s weather will likely change conditions a bit, it won’t alter the other piece of the angling equation: There are plenty of fish in the Piscataquis.

At least, as of 10:30 a.m. on Friday, there were.

That’s when a couple groups of anglers met state fishery and hatchery staffers to help out with the spring stocking effort.

About 2,500 brook trout from the Enfield hatchery were stocked at the boat ramp near the ball field in Guilford, and another 2,500 were stocked at Low’s Bridge, which is one of the river’s most popular fishing spots.

According to fisheries biologist Jeff Bagley, who works out of the Greenville office of the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, the rain and high waters of the past week or so didn’t really delay stocking efforts too much.

“The rain and temperature are the two key components,” he said. “Even if we had a [moderate] flow like this and it was cold, we wouldn’t put them in.”

Bagley said 50 degrees is the best water temperature to stock the trout, and temps in the Piscataquis on Friday were about 47.

“They’ll be fine,” he said.

Apparently, they were, and wasted little time making themselves at home. Less than an hour after stocking at Low’s Bridge, anglers were already beginning to show up … including some who didn’t even know the stocking truck had arrived and were merely looking to enjoy a rare sunny and warm day.

One difference in this year’s stocking on the Piscataquis: Traditional stocking sites at salmon stream and a bridge in Sangerville aren’t accessible due to road construction.

As a result, more fish than normal were stocked at the two available sites, and the fish are expected to naturally spread out throughout the river.

Coming up on ‘Going Outdoors’

In Monday’s “Going Outdoors” segment on ABC-7’s 6 p.m. newscast, I’ll take you to the Piscataquis to show you how fish are stocked and share a couple of likely fishing spots.

Camera wizard Dave Simpson got some great footage of the stocking process, some of which is done via “bucket brigade” and some via sluice.

Not too many years ago, the Piscataquis was a polluted mess. Nowadays, that has changed. If you haven’t seen the river up close recently, you may be surprised. And if you’re looking for a convenient place to catch a few fish, this might just be your place.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.