The blind, my dad's Remington 11-87 Sportsman, and me.
No luck in the blind. We got up, walked to a different area where we were “sure to see a lot of turkeys”. I sat behind a tree with my gun loaded and ready for about an hour, and once again, NOTHING. The only thing that made me feel better was that my Uncle Scott, who was nearby, also saw nothing. My dad must have sent them laughing halfway to Pennsylvania. We packed it up, went home, and had a nice delicious breakfast (my favorite part of hunting is the free breakfast I get from my dad afterwards).
My neighbor, Suede, with the turkey he killed during last year's youth hunt. (Talk about rubbing salt in the wound)