The Turkey Legend of Henry C. Hooker

THIS ROUNDUP WAS REALLY FOR THE BIRDS OR HOW CATTLEMAN HENRY C. HOOKER LEARNED turkeys can fly

IN THE WILD WEST OF THE 1860S, TURKEYS WERE COMMONLY SHOT, STUFFED, AND roasted around holiday time. But it took an Arizona legend like Henry C. Hooker to herd them like cattle and march them over a mountain range.

It all started in the California goldfields in 1866, before Hooker started his widely known Sierra Bonita Ranch in Arizona. At 34 years of age, Hooker felt pleased with his life. He'd been prospecting for almost 13 years and had gotten over his strike-itrich dream. He'd married, fathered three children, and was slowly making his fortune the smart way: selling mining equipment to gold-struck fools. He would have settled permanently in the goldfields of Hangtown except a fire destroyed his house, his store, and his entire stock of goods. In one day his fortune was gone.

Lesser men would have picked up a gold pan and gone back to dreaming. But not Hooker. He knew another fortune could be made.

That was when he thought of turkeys. Hooker knew miners would pay an exorbitant amount of money for anything edible, and although prices were high in California, they were even higher in the new mining town of Carson City, Nevada. Surely the miners in Carson City would welcome the smell of roasting turkeys.

Once Hooker made up his mind, he got busy. He borrowed some money and, at $1.50 per bird, bought 500 plump turkeys from nearby ranchers. He then bought several sheepdogs to help herd the turkeys.

When word of Hooker's scheme got around Hangtown, the miners laughed. They said the fire had driven Hooker plumb crazy. What kind of fool would try to drive a herd of turkeys over the high Sierras? Only a fool like Hooker.

When he started out, Hooker didn't know much about turkeys. By the time he'd reached the base of the Sierras, he was beginning to learn.

As he would have told you, turkeys aren't known for their brains. Even Benjamin Franklin, who championed the birds, had to admit they "were a little vain and silly." Others were less kind, pointing out that turkeys had been known to stand in a pouring rain, looking up at the sky with their mouths open apparently fascinated for such a long time that they drowned. And that other turkeys, if they came upon the dead body of a fellow bird, might fluster themselves into such a panic they would die of fright right then and there.

Needless to say, turkeys weren't the best traveling companions. They spooked easily and had little survival sense. Still, Hooker pressed on. His turkeys learned to wake with the dawn and grab an insect or two on the march.

By the time Hooker reached the far side of the Sierras, he felt satisfied with himself. Complacent, even. Perhaps that's why he didn't scout ahead and see that the dogs were herding the turkeys straight toward a steep cliff. Sheep, with a little dog encouragement, would have had no problem climbing down the cliff. But not turkeys. Hooker frantically called his dogs back. It was too late. The dogs worried the turkeys right off the cliff.

There go my turkeys, Hooker thought, knowing a fall from the cliff would surely kill the silly birds.

But looking over the cliff edge, he saw his flock alive and well at the bottom. The ruffled turkeys weren't hurt, but they were certainly surprised almost as surprised as he was. It was probably the only time these farm-fat birds had ever spread their wings. They hadn't even known they could fly until they were forced off that cliff.

It was a proud Hooker who drove his herd of turkeys into Carson City. The miners were overjoyed to see such an abundance of Thanksgiving meat and happily paid $5 apiece for the birds.

Hooker cleared more than $1,500, enough money to give him and his family a new start. Instead of rebuilding in California, he moved his family to Arizona.

Hooker never forgot his experiences with the turkeys, but he never again drove a flock of them over a mountain range like he did in 1866. Instead he turned his attention to purebred horses and prize herds of Hereford, Durham, and shorthorn cattle. Hooker's Arizona ranch, the Sierra Bonita, was a popular stopover for guests of all descriptions. Of course, when his company sat down at the table, it was usually beef, not turkey, that was on their plates.