The feral domestic turkey was one of our most recognizable (and sometimes notorious) large ground birds in the valley. This handsome tom was shown strutting through town with his tail fanned and feathers catching the low autumn light, a reminder of how easily wildlife became part of community life. Turkeys were often seen traveling in family groups along field edges, neighborhood streets, and wooded margins, foraging for seeds, berries, and insects. In display, males puffed up, dragged their wings, and fanned their tails to look larger and impress hens — a behavior that could make even a quiet sidewalk feel like a stage. Up close you could see the iridescent bronze-and-green sheen of the body feathers and the bright red wattle and snood on the head, features that flushed more vividly as the bird became excited or defensive. While turkeys spent most of their time on the ground, they were strong flyers and often roosted high in trees at night, lifting off with a sudden, powerful burst that sounded a bit like a helicopter in the making. Photo courtesy of Steve Voght

Gobble, gobble, gone: Feral turkeys once ruled La Conner

Before the snow geese and tourists, it was the turkeys who strutted down First Street like they owned it.

By Kari Mar
La Conner Community News

Long before waterfront tourists hunted for parking or swans returned to valley skies, La Conner had a different kind of seasonal spectacle: feral turkeys.

For six years, beginning in 2004, a pair of turkeys turned this tidy town into their own private roost. They wandered from the Catholic church to City Hall, strutted across First Street, and became so beloved that the mayor declared them the official town bird.

“They would sit together on the back of the house and groom each other,” Lynn Moore, one of their earliest neighbors, told NPR in 2010. “You could tell they were just a happy pair.”

It was the kind of story that only happens here — a blend of charm, absurdity and civic affection. The original couple, known around town as Tom and Hen, multiplied quickly. Lynn and her husband, the late, former mayor Bud Moore, kept careful notes. Before long, the turkeys had produced “15 children and grandchildren,” as Lynn proudly told NPR in 2010.

The sound of flight

Bud, who had flown in Vietnam, told NPR in 2010 that he never tired of watching them take off. 

“They sound to me like helicopters taking off,” he said. “It always gave me sort of a chuckle to hear that sound.”

The flock grew to 18 strong. Tourists delighted in spotting them between galleries and historic buildings. The Chamber promoted the birds as a quirky attraction. Locals joked about Thanksgiving immunity — after all, the turkeys were under mayoral protection.

But as La Conner’s bird population boomed, patience thinned.

The legacy and the poaching scare

Even before the town finally voted to relocate the flock, La Conner had already learned just how protective it felt about its unofficial mascots.

In 2009, pro-turkey sentiment surged after an out-of-town hunter was caught poaching turkeys in town with a bow and arrow. The incident rattled residents — in part because the birds had been proclaimed La Conner’s town birds back in 2005, and an ordinance was on the books to make killing them a misdemeanor punishable by up to six months in jail and a $1,000 fine.

But the poaching case exposed a surprise loophole: the town’s contract with the county sheriff’s office didn’t include a clear enforcement mechanism for the ordinance. In response, La Conner moved quickly to tighten its rules, making it explicitly illegal to hunt with a bow and arrow inside town limits.

It was a small but telling chapter in the turkey saga — proof that for a while, these birds weren’t just a nuisance or a novelty. They were part of La Conner’s identity, defended like neighbors.

When the charm wore off

We posted a question on Facebook to see how people remembered the birds. Not everyone was amused. The turkeys, it turned out, had strong opinions about landscaping, traffic patterns, and personal boundaries.

“They were a ‘great idea’ at first but things slowly unraveled,” Town Planning Commissioner Sommer Holt commented. “Think Walter White’s ‘grand idea’ gone wrong (Breaking Bad).”

Skagit County Historical Museum Director Jo Wolfe recalled being “stuck outside the museum because a large Tom wouldn’t let me get to the door.”

Others remembered the collateral damage. “I remember my sister’s car getting covered (with) turkey pucky when she parked under a tree up on third. I think she was staying at Katy’s Inn at the time…” wrote Pete Wedin. “Where’s the car wash?”

Some found the birds boldly territorial. “They went after my cat,” wrote Chris McCarthy. 

Gardeners fought their own battles. “We lived on Maple Street and they were fun to watch but a terrible nuisance. Tore up our yard and flower beds, chased the dog around,” commented Greg Fralic. “Had to keep chasing them away with the garden hose.”

For drivers, the turkeys were as fearless as they were oblivious. “They were a pain in the neck and played ‘chicken’ with cars,” recalled Patt Jorgensen. “You had to get out of your car and shoo them aside. So dumb they must have thought a car horn was just another variety of fowl.”

But oh, the charm

Still, many locals remember the flock fondly — especially the youngest among them.

“While I certainly understand and respect the issues that the turkeys presented from an adult’s perspective, little ones in our family always enjoyed ‘searching’ for the turkeys around town,” wrote La Conner Sunrise Foodbank Director Arin Magill. “For young children, it was really fun to see them!”

“I loved finding turkey feathers,” said La Conner Arts Commissioner Nicolette Harrington.

“My mom’s house on 3rd and Calhoun was a regular stop on their route,” recalled Karen Ballard. “Each night they would use the alley behind her house as a runway to roost in the trees behind the Gaches Mansion.”

Others remembered tender moments of turkey drama. “I remember two things about the turkeys most. One day I stopped to look at them and the Tom turkeys circled the hens and fanned out their tails to protect them. It was really neat to see,” Becky Ollinger commented. “The second thing I remember is a bunch of them walking into the front door of Tillinghast and eventually coming out the back door. It was amusing to see. I enjoyed the turkeys very much, but I get that they were also destructive.” 

And for those who fed them near the Catholic church, the birds were pure delight. “They’d just gobble, gobble down the feed,” remembered Roy Ruiz.

The great relocation

By summer 2010, the town council decided the feral turkeys had overstayed their welcome. Budding complaints mixed with frayed rhododendrons, crumbling rock walls, and what one neighbor described as “tarry plops.” Dinner guests sometimes stepped straight into turkey evidence.

Resident Bill Stokes was tasked with removing them. He devised a trap from blue fishing net and baited it with grain under the firs where the birds roosted. When a turkey wandered in, he pulled a cord to close the net.

But this is La Conner, where even exiled birds get a soft landing. Still under “mayoral protection,” the entire flock was relocated — not roasted — to a Christmas tree farm a few hours away.

Gone, but not forgotten

Fifteen years later, the legend of La Conner’s turkeys still flaps through the community.

Some insist the deer have since taken their throne. “And now the deer have taken the turkeys’ place,” Nancy Alvord wrote. “They are also a nuisance.”

Some residents simply miss them. “I loved seeing them,” Suzie Wiley Racanello commented. “I was disappointed when they were removed.”

The story has become a piece of small-town folklore — part comedy, part cautionary tale about adopting something just a little too wild.

And while the turkeys may have left town, they never really left La Conner’s identity. This is a community that consistently welcomes the unexpected, from artists and farmers to, yes, the occasional bird who refuses to stay in its lane.

So this Thanksgiving, as we carve our domestic turkeys and wave to the migrating flocks overhead, maybe we should toast the originals — the ones who strutted between the church and Town Hall, who made us laugh, curse and tell stories for years.

They came uninvited, made themselves at home and reminded us what a truly free-range community can look like.

Kari Mar is the editor and publisher of La Conner Community News.

More about the Bird of the Week series

The trees are alive with birdsong, and there’s plenty of birdwatching to do in La Conner! Each week, we’ll feature a reader-submitted photo of a bird spotted around town. Whether it’s a majestic eagle, a merry meadowlark, or a surprise visitor, we want to see what’s out there!

Send us your best Bird of the week photo, along with when and where you spotted it, for a chance to be featured in the newsletter. Email submissions to info@laconnercommunitynews.org — happy birding!