In the turkey hunting game, the playing field resets every evening, shortly after sunset. Despite a lack of sleep, knowing exactly which limb your gobbler is sitting on makes for a restless night. The alarm can’t come soon enough.
You were out of position, and you had to wait, seemingly forever, for him to step behind a tree so you could move. And after you moved, it was like he disappeared. Did you spook him? You cut on your mouth call and he gobbles 30 yards away. It sounds like a baby rattle is stuck in his throat. And then, there he is. In the open. In gun range.
And after pictures are taken and fried turkey is eaten and the shotgun is put away, you’ll look back at that set of hooks you saved, along with a beard and maybe a fan, and reflect on what a good spring it’s been.