You nailed it. I bet I’ve been hit with every one of the pitfalls mentioned at least ten times over!
I watched him half an hour until he dropped out of the trees thirty-five yards from where I sat, waiting on his hens. I clucked twice, if only to get his head up. To make it feel like I’d done something.
Eight-tenths of a mile back to the truck along the edge of a sprouting wheat field provided plenty of time to ruminate on the nature of luck. I knew why I was going where I was, even if I made plans four hundred miles away- two or three blocks of woodland linked by riparian forest in a landscape largely given over to agriculture meant it’d likely hold birds. Probabilistic planning.
The trouble with turkeys is every hunt comes with its own Sword of Damocles- anything, big or small, which may foil your plans. Not just the easily identified things like coughing or sneezing or moving too quickly. You can…
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Whipped Owl 