A damp April morning, lightning flashes in the distance. Overcast of thick cloud hides the full moon…

Whip-poor-wills compete with rooster crows as we hike the dark trail, dodging fallen logs and brush as the sky pales to dawn. A haze of mosquitos attack, but is soon abated by swiping sassafras leaves on our faces. A pleasant scent as the oils of the broken leaves waft to our noses.

As silently as possible, we find ‘the place’, we have been hearing gobbling on this point for a week, and settle in.  I am an observer today, a listener. As the morning lightens up a few owls are heard, then the racket of crows and woodpeckers shatter the stillness.

We listen and wait, and listen and wait…

This morning, for reasons known only to Mr. Turkey, there is no shattering gobble.  After a while as bodies begin to cramp, we opt to return to the truck and head home. At the truck, half a mile from our desired spot, ah yes, there he is, and right where expected.

Have a good day Mr. Turkey, tomorrow will be another dawn and if it is not raining, I suppose someone will be waiting for you!

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