The Sportsman's Corner

By May 12 last spring, the score with spring turkeys was gobblers – 12, me – 0. That Saturday I had my son, Bob, with me. We set up on a knob where I’d been hearing a gobbler. I hoped that Bob could turn the tables on him. However, the woods were silent. By 9:00 I’d had enough and told Bob that I was heading for home and a nap. I had gotten very little sleep since the beginning of the gobbler season. (Trout fishing had been inconsistent, and I’d been trying to squeeze in a little of that, too.)

“I’m going to stop at a couple of spots on my way home,” Bob, who lives near Tyrone, told me. “Maybe...