A Good Day

By the second week of May, I was becoming anxious about finding some fly hatches and some rising trout. I had continued gobbler hunting to put in some time, but I did not even go one mid-May morning when I saw the daybreak temperature was only 32 degrees.

My son, Bob, had been hunting for an hour or so before work each morning, trying to roust up a tom. On the 32-degree morning, he set up on a bird that gobbled incessantly from its roost. Bob let it fly down before calling to it.

"I had to call only a couple of times, and he came right in," Bob told me on the phone. "He weighed more than 2...