After my son had tagged a 25-pound gobbler on last spring’s opening day of gobbler season, we unloaded our guns and began our trek back to his parked truck. Since his gobbler was so large and we had quite a distance to walk, I toted both of our shotguns.

We hadn’t walked far along the base of the grass cliff where Bob had killed the big tom when we saw two gobblers sprint across the jeep trail we were on, heading up the cliff.

“Come on, Dad. We’ve got to get up there where we can set up to call one in.”

“I’m not climbing up there again. My legs are already shot.” (Remember,...