There’s nothing like Spring in the turkey woods. Each season, the first thunderous gobble brings rushing back every memory; every pre-dawn owl hoot, every distant cluck of a wary hen, every stubborn gobbler, every time you make exactly the right purr at exactly the right moment, every shot and flurry of feathers, every trophy pose. We get to relive it all again in that moment, the moment that marks the beginning of two months of chess match after chess match, the lowest of lows and highest of highs. There’s just nothing else like it.
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