Back at camp after a drive, Travis fired up some yelps. A gobbler answered back on the far ridge. We hopped in the truck, halved the distance, got out, and Josh called this time. Gobbles echoed from above. A black blob stepped out, popped into strut, and looked. The ZINK Calls turkey man floated some more yelps up there. That gobbler was coming. Down the field, it sprinted. Into a cut at the hill bottom, it drifted. There it crossed a creek. Up a steep little hill it came. Finally, it broke through a patch of multiflora rose and appeared on the end of Byrd's shotgun. Longbeard number two was down. Every now and then you get another gobbler that comes a quarter mile to the gun.