"Yawp, yawp, yawp," I called on the old slate. I waited. Waited some more. Maybe a minute or two later I heard an echo of my call, just on the field edge in front of me: "yawp, yawp, yawp." I readied my shotgun. Waited. Waited some more. Then, hard to my right, the gobbler fish-hooked in from the field, mincing steps to my position. It passed behind a broad oak, and when the bird stepped out, I dropped it.