I stopped studying the tom and started my stalk: slow, quiet, patient. Every time I glanced, the gobbler was still there at the fence line, alternately fanning and not fanning. Finally, I was close enough for a shot, but I stayed out of sight and made one last attempt at calling. No response. So I rose up on one knee and shouldered my shotgun, and as I did the wind gusted and he snapped into full strut.