As my truck window rolled down, an unmistakable Merriam’s gobble carried across the prairie to my well-trained ear. The source? A dark ornament on a dead cottonwood’s bare limb. Another gobbler, still on the ground, soon roosted, and I left with a solid game plan.
As I parked my truck in the predawn darkness the following morning, lightning intermittently lit the prairie. More than 10 seconds after each flash, distant thunder boomed, followed by shock gobbles. The radar showed the storm was moving north, missing the chunk of public dirt I was standing on by at least 10 miles. Confident I was safe, I beat feet toward the cottonwoods.
With dawn impending, I hunkered against a tree 50-some yards from the roosted birds. While I waited, they gobbled, double-gobbled and triple-gobbled. Eventually, the two rope-chested birds flew down, landing at the
