Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/787068
ePilOgue Rob recovered from our rain-soaked turkey hunt at the end of Missouri's 2015 spring turkey season. More importantly, over the next several months he fully recovered from his illness. It was anything but easy. He has had to adopt a totally new diet to accommodate his injured pancreas. He is a much slimmer version of his old self, but he is his old self. We decided to celebrate his return to wellness with a turkey-hunting tour in April 2016. We spent most of the month scouting and hunting in Missouri and Kansas. When we doubled on birds in Missouri, I got a little weak in the knees. Rob had to help me up. He finished the season with a big gobbler in Kansas. I was hunting about ten miles from him when I got his text. I could not help but laugh, even with the sun shining. Rob is now guiding big game hunters in New Mexico and Colorado. He negotiates the steep, tough terrain out West with strength and confidence. Recovery complete. don't mean resting on his knee; I mean locked-down, cheek-on-the-stock ready. Then the rains came. At first steady, but not heavy. The tom kept gobbling, well past normal fly-down time. Then the rains got serious, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Still, he kept gobbling, answering every thunderclap, still planted in his roost tree. Then the deluge arrived. This was no shower; this was a biblical downpour. He stopped gobbling. It kept raining in sheets, and we could barely see the glade, but we waited, still hopeful. After 30 minutes of soaking-wet silence, I heard a small noise. It was Rob. He was laughing. I looked at him, and his eyes were shining through his mask and the rain. I started laughing with him, overcome by the sheer joy of being there, together, doing what we love, after the worst trial of our lives. We never saw the gobbler. As we walked back to the car, slowed by the weight of our drenched clothing, I knew it didn't matter. Rob was better, and there would be other hunts in our future. Indeed, mine is a life truly blessed. n nights together on the eve of turkey hunts. None were as filled with emotion and anticipation as this one. Morning broke cloudy with a bit of wind and an occasional brief shower. We set up in the dark and waited for the first gobble . . . and waited, and waited. As some dim light began to show, we hooted and crowed to silence. Just when we began to think he wasn't there, he answered Rob's tree call. He was farther east than we had expected and we had a decision to make: get closer or stay with our setup? The last three months of pain and sickness and unimaginable trauma had not changed my son. He has always been a bold and assertive turkey hunter. He wanted to get closer. Now that he had started gobbling, he wouldn't stop. He made it easy for us to course him, and we were soon able to sit down within 100 yards of his roost. The gobbles continued unabated, frequent and loud, with a long, rattling finish. Our hearts were hammering. There was a little glade just in front of us, and we both thought he would fly down into it. Rob already had his gun presented. I 160 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S