Nothing like spring gobbler season.

It's my favorite. For a couple of reasons, really, the weather is much milder -- damn bugs though -- and it's something I feel fairly competent at despite having blown 10 times the opportunities per actual kills.

Regardless, I'm always back at it come April and May, putting myself in prime position to bag a 25-pounder tom with a 12-inch beard only to botch the shot somehow. But every once and awhile, I'll connect my shotgun pattern with a keen-eyed gobbler's head.

Today, May 2, and the opener, Monday, May 1, weren't one of those times.

I went out behind my house in St. Clair County on Monday and heard one lone gobble, probably 200 yards or so out. Way across the river. Knew it was gonna be dead -- 50 degrees, overcast and cool. And it was only a two weeks ago before my season started, every morning there would be turkeys sounding off all around the house. Why does it always have to be like that?

The next day at Walt's spot in Ingham County was a much different story. Action got very hot. One big ol' boy nearly came down Cherry Lane right to my ambush spot but then veered into a field with waiting hens. We also had four or five other birds gobbling but none ever came in close enough for a shot.

Now I'm in R & R mode in preparation for blowing this popsicle stand of a job and taking a long weekend to return mom-in-law to her rightful spot -- home in West Virginia.

Of course, one giddy turkey hunter from Michigan would not make such a trip without hitting the ridges of the Mountain State in an attempt to bring back a long beard.

Certainly not.