Turkey call-maker Bruce Wurth of American Friction worked long and hard to get this fine gobbler during a time when the toms were quiet. Photo by John Higley.

At that moment, things couldn't have been much better. Thanks to recent rain, my in-the-dark sneak was quiet. The tom turkey I'd roosted the previous evening was still exactly where I left him.

Using my small flashlight sparingly, I found a place to sit with my back against a stout pine tree. Zipping up my camo jacket to ward off the predawn chill, I settled in to wait.

The first gobble was a shock. Apparently I'd been catnapping, but the haunting sound instantly jolted me to attention.

"Gobble-obble-obble!" He went off again, announcing his presence to every hen within a half mile. If he's alone right now, I thought, this will be a slam-dunk.

Reaching into the side pocket of my hunting vest, I found a box of diaphragm calls and dug out a favorite. When the tom sounded off again, I directed a few soft yelps his way just to let him know he had company.

Then I sat back and awaited further developments. I fully expected to keep a one-sided date with the turkey as soon as he flew down from his perch.

Meanwhile, the big bird continued to gobble occasionally without any prompting from me. Then there was a commotion in the roost tree, which was only 75 yards away. From the following wingbeats, I knew that the tom was on the ground.

Another rousing gobble greeted my next yelps. I rested my shotgun on my knee, pointing it toward where I expected the turkey to show.

Well, so much for positive thinking! After making all that racket, the tom fell as silent as a Hannibal Lecter lamb going to slaughter. Despite my best calling efforts, he didn't make another peep that morning.

It was all very humbling, this silence of the tom. I wondered, briefly, if the bird had seen something he didn't like, or heard something that turned him off. But I knew better.

Even though I couldn't hear the ladies, I was sure the tom was roosting close to a bevy of hens -- and when he flew down, he'd been met by one or more of them.

Sure, he'd thundered that final gobble in my direction. But when the hen I was pretending to be didn't show up, he turned his attention to the feathered beauties he could see. Naturally, when those hens left their roost site, Mr. Big was close behind.

As I sat there, my ego deflated like a punctured balloon. Just how often, I wondered, had something like that happened to me in the last 35 years or so? My conclusion was dozens, if not hundreds of times.

And yes, it will happen again!

If you've hunted turkeys for long enough, this probably sounds very familiar. Some toms roosting close to hens gobble repeatedly, like the bird I just told you about. And in similar fashion, they go silent once they're on the ground. Others may gobble only once at fly-down time, and then keep their beaks closed the rest of the day.

Sometimes, of course, a tom with hens will continue to acknowledge your calls, at least for a time, when he's on the ground. But even though he shows an interest, it's most unusual for a tom to break away from his group and come to you.