I’ll never forget the first bird he put me on. After walking all morning on state land, we struck a bird that came in hot. It was all but a sure thing—until, at 20 yards, the bird saw me slowly moving my gun barrel. The turkey bolted, and Uncle Tim shot up. “You got to swing! Swing!” he said, waving his arms, spittle building up in the corners of his mouth. “Look,” he said, “with deer, yes, you can move slow,” and he mimicked me moving all slow and dainty. “With turkeys, you don’t move! You wait until they go behind a tree, OK, then you swing fast, OK? Fast!” he said.