I try hard not to believe in superstition, or lucky guns, lucky socks, hats, shirts, whatever, but sometimes I wonder. Five years ago I got a new turkey gun – a Mossberg 835 Grand Slam – and immediately my fortunes took a 180-degree turn for the better. Where I had been a stumbling idiot in the turkey woods in previous seasons, all of a sudden I was avian cholera in camo. Long-spurred public land turkeys lined up for the privilege of letting me shoot them with my new 835. I went on a five-year roll.