The right seat and boots will make any Osceola hunt a lot more fun.

After maybe an hour of sleep we stumbled out of Rob's cabin, drove a little ways, then stumbled through the palmettos in the dark. We set up in a little clump of cover overlooking a strip of open ground between swampy roosting cover in front and higher feeding ground behind. We heard no gobblers, but several hens came right to our decoys. I don't doubt the existence of that big gobbler, nor do I doubt that this is where he should have been. He just wasn't there.

We saw turkeys in the morning and we saw turkeys in the afternoon. The next day was a repeat--we never heard or saw a gobbler. I think my hosts were embarrassed, but I sort of figured it was status quo.

John is a serious turkey hunter, and when it became obvious that the big gobbler he had patterned had changed his pattern, John changed ours. The afternoon before my last day we hiked deep into the turkeys' sanctuary, an incredible cypress swamp overhung with Spanish moss. We saw a few turkeys ghosting through the thick cover ahead of us late in the afternoon, and as soon as we saw them, John earmarked a likely meadow and backed off.

We were there the next morning long before daylight, me having braved the cottonmouth-infested swamp in the dark (I'm deathly afraid of snakes). We put a screen of camo netting in front of us, set a couple of decoys in the open meadow, and leaned back against a sturdy cypress to await the dawn.

While he did know it was an ideal location--a rare raised and open spot in the wet swamp for a gobbler to strut and mate--John did not know that a mature gobbler was roosted right behind us. Not that he would ever let on, but nearly an hour after the first gray light, and after the best calling he knew how to produce, he was as surprised as I was when a very nice Osceola gobbler dropped down from directly behind us. Now it was my problem to deal with.

GEARING UP FOR GOBBLERS Osceola country is swampy, buggy and slightly dangerous. After hunting down there last year, I learned that one thing you don't want to do without is a elevated seat of some kind. I'm fond of Hunter Specialties deluxe collapsible seat; its lightweight aluminum frame features a webbed seat and folding legs. It's easy to tote and quick to set up, and thanks to its reversible design, it's comfortable for long sessions in any terrain. And, of course, it keeps your butt dry. www.hunterspec.com, 319/395-0321. Unlike Craig Boddington, I am not--I repeat, not--afraid of poisonous snakes. It's their fangs that worry me. The dilemma is how to protect yourself from rattlesnakes and cottonmouths while still staying dry. I found the answer in LaCrosse's Recoil GTX waterproof snake boots. These 17-inch boots are comfortable and totally waterproof, thanks to Gore-Tex lining. They're comfy boots, but I found they do require some breaking in. www.lacrosse-outdoors.com, 800/323-2668.--J. Scott Rupp

I have never felt so naked. We'd planned for a bird to come into the meadow--not practically land on my left shoulder. If I moved to shoot he would be gone, and so much movement was required I would be unlikely to get even a chancy running or flying shot. But right now he was standing in the middle of a little lane, staring straight ahead. Once I moved, he and I would be committed, but right now I had a couple of seconds to think. So while I was thinking, I stared at him at the extreme limit of my peripheral vision.

I realized he was watching the decoy straight in front of me. I realized, too, that while shifting my body was out of the question, I just might be able to shift the shotgun and shoot right-handed, which would require far less movement than attempting my natural left-hand shot. This is tricky if you've never done it from your weak side.

When the bird moved forward, I moved. Slowly, I switched hands, my left hand from the pistol grip to the fore-end, my right hand from fore-end to pistol grip. Below the screen of vegetation, I slowly shifted the barrel around. Then I got the big shotgun up and remembered to get the safety off with the "wrong" hand. I put the bead on the base of his neck and pressed the trigger.

Right-handed recoil threw me off, but not so much that I couldn't see the feathers fly and the wonderful Osceola gobbler thrown to the ground. John and I both rushed toward him and, once he was secure, we admired his fine beard and his wonderful bronze feathering. Of many, he is the only turkey I have mounted--and I'm admiring him still as I'm writing these lines.