One of the secrets of success in the outdoors, it seems, is being able to make adjustments given the circumstances.

Conditions that close the door to one potential adventure often provide an opening leading to another.

So it was last weekend, when it became obvious the Allegheny River — high and muddy from recent rain — wasn’t going to be in shape for me to run the guide trip I had scheduled for the upcoming Saturday.

I texted my youngest son Jay, who has been anxious to get out in the turkey woods, suggesting we take the opportunity to check out the local gobbler situation.

“Yep, let’s get out there Saturday, and later in the week if we can,” he replied.

At 5:30 a.m., we eased into a pull-off alongside the gravel road, barely a mile from my home. We’d scouted the area during a late evening a week or so prior, and though we hadn’t heard any evidence of toms that night, it was an area that had been productive in the past.

The rush of water from a nearby rivulet muffled sounds of the pre-dawn as we grabbed our gear from the bed of the truck. Jay, whose hearing is 30 years younger than mine, made out a gobble, despite the muting effect of the flow.

Quietly, we worked our way up the base of a side hollow, one that skirted the ridge where the tom was regularly sounding off from his roost. With the quick green-up this year, plus being two weeks into the season, I figured it was going to be a challenge to find a spot that afforded Jay a good shooting opportunity.

The best option appeared to be a gas line right-of-way that paralleled the ridge. It was open, but hopefully not so open a gobbler would be reluctant to step into it.

In the gathering light, we made our way up the edge of the gas line, hoping to get up the grade to a level close to that of the vocal bird, yet cognizant of the fact we could spook it if we tried to get too close. Soon the ideal spot appeared.

There was a large oak set back a few yards from the gas line edge, a perfect spot for Jay to set up against. I found a perch a few yards further back in the cover. Though I wouldn’t be able to see the opening, it was a model place to call from, which was my only concern.

Allowing a few moments to pass to let things settle down, I made a few soft yelps on the slate call. The gobbler quickly answered. Stifling the urge to call too much — wanting only to key him in on the location of a potential hen — I only used the call after he’d gobbled a series of time.

The minutes passed as we waited for him to fly down. Silently, I hoped he’d continue to show interest, having had talkative toms quiet down when they hit the ground.

But after a brief period of silence, he let loose with the turkey talk again, only this time significantly closer. He was on the ground and heading our way!

For a period he held back, perhaps 50-to-60 yards away, judging from the sound of it. I softened the yelps and clucks, trying to make it sound like a hen leaving the area. He still held back.

Trying the opposite approach, I cut more aggressively on the call. Soon I saw Jay slip off the safety catch, followed by the retort of 2 ounces of No. 5 shot being sent its way. Jay sprinted the 30 yards to the sight of the downed 18-pound gobbler.

Later we’d measure its beard at 9 inches, with 7/8-inch spurs; a fine 2-year-old gobbler, taken by an equally fine young man.

After handshakes, back slaps, and the tagging of the bird, we made our way back to the truck. I glanced at my watch. It was 6:15 a.m. It’s the happiest I’ve been that high water has wiped out a fishing trip.

Jeff Knapp is an outdoors columnist for the Butler Eagle.