Wild turkeys are amazing birds.

Sometimes they stand along the road and act as if a passing vehicle is a nuisance. Other times they run or fly at the slightest provocation, paranoid about a distant sight or sound that might indicate a predator is nearby. Whether that be man or beast.

Equally remarkable is their ability to get airborne. Male wild turkeys can weigh nearly 30 pounds, yet they take wing with ease.

One late winter day while scouting them, I found a flock of a dozen — a mix of toms and hens — feeding in a field of corn stubble. Nearby was a stand of mature white pines, a spot that I knew from previous forays was a nighttime roosting location for the local flock.

I envisioned a photo: a turkey in flight toward its roost in late afternoon light. Later, I watched as the turkeys, one by one, flew from the stubble field to the pine roost.

I devised a plan.

Between the corn stubble field and the white pines was a bur oak savanna. The oaks were ancient, some with trunks larger than 3 feet in diameter.

A few days later, when the afternoon light was right, I snuggled up to one of the bur oak trunks in a path between the cornfield and the white pine roost. I situated my camera and tripod in front of me.

Like clockwork, the flock of turkeys emerged from the woods about one-half hour before sunset, picking away at kernels of corn.

The situation was shaping up perfectly. My only concern was whether the turkeys would fly past me en route to their roost while adequate light existed. The normally wary birds were unaware of me, so my hopes were high.

Then with the sun perched just above the western horizon, one hen turkey flew, angled in my direction. Then another turkey, and eventually more, flew past me headed in the direction of the roost.

Earlier, I had preset the various camera functions, concerned about having a high shutter speed to capture a turkey in flight.

When one of the tom turkeys flew, it passed me slightly closer than the hens. I panned my camera with the moving bird, matched its speed, and fired away. I felt good about my chances of an excellent image.

Later, at home on my computer, I saw that I had captured just one quality image of an adult gobbler in flight. I felt fortunate given the difficult conditions.

Bill Marchel, an outdoors writer and photographer, lives near Brainerd.