When I am loaded for bear, and I always am, I carry two pots (one slate, one green glass), five different strikers, one short box, one long box, and a wingbone call I made from a roadkilled hen about 15 years ago to replace the lovely walnut Tom Turpin suction call my dog chewed up.
I use them all in-turn during locating and scouting. But when I get them located, I drop everything and stay strictly on the wingbone until I get them to about a hundred yards. Then I pull out my all-time favorite, the one I practice year-round with and always have with me....my own voice. I do purrs, soft yelps, chirps and whines, the stuff you can only generally hear when you are within 10-15 yards of the flock. There is no movement, nothing to drop or accidentally knock against the stock of my gun, never gets misplaced if I gotta pick up and run to another spot of concealment. Over the years of watching and hanging out with birds in the woods, I noticed they often get quieter when another hen or a gobbler joins into the flock. Kinda like how after you hollered at your buddy across six backyards and a vacant lot as a kid, but you stop shouting when you get face to face. I think I used to talk too loud too often and the birds thought me rude and boorish. I try to be more polite and genteel nowadays...until the Pedersoli 10 ga side by side percussion black powder gun I call The Fat Lady cuts loose with one of her patented hellfire sulphureous farts. Nothing genteel 'bout that!