After many too many days of cold weather, rain, and late snow squalls, spring has finally sprung in Happy Valley. As the buds are bursting and new leaves stretching skyward I've been trying to spend as much time as possible in the turkey woods and in trout waters before the move West. The trout have been cooperative, the turkeys not so much, although there have been two close calls. After a silent opening morning, I spent the first Monday on the Weaver property. Walking the entire border of the property yielded nothing, but as I was leaving I found myself peeking into the front field where a Tom and two Jakes were strutting their stuff and chasing each other around. After a belly-crawl to the corner of the field edge, the yellow gate to my left, I posted my gun on the left side of a white oak and gave some soft purrs and clucks. The Tom came running from right to left. "Perfect!" Or so I thought. Instead of his head poking out from behind that oak, all I saw was the tip of his tail, down, as he turned and headed back into the field. I guess I should have set up on the other side of that tree... Sonova... Being on the edge of the posters, and knowing there was at least one other hunter wandering the property, I hesitated. As usual, just a moment of doubt erases opportunity. In hindsight, I should have swung steadily around that tree and pulled the trigger, but within seconds that bird had retreated back down into the center of the field - my decision making time blew my chance. I regrouped and called again, but only the smallest Jake would come in. He stood at 15 yards in my sights for a few minutes, but I passed; his beard was barely protruding from his chest.
The second chance came with Paul and Ben a few days later. After toying with a hen on "gobbler's knob," we moved in on a Tom that finally decided to be vocal. We snuck within 50 yards and set up just as he came into view through the understory. Ben was to my left, Paul behind us calling. He came in within 20 yards but was always behind thick brush - very thick stand with a short canopy and lots of deadfall. As soon as he was in sight, two hens showed up as well. I think we all converged at the same moment, because those hens cut his path off (to my gun)and steered him away, silencing his gobble, and ruining our opportunity. Attempts to circle them and re-engage were futile.
Luckily, the fishing has been more fruitful. Ben and I headed down to the Little J the past two nights. The sulphurs were around, but no spinner fall to speak of. Regardless, we've caught about 40 fish in a total of 5-6 hours.
Mother's day brought a relatively uncrowded stream - suckers! - and we were able to cover a lot of water that hadn't seen guys in a while. The side channels proved most productive with some fat browns sipping our dries and emergers in little more than 5" of water. After I broke my rod (yep, shit), Ben and I shared his rod, alternating fish. Well, either one lunker or three small ones brought on a change in hands. The rod break was a blessing in disguise as we stood side-by-side all evening, guiding each other, talking flies and strategy and celebrating each perfect drift, each sip or strike, and each netted brute.
Last night was a little less productive - we had to work for each fish, but we managed to pull them from tricky locations across big runs, tucked in eddies, under branches, and to outlast those picky fish waiting several minutes before rises, waiting for the perfect bug. Again, the spinner fall was absent, but the sulphurs are definitely on. Hope this rain holds out for our trip to the Quehanna...
