Cosmic Lockdown

The only picture I have is of Ben and Paul in their skivvies on the camp porch looking over a map. It ain't pretty nor good for anyone so, you're welcome.

Last spring in PA before moving to Missoula; time to book some days in the turkey woods. Got Paul to take 2 days off from work and a couple more from the family to join Ben and I in the Quehanna to chase birds. The birds were supposed to be thick, the weather perfect, and the pressure light. Long story short, we didn't hear a goddamn gobble - not one - for three full days. Denny's camp was awesome, the food superb, the booze plentiful and we even managed to get up super super early to bomb deep into the woods, well off the roads. The ground was tore up, the sign thick, the other hunters almost non-existent. Not one gobble. Not a distance one, not a early-morning tree gobble followed by silence; just the silence. Made you think there weren't any birds there, but we know better. There are a TON of birds there. Is was just on cosmic lockdown. Super going away present from PA. Oh, and to top if off, Ben and I got lyme disease from two never-seen ticks. 6 days of 102 fever followed by 8 more of exhaustion, then a bullseye rash met with steroids and 4 weeks of doxycycline. Fun. Fuckers. We did get into some trout on Kettle (picky, feisty stockies) and Medix (beautiful little brookies). But WTF. Cosmic Lockdown. Sonovabitch.

Spring in PA

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...

Cold, wet, uneventful morning

Went out this morning again. Had two guys on one of my spots near lower greens valley road, calling like idiots. Trucks were from colorado and florida...

Got one bird talking, but he was over a rise and about 200yrds on private, posted land with hens; no luck.

Cold morning here - temperature must have dropped nearly 20 degrees since Saturday.

Big plans for a big bird on Thursday.

A Perfect April Day

April 26 - opening day of turkey in PA. Paul and I met at prospectors at 4:00am and headed to weaver. Original plan was to stalk the monster bird at the nursery, but one of Paul's co-workers "claimed" the spot first. No way he shoots that bird - we'll get 'em later this season...

The morning started off with a long walk to the back of the weaver property, a little over a mile. Unfortunately, the property is bordered on all sides by private land and some jackass had driven his truck through the woods and parked it, literally, right on our spot - the exact spot where I'd shot a huge bird a few years ago. So Paul and I sat down about 150 yards away and decided to wait and hear how the morning started before changing positions. This genius in the truck proceeds to walk right toward us in the dark - we whistle at him and he changes direction, but sits down about 60 yards away, just inside the new exclosure. These guys are asking to be shot. We tried to relax and just see how things would go - it was too late to change position without screwing up that whole side of the property.

As light came the song birds started around 5:30 and were in full swing at 5:45. 6:00 came and brought with it the first gobble - it would be the first of many. There were at least three birds, just over the hill, inside the exclosure. For the next 40 minutes they must have gobbled 60 times. One would sound off and the others would gobble right behind him, four, five, six gobbles on top of each other. We thought something might materialize and sat still, guns ready and waited, listening to the horrible calling of the jackass down the hill. Two hens came over the hill, but the jakes wouldn't make the trip - they headed away from us and the gobbling stopped.

After sitting tight for a while we decided to move - a slow walk along the fence finally proved fruitful as we heard the same rally of gobbles from the back corner of the property - maybe 500 yards in front of us. We got as close as we could and set up along the fence. The birds were inside the fence and we had a nice knob between us so we set up paul's decoy on the fence line, I set up in the brush to call, and paul sat against a tree with his gun trained. We thought the birds (if they came) would come around the contour of the knob, but instead (yeah, they came) they ran right up over the top of the knob directly at us. I never saw them, but paul said the first bird crested the hill and stopped, the second bird came over the top and did a double-take at paul - one eye, two eye, "yep, that doesn't look good," and he bolted. Paul let two shots go in hopes of knocking one down, but to not avail; we watched as the two of them flew away. He was kicking himself a bit, but there was nothing else to do except watch them run away - fine decision. The only bad part was he didn't quite get the gun shouldered before firing and his bicep was killing him the rest of the day.

It was pretty late in the morning by now so we circled the property boundary for another 3/4 mile and found a nice ridge to take a nap on. Slept for 30 minutes or so until I found a couple ticks on me and got us back up moving. The plan was to stick to the property boundary and hit a couple known hang-outs on our way back to the truck. Coming up on the back of white pine corner a gobble halted us - 100yards. We dropped to the ground and donned the camo - that was close. After a quick discussion we decided I'd be the shooter - I crawled on my stomach up to a small ridge and slowly peeked over, gun leading. After only a second I saw a bird - big, dark body; bright red and blue head: A Gobbler, and a big one. He was headed to the right so in the quick moments as he was hidden behind trees and brush I readjusted and waited. A couple of those moves later I noticed the bird wasn't alone - there was another one, equally big, and closer, back to my left. I readjusted on this one, but he was headed right as well. Couple putts and some leaf scratching managed to turn him back left. They were moving closer, but they were nervous - maybe they had been screwed with earlier that day, or last season. The bird in my sights was staring hard at me - one move to the left and he would be in a clear line of sight. He moved left. And here's where my long day of fishing the day before screwed me - I'd forgotten my turkey choke. The modified choke in my barrel spread my 4 shot too thin - the bird was gone before I could even reload a shell. The other bird wasn't so lucky. I swung right and shot...missed, but lifted the bird into the air. Another pot shot did nothing to stop his flight. Fortunately, the bird was flying directly over Paul. He rose and unloaded, knocking that bird out of the air - DEAD BIRD!! Not pretty, but successful. And to think, if I'd had my proper choke, there would be two birds. Won't make that mistake again...

20lbs, 9.5" beard, 1 1/8" spurs. Real nice bird. Had some of it grilled up this evening at Pauls house while entertaining his boys. Can't wait to get back out during the week when all the bozos are sleeping and at work.

When I got home, Ben and I headed to Penns. We'd had some serious action on the stream the previous night and couldn't wait to repeat. We stopped in at feathered hook first to figure things out - turns out we had likely witnessed trout gorging themselves on rusty spinners (dead BWOs and Hendricksons). We spent a few bucks on flies and headed out. A long walk down from tunnel road and nymphed until about 5:30. I caught one and then took a nap in the sun on the bank...long day. Ben nymphed the whole afternoon and didn't catch squat - that is the worst. And I figured I'd make it worse by hooking a rising fish he'd been trying to catch on my first catch. Luckily I didn't land it.

We were stalling, trying to catch the few rising fish we could see and wait for the witching hour when the spinners would start...maybe 7? Maybe 7:15. We made it until about 6:15 when the gathering, black clouds finally made us decide to give up and head back to the car. About halfway back it hit - strong winds and a downpour; we were soaked. Great, though, to be in the woods and on the stream with Ben during a wild storm, drenched and happy. Dinner at the Red Horse topped off the day. Not bad to start off turkey season and spring trout :)