Dawn greeted us with
gloom, wind, and drizzle—the traditional late fall bad-weather mix.
Only a month prior, my
college deferral fish-bumming road trip had lead me to Pennsylvania’s Pine
Creek Valley, ablaze with October foliage, though the river suffered severely
from record-low water. As luck would have
it, I was given the opportunity to return as part of a media group from TroutUnlimited, but the Valley, one of my new favorite locations, had fallen victim
to the changing seasons in my absence.
The abrupt surrounding mountains were transparent—skeletal and hardened
by the onset of cold—and the river ran high and dark with the cold rains of
late fall in the Northern Tier.
In three cars—two
pickups and a rented SUV—we caravanned to a trailhead on State Forest property,
shotguns, blaze orange, and seat cushions in tote. Four well-trained turkey dogs rode patiently
in the bed, knowing all too well what was coming.
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The air was translucent
with fog and the smell of the wet fall woods.
Deliberately, our party trudged up the trail, up the mountain, past rose
bushes and hemlocks, watching friends and stand-in turkey guides Rob Mucinski
and Ron Magnano send their wiry-haired turkey seekers on the chase with
directional gestures. Somewhere within
earshot, a gobbler boomed.
The grade continued,
with no switchback or relief, until the trail flattened out on a bench quickly
dubbed “the orchard” for the thick population of apple trees growing in an
understory clearing. Paula Piatt, a
representative from Trout Unlimited, had done the scouting the week before, and
informed Ron and Rob that the birds had been spotted near the orchard on
several occasions.
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“The dogs will find
them soon enough,” Ron reassured the group, confident in the ability of the
four-legged hunters.
As we crossed the bench
lengthwise and approached a switchback leading further up the mountain, the
dots on the guides’ GPS clumped, and baying ensued. Standing frozen, we watched as a handful of
turkey fled the scene in flight and listened as the rest of the flock beat air
on the opposite side of the ridge.
“It’s a clean break,”
Ron and Rob agreed.
A clean break is
essential in fall turkey hunting. The
trained dogs are taught to ambush a flock with the hopes of pushing them into
immediate flight and dispersing them radially.
Only then can a caller reliably reassemble the frazzled flock with
gentle kee kees and clucks.
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| Photo by Mark Taylor, TU Eastern Communications Director |
Wasting no time,
everyone in the group stashed their blaze orange and traded it for
camouflage. Chairs were unfolded, layers
adjusted, and bathroom breaks taken. It
takes a certain level of preparation to sit motionless on the forest floor for
an hour or more.
The party split to take
up stand locations on each side of the ridge, while the guides took stands
behind the shooters, covering the praised dogs in camouflage burlap to quiet
them. In moments, the woods were once
again silent, and the calling began.
Ron and Rob seemed to
be talking to one another as they took turns kee keeing from across the ridgeline.
Rain picked up and the
wind swirled and subsided.
Just a bit more than an
hour had passed when the tone of Ron’s calling changed tone. A shotgun blast followed, as I squinted in
curiosity in his direction.
A bird was down!
We continued to sit and
call for another half hour with no luck; and so we made the decision to break
cover and check on the rest of the party.
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| Photo by Mark Taylor, TU Eastern Communications Director |
Don Knaus, a local
Pennsylvanian outdoor writer, emerged from the woods with a fine bird clutched
and displayed by the legs. Excitedly,
Don recounted his encounter with his first fall turkey shot with the aid of
trained turkey dogs.
Don’s bird was the
first and only harvest of the day and the trip; and despite the humble
apologies of Ron and Rob who had wished for more shots, each and every one in
attendance was pleased and excited to share the experience.
Originally published in The Rural Virginian
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