Switch-hit hunting provides thrill but no kill
Switch-hit hunting provides thrill but no kill
By Tyler Frantz
As far north as one can travel in Pennsylvania, lies Bradford County’s gem, the quaint little town of Sayre. It is nestled among the mountains near the confluence of the Susquehanna and Chemung Rivers, where legends of horned giants still linger- the result of embellished news reporting during an archeological dig at native burial grounds in 1916.
I was recently blessed to visit the Sayre community for the Pennsylvania Outdoor Writers Association spring conference- a collegial gathering of professionals to celebrate our craft and catch up with old friends. Local story-builder activities are always a highlight of each conference, and already possessing a New York state non-resident hunting license, I sprung for the opportunity to do some switch-hit border hopping for Empire State gobblers a short drive from our hotel.
Friday morning, I was paired with the National Wild Turkey Federation’s Chemung Valley Ridge Runners Chapter President, Chad McDonald, and his brother Troy, who had secured permission for us to hunt a private farm near Elmira, NY. My fellow writing friend, John Allen, offered to tag along and film the hunt too.
We set up high along a plowed grain field where the farmer had reported seeing a group of gobblers picking soil a day earlier. After staking out two hen decoys and a half-strut jake, we tucked into the vegetation of a nearby ridgeline. It didn’t take long to hear our first gobbles of the morning about 150-yards away.
With a bit of turkey chatter coaxing, Troy and I lured one of the hens roosted with the longbeards out into the field, but after nearly an hour, it became clear the boys had no intention of joining her. Additional hen yelps coming from the gobblers’ direction, as well as the onset of a steady, blowing rain combined to suppress their cooperation and solidify our impending doom. We made a quick move to ride out the rain in pop-up blinds overlooking a lower grass-field Chad had seen the birds using around mid-morning. Though our efforts were stealthy and hopeful, no birds ever showed up. As we were driving back to the hotel, however, we spotted several birds occupying freshly plowed fields. It turns out we probably should have stayed put- but such is the turkey game.
Saturday was filled with craft improvement seminars, our general membership and board meetings, a breakout session featuring supporting member companies and the annual Excellence in Craft awards banquet. It was a busy yet very successful day. Sunday, I was eager to get back after it. Being able to hunt on Sundays in New York, I traveled to nearby Maple Hill State Forest after breakfast to ply and plod the public land for one last crack at a late-morning north of the border gobbler. But with howling winds foiling my plans again, nary a bird was located.
Having one more vacation day to spare, I motored westward, through strange May snow-squalls near Mansfield to my hunting camp in Lycoming County. On-the-fly scouting confirmed birds on one particular area of public land, and I optimistically planned a morning return to fill my Pennsylvania gobbler tag. Sneaking in to set up on a relatively open bench before dawn, I glanced skyward to find a bird roosted above me only 50 yards away. I instantly dropped to a seated position, pinned in place from moving any further or even setting up a decoy, much less getting out my video camera.
As daylight broke, gobbles began to echo. Before long, a big mature tom flew down, I called, and he immediately fanned out in full strut. More calling, gobbling and strutting ensued; he stayed within sight but just out of range.
Hens eventually showed up, and I called them right up into my lap, merely 10-yards away, while the boss strutted back and forth, spitting and drumming the whole time. It was an agonizing 40-minute display, as I froze in place waiting for a shot to materialize- the tom pacing and gobbling 60-yards away.
With only a short distance to close, a second longbeard appeared and walked the protective strutter off over the hill, both of them now more interested in the hens, which ultimately lost interest in me and dropped down over the bench by this point. Sadly, neither of them ever came within shotgun range. Had the strutting tom followed the girls instead of worrying about his intruding male rival, I would've killed him. It was literally a matter of a few steps. Nevertheless, this was one of the most exciting mornings I’ve ever experienced in the spring turkey woods.
As a workingman with a day job, I seldom have the opportunity to turkey hunt three of four days in the same week, but given the chance to switch-hit turkey hunt in two states, I was certainly going to make the most of it.
Sleep deprivation, regretful decisions, and being at the birds’ mercy all come with the territory. But I wouldn’t have it any other way, because turkey country sure is beautiful territory- both north and south of the border.
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