Turkey Hunting, Then and Now: A Lifetime Pursuit of Pennsylvania's Wild Turkey

By Larry L. Harshbarger

This book is all about hunting wild turkey throughout the central Pennsylvania counties of Mifflin, Centre and Huntingdon. Its a collection of the many hunts experienced by the author and his turkey hunting companions from the fall of 1943 until the present. Each and every story is true. Not only are they entertaining, but they teach the dos and donts of turkey hunting. As the stories unfold, well be sneaking, setting up, calling, listening and watching. Sometimes were successful; sometimes were not. We soon learn, however, that some of our best memories are about the turkeys that got away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 18, 2008
• ISBN: 9781469111551

Larry L. Harshbarger

Larry Harshbarger was born and reared in Yeagertown, a small town in central Pennsylvania. A Penn State graduate, he is now retired after 35 years with the Steel Industry in Quality Control Management. For 64 years, he has hunted wild turkey on the mountains and ridges of central Pennsylvania. Larry has been published in many outdoor magazines, and has previously written and published a book about his boyhood years growing up in Yeagertown. His love of the outdoors and writing has led him to pen this book and share with others his lifetime pursuit of Pennsylvania’s wild turkey.

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Copyright © 2008 by Larry L. Harshbarger.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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49083

Contents

Acknowledgments

About the Cover

Introduction

1

The Early Years

2

My First Wild Turkey

3

The Thrill of Calling

4

Following the Scratching

5

What Turkeys Do in the Rain

6

Changes in the Making

7

Tale of Two Gobblers

8

Turkey Feathers for Little Richard

9

Hunting Alone Again

10

Back To Hidden Valley

11

New Turkey Hunting Partner

12

School’s Never Out

13

Turkeys Like the Box

14

Movement with Calling

15

When Things go Wrong

16

Three Out Of Four Isn’t Bad

17

When Gobblers Shut Up

18

Mentoring Ben; Mountain Man Scores

Acknowledgments

This book is not the work of just one person. Without the help of my wife, Anna, and Pete Barr, my friend and hunting companion, it would not have seen the light of day.

Anna, who spent countless hours looking for old photographs and reviewing manuscripts and galley proofs, has been my in-house editor. As a retired school teacher with an excellent background in grammar and punctuation, she is the one responsible, along with the publisher, for this professional-looking book. To her, I give thanks for all her work and support on this project.

To Pete Barr I also give thanks for all his input to this book. Many of the turkey hunting stories are his as I watched and heard them unfold, or his as told to me by him. Also, many of the photographs in this book have been contributed by Pete.

Without the help and support of these two wonderful people, this book would never have come to fruition.

About the Cover

This photograph was taken by Pete Barr on a ridge top in Stone Valley, Huntingdon County.

It was late March; Pete and I were out listening for gobblers. Standing on the top of a ridge farther south, we heard many gobbles coming from where the photograph would be taken.

Later in the morning, when the gobbling subsided, Pete and I decided to try and sneak in on the gobblers. We succeeded, and Pete, with his 35mm camera, snapped this picture which captures the mating ritual of the wild turkey in all its glory.

cover%20image.jpg

Mating Turkeys

Introduction

This book is all about turkey hunting. I’ve learned a great deal during the past 64 years that I have hunted the wild turkey in these Pennsylvania Mountains. I’d really like to share what I learned with you, but I didn’t want to write a how to book. Instead, I’d like for you to join my hunting companions and me on the mountains, ridges and bottoms of central Pennsylvania that I have come to love.

Share these hunts with me and experience our excitement and passion. In addition, you’ll also learn, or have reinforced, the do’s and don’ts of turkey hunting. As the many stories unfold, you will come to appreciate our Pennsylvania turkey-hunting heritage, and how our state has become a leader in providing turkey-hunting opportunities.

As both a turkey hunter and a writer, I’ve written this book for you, another turkey hunter. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy these true stories—some successful, some not. However, as you know, or will learn, anytime you have a wild turkey in close, whether you get it or not, you come out of the woods a winner. Read on and you’ll discover what joyous pain of turkey hunting is about.

1

The Early Years

It was the first day of the 1943 small-game season. I was twelve years old and going hunting for the very first time. My Dad, who hadn’t hunted in years, and my Uncle Ed Dell, who was an avid squirrel and turkey hunter, were taking me. At that time, the first day of the season didn’t start until 9 a.m. By the time Dad pulled in and parked at a camp in Havice Valley, the season was already fifteen minutes old.

Quickly, we were out of the car, with hunting gear in hand, hiking up a deep hollow behind the camp. Twenty minutes later, we reached the top of the hollow and stopped so that Uncle Ed and Dad could catch their breath. Once rested, Uncle Ed began to instruct us on how we should hunt the area.

John, you and Larry hang out here for about an hour while I work east and look around for turkey sign. Then, checking his watch, he said, I’ll be back around 10:30.

OK, Dad answered. I’ll find a spot for Larry, and then I’ll move across the hollow to where I can still keep an eye on him. With that said, Uncle Ed moved out. Dad showed me where to sit; then he eased across the hollow.

Essentially, we were all hunting squirrel with the hope that we might also see some turkeys. Uncle Ed had scouted the area the week before and had seen a flock in the same hollow in which we were hunting. Before long, I saw several gray squirrels skittering around below me, but they were too far away to shoot with my sixteen-gauge shotgun. All I could do was sit and watch until they disappeared out of sight. I didn’t realize, however, that I was about to experience the hunt of a lifetime. But, before I get into that, let me tell you why I got so fired about hunting at such an early age.

From the time I was a young lad (eight or nine) growing up in Yeagertown, I wanted to hunt. The so-called experts say that we are a product of our genes and of our environment. Looking back, I firmly believe that I was predisposed to be a hunter—it was in my genes; it was in my blood.

Although my father wasn’t a hunter in later life, he and Granddad Harshbarger hunted rabbits with dogs when he was younger. And, if you go back through the generations of Harshbargers, you’ll find that many of them were avid outdoorsmen who hunted, trapped and fished.

In addition to the gene effect, my growing up in Yeagertown—a small town in central Pennsylvania—provided me and my friends with an environment that encouraged hunting. Within easy walking distance were woodlands, open fields, mountains and streams harboring all kinds of wild game and fish. In addition, there were many adult outdoorsmen willing to share their hunting, trapping and fishing experiences with us youngsters.

By the time I was twelve and eager to hunt, my Dad had given it up. Nevertheless, he bought a hunting license and, along with Uncle Ed, saw that I got out this first day of the season. And now, back to the hunt:

Suddenly, I thought I heard something. What was that? I whispered to myself. Then I heard it again. It was several turkeys calling way down the hollow below me. I knew they were turkeys, because they sounded just like Uncle Ed when he practiced on his turkey caller.

It wasn’t long until I saw Uncle Ed and Dad getting back together. Soon, they were walking toward me. Before they even got close, I blurted out, I heard turkeys calling.

You did, Uncle Ed said with a slight grin.

Where at? Dad asked.

Down there, I answered as I pointed down the hollow.

Well, I didn’t hear any, Dad offered.

The way they exchanged glances and smiles, I could tell they didn’t believe me. After some discussion, however, Uncle Ed said to Dad, John you stay here. I’ll take Larry with me, and we’ll circle around to the right and sneak up to the hollow where Larry thinks he heard turkeys.

OK, Dad answered and moved up the mountain a few yards where he sat down against a large oak.

Twenty minutes later, Uncle Ed and I were sneaking to the western edge of the hollow about 200 yards below where Dad was sitting. Uncle Ed led the way; I followed in his footsteps. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, turned and motioned for me to do the same. No sooner had I knelt down than Uncle Ed’s twelve-gauge roared. Wild turkeys exploded into the air in all directions. Mesmerized by the sights and sounds, I became frozen in place and never fired a shot. Seconds later, two shotgun blasts reverberated down the hollow from Dad’s location. Turkeys were calling everywhere.

Uncle Ed and I walked down into the hollow and checked out his shot. Although he had missed, Uncle Ed had scattered the flock all over the mountain. Before long, Dad showed up wearing a large grin.

You boys shouldn’t do that to me, he said. I had to shoot in self defense. Two turkeys nearly ran over me. With that, Uncle Ed exploded into laughter.

Since Uncle Ed was the only one able to use a turkey call, he suggested that he get above Dad and me and do some calling. Dad and I were sitting together when Uncle Ed opened with his signature set of calls: Yelp, Yelp, Yelp, followed by Cluck, Cluck, and finally Yelp, Yelp, Yelp all made on his favorite box call. It wasn’t long until turkeys were answering and moving toward Uncle Ed. Although Dad and I saw a few, they were always out of shotgun range for us. Suddenly, the turkeys shut up. Minutes later, a shot-gun blast erupted from Uncle Ed’s location.

Was that Uncle Ed? I asked.

I’m sure it was, Dad answered.

I hope he got a turkey.

He probably did, Dad said with confidence.

Before long, we knew. A beaming Uncle Ed showed up carrying a nice young gobbler.

As I pen this story 63 years later, I can still see and hear that flock of turkeys breaking up before my very eyes. What a way for a youngster to start his lifelong journey with the Pennsylvania Wild Turkey. No wonder, at 76, I’m still chasing them.

It was the last year my Dad hunted. From then on, he turned me over to Uncle Ed for mentoring. Uncle Ed, who lived in Reedsville—a small town two miles north of Yeagertown—was well known throughout the county as an expert turkey hunter and trout fisherman. In fact, the townspeople used to say. If Eddie Dell is sitting on his front porch during trout season, you might as well not go fishing because nothing will be biting. But, getting back to the turkey hunting let me tell you how things were then.

First of all, there weren’t as many turkeys in central Pennsylvania as there are now. Only the major mountains and valleys harbored flocks of them. For example, there was one flock in all of New Lancaster Valley, only one in Treaster Valley, one in Havice Valley, one in Stone Valley, one in Coopers Gap, one in Lingle Valley, and one in the Alan Seeger/ Detweiler area. The many woodlands and small ridges that now have an excellent population of wild turkey had not a single one back then.

Secondly, turkey hunters were extremely secretive about where they hunted and how they made out. In fact, one old turkey hunter in Yeagertown admitted to