Last Call

                                                                   Last Call

                                                                 11/01/2025 

 I parked in the empty camping spot all ready to hunt turkey. Outside the truck I put my hip boots on and grabbed my gear. Under the beam of my flashlight I crossed the shallower section of the creek, under the dim moonlight, to the other side. I could have parked along the road and walked across the bridge to the pipeline gait but that would have took longer. On the other side of the creek I took off my hip boots and put on my hunting boots I carried with me. I put the big flashlight in my folded hip boots and laid them against a big rock along the bank. I took out my smaller, pen like, flashlight and walked up to the pipeline.

 It was the first day of fall turkey season here in Pennsylvania. I was camping along the Clarion River for the past week or so. I’v been hunting the area around the camper but didn’t hear or find any sign of turkey in the area. Upon driving River Road I’d come across small flocks of turkeys but they were always in posted areas except one spot.

 For the past couple of years I would see a few turkeys feeding in the openings of the wide pipeline trail. One day, on the drive back to my camper the past week, I saw a few turkeys crossing the pipeline trail. Without any signs around my camper I decided to hunt the turkeys there.

 I had already checked out where to cross the creek in shallow water. I knew it might be more dangerous, meaning I might slip crossing with rubber soled hip boots, but I thought it would get me to the pipeline quicker and not walk up the pipeline in the morning light from the road.

 On the pipeline I walked into the woods. Being I never hunted on the other side of the pipeline trail I was walking blind. I only went maybe 20 yards into the dark woods, found a tree to sit by, scraped leaves away and sat down to wait out the darkness of the morning. I loaded the over and under double barrel, put on my camo gloves and was hoping the turkeys wouldn’t spot me in my camos I was wearing from head to toe. It was a quiet morning in the darkness. Every once in a while a cool breeze would blow through the tree tops rattling the bare branches and some of the fragile leaves that still hung from their limbs. On occasion I’d hear a vehicle, from the side of the road I parked my truck, drive up the small section of pavement and then upon the gravel road leading along the creek till the sound was unheard. I sat listening to anything that was within ear shot but it was quiet until dawn.

 It was just starting to get light out when the whole hillside erupted in turkey clucks and gobbles. Up to my left it sounded like a bunch of wild turkeys clucking, and yelping noisily like they owned the hillside waiting to get together on the ground. Over to my right, about a hundred yards or more, gobblers would gobble as if letting the cluckers know they are listening. 

 Once it was bright enough I suppose the flock, or two, up to my left flew down from their roost. For about a half hour or so it sounded like an all out riot of name calling by a few rival pirate gangs in a grog shop. While that was going on the gobblers to my right would sound off as if cheering them on. I finally heard them fly down but they were somewhere in the distance beyond vision. For about a half hour after all the riot noise, on occasion, I’d hear a few clucks and gobbles until the woods fell silent. I tried to coax one to come in my direction but they didn’t appear that any of them wanted to do anything with a stray lost turkey caller. I sat till around 10 and then walked deeper in the woods to check out the area. 

 I made it to the top of the hillside and the ground was tore up with turkey scratchings. Both old and fresh leaves were scattered about showing that the turkeys visit the hilltop often. I sat for awhile and watched a few squirrels and chipmunks playing around. I spotted a couple of deer and a buck with a very visible rack a little over a hundred and fifty yards away. With no signs or sounds of turkey I headed back down the hill and back to my truck. I figured to go back to camp, eat lunch, take my senior citizen nap, and come back in the evening. I figured I didn’t walk far enough in the woods in the morning to be within sight of the roosting turkeys. Now that I was more familiar with the area I might have a better chance for locating a flock.

 About 2 pm I got my camos back on and drove down to the pipeline. Instead of crossing the creek I decided to cross on the bridge and slow and quietly walk up the pipeline before walking into the forest. It went as planned. 

 Into the forest I still wanted to be able to see the pipeline so I walked about fifty yards or so into the woods and made a place to sit. It was a long wait while watching squirrels and chipmunks scurrying around before I heard the sound of fallen leaves being rustled on the forest floor behind me. I slowly turned to my left and looked down towards the pipeline. There were at least 5 gobblers, I spotted, rustling and feeding into the crisp leaves. Some of them were long beards. I was able to turn easily to get my shotgun within vision without too much movement or noise. Two of the turkeys were well within my vision feeding but I felt out of distance range of my 3” mags. I must have watched them for about 15 minutes as they fed and unknowingly teased me with a shot. There was a thick diameter log laying upon the ground that at least three turkeys were feeding beyond but two of them continued feeding on my side of the log. They slowly fed getting closer but there was thin short leafless saplings scattered between me and the two. One hopped over the log towards the far side. There was a scattering of thick branches, it looked like beyond the log, of a fallen tree. It appeared that the two of the turkeys on my side were going to head that way which they would disappear from my sight. The one turkey got within my shot gun sight. He was maybe 40 yards but not more than 50. I could only see his neck and head as he stood, head up, as a lookout in the crows nest. I decided to take a shot before he disappeared behind the log. I pulled the trigger and watched as the turkey I aimed at and the others flew back towards and over the pipeline. I evidently didn’t hit the turkey as he flew off without looking to be wounded. I thought I heard a cluck beyond the thickest part of the branches of the dead fallen tree. I waited a bit before slowly walking down to see if there were feathers of the turkey I shot at. There was none.

 Figuring I might of scattered a flock that was nearby I backed up just this side of the log out in front of the thick saplings I shot through. I sat high enough that I was able to see over the fallen log though not through the thick branches of the fallen tree. I had a clear opening, without much interference of the short sapling, for about 50 yards or so. While sitting there for about 20 minutes or so I heard some clucking beyond the thickest part of the fallen tree. Just after that I heard the gobblers on the other side of the road start to answer. I decided to cluck along hoping to get a turkey interested to come out of the thickest part of the woods and into my vision. 

 Slowly, walking with caution, a turkey appeared within my vision. He had his head up and I’m sure looking for any signs of distracting movement. I already had my double barrel up with my elbow resting on my knee. The gobblers on the other side would call out and I’d cluck and purr now and again to get the turkeys attention. On occasion he’d look my way and look back again towards the gobblers as if trying to make a decision of which way he wanted to go. He was within 30 yards I’d say when he was in view and without any interference of brush. I called out for the last time and he stopped and looked my way. I looked down the shotgun rail and put the bead on his neck just under his head and pulled the trigger. The double barrel sounded off, in the quietness of the forest, like a cannon being fired from a pirate frigate on the high seas. He tumbled backwards upon the leafy ground as if he just gotten shot in the chest by a pirates blunderbuss. I listened to him flapping his wings as leaves blew off the forest floor from his frantic flapping. My gun was up for another shot but he was evidently doing a death roll. He disappeared in a divot in the forest floor out of my vision. I heard a few more rustling of leaves before everything turned quiet once more. I waited a short after reloading from the spent shell in the bottom barrel. Quietly I got up and attached my hot seat to my belt and wrapped, and locked, my fanny pack around my waist.  

 Slowly I moved towards where I shot at the turkey. I found him, feet upwards like a passed out drunken swabbie on the main deck of his ship! 

 My last call was the last call he ever heard! My fall turkey season came to an end.

 I looked at my cell phone and it read 6:05 pm. After field dressing the 6” bearded turkey I carried him to the truck and drove towards camp. 

  Before getting to camp I drove up the hill and texted my buddy that I found a hillside of turkeys noting I got one. He texted back and said he’d be up early Sunday morning. (Which he did and got a turkey by 9:00 am.)

 Back at camp I hung the gobbler from a tree limb and went and had supper. After that I got a hot campfire going in the cold chilly night. I lit up a Last Call cigar and opened a can of beer. I sat back and enjoyed the camp life!  

~doubletaper

 

Sunshine and Rainbows

                                                          Sunshine and Rainbows

10/05/25 

 It was in the upper 40º range Sunday morning so I wasn’t in a hurry to get out and trout fish. I made myself some coffee and a hearty breakfast of pancakes in the camper before heading out. 

 I got my fishing gear in the truck and headed off to Oil Creek for some trout fishing. The state was supposed to stock the creek on the first of October and I was pretty sure they did.

 In the parking lot I walked down to the water to see the water level. It was sad seeing the creek as low as it was. The once nice knee deep riffles that flowed into a deeper section was now a bunch of rocks strewn about with small streams of water that found its way between the exposed rocks. From a high flying birds eye view it probably looked like a bunch of oversized marbles scattered on a kids play mat. There were two guys fishing a deeper section I presumed? They were 3/4 cross the creek in shin deep water casting out about 25 feet. The fly guy was catching fish but the spin guy wasn’t. I went back to the truck to get my gear on.

 I put on my hip waders as there was no need for chest waders in the shallow creek. When I looked in my vest I noticed I didn’t have my nymph box. I doubt I’d be using nymphs anyhow being the water was really shallow and fresh stocked rainbows like streamers anyway. I did have my wet fly box just in case. I took out my Douglas 4 weight 9 foot fly rod and strung it up with weight forward floating line. I Grabbed a few cigars and headed back to the creek. 

 The sun was near enough to just be rising over the far side trees above the railroad tracks that laid high above the bank. The temperature was increasing some as the sun rose. The predicted temperature was to be in the 80* range though the water felt cool enough not to wet wade in. I started casting out a Woolly Bugger down stream from the rocky riffles and behind the two fishermen. The water was shallow, just about knee deep at the most, and plenty of round and flat rocks so I had to keep stripping the bugger towards me to keep from snagging. 

 The fly guy down creek from me was pretty much catching trout at will. I wasn’t sure what he was using underneath but he must of found a gathering of trout cause he wasn’t moving and was casting in the same small area. The trout he was catching were pretty active when he hooked them and splashed helplessly to his net.

 I made a cast out towards the far bank and slowly strip the bugger towards me as it swung down stream. I felt a grab and had my fist fighting rainbow splashing the surface in the shallow water like an anxious puppy trying to get back to the beach in the ebb tide.  

 I caught one more trout before I was too close to the other fishermen. 

 I waded around the two fishermen and down creek further then where they were casting. I made a cast down and across. I swear the bugger just sunk under the water when I saw a surface splash and swirl. I jerked the rod back more by instinct reaction then actually thinking about it. The line tightened and took off down creek. I held the rod tightly as the trout tugged and carried on. The 4 weight bowed nicely as I fought the trout to the net. 

 By now I felt the sun was shining down from above and brightened all surroundings like a school cafeteria lunch room. I lit a cigar and enjoyed the moment! 

 The water now, under the sunshine, looked as clear as well water that had settled in a glass pitcher with brown sediment laying on the bottom. Normally I wouldn’t think trout would be so active being under the sunshine and clear water. With long casts the trout didn’t mind feeding under such conditions. Once hooked they weren’t all that easy to bring in. They fought wildly from the time I set the hook all the way to the net and then some. Some of the rainbows, once hooked, shot up out of the surface water like a kid on a trampoline. It appeared once the water was stirred up with all the commotion, from the hooked trout, it was more difficult to get one to bite. I slowly waded down creek further and continued to cast into the near knee deep shallows trying to avoid the bigger rocks and flat ledges. Once it got real shallow I started to wade back up to where I started upstream from the two other fishermen.

 By now the fly guy was sitting along the far bank relaxing and verbally coaching the younger guy with the spinning rod. He’d catch a trout now and then but had an awkward time trying to net the trout. Upstream from him I saw a line of trout in knee deep water almost motionless as if waiting in the cafeteria food line. I made a cast up creek from them and further across. When my line hit the water some trout scattered like a bunch of young school kids, in the playground, escaping from who had the cooties. I let the bugger swing down creek with my rod held a little higher than the surface keeping the bugger from bumping the creek bed. Slowly I was stripping line and wham a trout grabbed the bugger on the swing. I wristed the rod up and the line tightened with another nice size fighting trout.  

 The two guys decided to take off and walked up the far bank before crossing to avoid stirring up the trout around me. I caught one more trout before wading down to where the other fishermen were catching trout. Once, within my vision, I stopped and made a stand. There was a school of trout in a small area like children at a school bus stop. I would cast my bugger to the side of them, when I could, and stripped the bugger towards me within their vision. The wind sort of picked up and casting into the cross wind I wasn’t that accurate.

 Sometimes a rainbow would grab the bugger hard but other times it wasn’t so easily noticed. Letting the bugger swing into the crowd I watched the tip of my floating line. At the slightest twitch of the line I had to be quick to hook a trout. At times it was as if a rainbow was swiping at the bugger from the side and not grabbing it fully. All the trout I did catch was by their lips. Hardly any were hooked into their jaw and none were hooked inside their mouth. Most of the rainbows were nice size and healthy looking.  

 It got to be slow going from then on. The trout were evidently being cautious with all the commotion but every once in a while I’d get a strike and I had to be ready for the slightest take. 

 I was having fun catching rainbows and not really paying attention to the time. The sun moved above without me noticing. What I did notice was the shadows along the far bank was moving towards me. The wind got a little stronger and it took more energy to cast into the cross wind. The fish appeared to get bored with my offerings anyhow. Sometimes when my line hit the water there were wakes of surface water from scattering trout.

  I decided to call it a day when the last two fish I caught, after a long period of nothing, were small smallmouth. Overall it was fun for the time being catching rainbows under the sunshine.

~doubletaper

Evening Smallmouth

Evening Smallmouth

9/16/25. 

 After dinner I decided to fish for smallmouth. The river water has been very low for lack of rain. I figured the bass may have been staying in the deepest water during the hot sunny days or holding under the canopy of leafy tree limbs that overhung the far bank. I thought maybe, around sundown, the smallmouth might come out of their hiding places and look for crawfish in the shallow water. After dinner I knotted on a brown Woolly Bugger and walked across the road to the river with my 6 weight fly rod.

 At the river I looked around at the evening sky and water. Gray clouds, not rain clouds, filled the sky looking like left over smoke from a passed steam engine. The sun was well hidden but it was easily determined which way the false steam engine was heading. 

 The river water looked like the wrinkled sheets on the king size bed in the camper. Images of the trees, that stood tall along the river, threw dark shadows along the banks. Mid river their was the mirror image of the sky above. The air was much cooler than the hot sunny day temperature earlier. 

 I stood in ankle deep water and was pulling line out of the spool for my first cast. I looped line forward, only about two rods length, getting ready to make an overhand cast out into the river. All of a sudden I felt the line pulling! I looked and saw the straightening line pulling out from the tip top. I tightened my fingers on the line between the reel and first guide and felt the tugging of the line. A fish had grabbed the brown bugger in no more than shin deep water and was struggling to take it out in the main body as if that’s where it will decide to eat its catch. I got the frantic pulling fish under control and brought him to the net. A nice size smallmouth laid in the net. I guess I was right about the smallmouth looking for food in the shallow waters along the banks!  

 After spilling him out of the net I took more line off the spool and casted along the shallow waters up and downriver a bit. I was hoping to hook another smallie that might be in the shallows looking for food. Well, I didn’t get any takers and started casting out out in the main body of water before wading out in deeper waters.

 I happen to be slowly stripping in the Woolly Bugger, after I let it swing down stream, when I felt a bump. The weighted bugger may have tapped a rock beneath the surface in the shallows or a fish missed a full mouthful of the bugger. I casted out the same distance and let the bugger swing as before. Once I felt it swing into the shallow water I raised the rod some to prevent the bugger from dragging the bottom. Instantly, this time, I felt a stronger tug and reared back the 9’ fly rod. I felt the top section bow and the line tightened. My second smallmouth was on the end of the line trying to get loose. He wasn’t all that big but he was a smallmouth. 

 Every once in awhile the slow moving clouds would expose the sun and brighten up the evening. It was if the mirror image, on the river water surface and beneath, took a different presentation. The surface water became more colorful and the riverbed was more visible. 

 Slowly I continued wading down river and out as far as I could wade till I was about thigh high deep. I would cast as far as I could, towards the far bank. Sometimes down and across or straight across the river water. 

 One cast dropped my bugger in a slow pool of water near the far bank. Something grabbed the bugger just after it hit the water and started to sink. I noticed the dropped line pull quickly so I pulled the slack line back and yanked the rod high behind me. The slack line rose up from the water and tightened. I had another fish on the other end. It felt much stronger than the last and swam and fought well. I took my time bringing it to the net. 

 Downriver I was just about going to call it quits. The air turned much cooler. I was in the mood of ‘just one more catch’ and I’d call it quits. Most of the time it never comes to be. 

 I made a cast long and across. The bugger swung down river and I started to slowly strip it towards me. Lo and behold I felt a take a reared the rod back. The line tightened and I had my last smallmouth fish swimming and fighting beneath the surface. I got it to me handily and netted him. 

 The water beyond widened and got shallower. I hooked the bugger to the hook keeper on the butt section and waded to the stoney bank. From there I walked my way to the path, up to the road and to my camper. It turned out to be a successful, short time spent, fishing the evening for smallmouth.

~doubletaper

Wet Wading the Clarion River

                                                   Wet Wading the Clarion River

8/23/25 

 It was a warm Saturday morning. I had set up my camper at a campground in the ANF the day before just for a few days. I hadn’t fished for a week and was wanting to get out to the river to cast a line.

 I parked along the roadside and got my wading gear on, assembled my 9’ Compass fly rod and grabbed a few cigars. I figured, being a Saturday, there would be watercraft usage on the river. I was pretty far upriver away from the boat liveries and most easy access launches so I didn’t expect to be interrupted too frequently. 

 When I stepped into the water the water felt cool so I figured there was maybe a mountain spring run off upriver. It wasn’t like it gave me goose bumps but I knew, from the past outings, the water feels like warm bath water in the direct sunlight out in the open.

 I already had a Woolly Bugger attached to my tippet being the first long section of water I’de be fishing would be a section of wavy water that ran clear across the river. The radio stations claimed it might rain with a passing thunder shower but not till later in the evening. Weathermen and presidents are the only people who can be wrong more than 50% of the time and still keep their job.

 Looking up the clouds were slowly moving across the sky. They were bright white and puffy at times. Then looking up again they would turn grayish casting an unpredictable uneasy feeling down upon the river. It was like a mood ring on a women’s finger! You never know what her mood is until you looked at the ring! Above the clouds the sinister blue sky, pale metallic blue, was not too convincing of a beautiful day to be out. Even with the conditions so far I wasn’t to worried or prepared for a thunder shower. I donned my palm cowboy hat and didn’t  bring along any rain gear. Since I was wet wading I would just wade out and up to the truck in case of the first sign of rain. 

 On occasion a somewhat cool breeze would blow upriver towards me. It was if I could smell the moisture in its presence. The water was clear so the rocks and bigger stones stood out beneath like ice cubes in a glass of vodka on the rocks! Other than that the water was just about the shallowest I had ever seen it. This meant I would be able to wade out and reaching at least 3/4 across the river with my casts. The sunshine was already above unveiling the stream side greenery of trees and brush as if trying to brighten up the otherwise uncertain conditions.

 I waded to the riffling wavy water and the head of the water was pretty shallow. I casted out and held the rod tip up so my weighted bugger wouldn’t drag bottom and get snagged up. Usually I use a brown bugger fishing for smallmouth in the river but this morning I chose an olive shade I tie. Reason being I already knew trout inhabit the cooler and more oxygenated water I was starting to fish in. I’ve had more trout liking my olive color than brown thou I’ve caught trout on brown and vice-versa caught smallmouth on olive. 

 Slowly I waded further out and down into the wavy current casting my bugger across and letting it swing down river. I got my first take half way downriver where I casted the bugger on the far side of the wavy water that was calmer and looked deeper. A fish grabbed the bugger as if it drifted right into its mouth. Just enough of a stoppage of the line I saw and a nudge I felt that let me know something grabbed it. I reared back the rod and the battle began. He put up a good fight swimming into the wavy water and undercurrent. I had a feeling it was a smallmouth by the way it swam and jarred the line unlike a trout that darts quickly and tugs more frequently and fiercely. In the thigh high water I was standing in I got the smallmouth near enough to net him.

 

  Well, I stood my ground and decided to cast into the same area to see if there were any more around. It was if I found a small pocket of hungry fish waiting for food to pass by. I’m not sure what a Woolly Bugger is specifically suppose to represent but fish love them. Maybe a sculpin or just a clawless crawdad drifting beneath? I pulled out 3 more smallmouth around the same area. I knotted on a popper and tossed it out but didn’t have a take so I went back to the Olive Woolly Bugger and it was like it was the favorite meal of the day. I caught another before moving on. 

 I made a long cast across stream and watched the line as the bugger swung downriver into the wavy current. There was a lull in the wavy surface and I was anticipating a strike as I figured the bugger would enter. Without a strike I let the bugger swing downriver just below me and started to strip it towards me when I got a hard take. The line straightened as I lifted the rod back for a hook set. The fish darted across creek fast and strong enough I let it take line. I moved my rod upstream and he followed like a dog on a leash into the rushing current. There I moved the rod forcing side pressure on him. He eventually gave in, with the side pressure force, and swam downriver. We had quite a bit of a struggle before I netted a nice healthy rainbow. 

 After that I had two other fish hooked but lost them in the strong undercurrent. Just before the bridge I caught two more small smallmouth. Downstream from the bridge the water was pretty shallow or at least looked that way. I waded out, as I casted, until I was pretty much standing in the center of the river casting towards the far bank but no where near it. I was in thigh high water minding my own business when I heard voices upriver. Low and behold, looking upstream, a group of tubers were headed my way. The first few pardon themselves for disturbing my fishing. The river was open all too enjoy so I told them so as long as they didn’t run into me there wasn’t a problem. We laughed as they kept their distance. The last two were headed pretty much right for me. It looked like a young girl with her father behind her giving her instructions how to avoid me. Splashing her feet and waving her arms she was able to stay a little more than a few yards from me. She said she was sorry and I assured her it wasn’t a problem. After they left, floating downriver, I continued my fishing with more confidence but that didn’t catch anything. I wasn’t sure if the commotion scared the fish and they went into hiding but I couldn’t conjure up a strike. A few kayakers paddled by before I waded to the bank and up to the road and walked back to my truck. 

 It was just past 2:00 and I wasn’t ready to quit just yet. I drank some water, locked the truck and decided to go back and fish the wavy water again. I lit up another cigar and stepped into the river again. 

 It was near the same area I caught the other bass that I got another grab. It was hard and meaningful. He fought below the surface like a trout and it wasn’t easy to get him near me. It was if he wasn’t letting go and swam and fought with hard tugs. I finally got him close enough to net him. The hook had just barely pierced his lip and looked like it would of come out if he would have made a jump for it! 

 I hooked into one more trout in the wavy current and a couple of smallies.  

 It turned out a better catching day than I would of thought. The fish wouldn’t take a popper but they liked my Woolly Bugger. On the way back to the camper I filled up jugs with spring water, off the mountain that ran through a well placed PVC pipe. Back at camp I feasted on smoked cheese, Genoa salami, Greek olive medley, wine and crackers. That’s how to spend a camping weekend!  

 Though I usually boondock, camping in a small Federal campground in the Allegheny National Forest, with electric, is pretty easy! At $15.00 a site, the price was worth it for 3 days. 

~doubletaper