Last week I had the pleasure of attending the New York State Outdoor Writers Association's Annual Safari, this year held in St. Lawrence County. The hub for the gathering was Basswood Lodge and Hunting Preserve near Rensselaer Falls. I've been friends with the Forsythe family, who own and run the operation, for many years. So the four-day visit was special in two ways: I was able to network with my fellow outdoor media members, while spending time with my friends, the Forsythe's.
Basswood is one of the finest lodges in the entire East, and offers a variety of hunting adventures, from wild turkey to preserve pheasant, to both native and exotic big game, and also what is considered the finest waterfowl hunting in the Atlantic Flyway. The operation encompasses a total of 2,300 acres, 1,300 owned and 1,000 leased. Within this is 360 acres of the best waterfowl wetlands in the East, home to massive numbers of various duck species as well as Canada geese. Of course, due to the high quality habitat, both wet and dry, the area brims with all sorts of wildlife, both game and non-game species.
Basswood has three large lodges, two of which are close together along County Route 14, just east of Rensselaer Falls. Media members were lodged in these two, and the facilities certainly were far from what you'd expect in a "hunting lodge." Satellite TV, lounge, full kitchen, recreation room, complete with a regulation pool table, lodge-length outside decks with extended roofs, and spacious bedrooms. Not exactly "roughing it." The views from the lodges are magnificent, and various wildlife is almost constantly in view.
An operation as large and successful as Basswood doesn't just happen. It takes years of hard work, proper planning, business savvy, knowledge of habitat and wildlife, and then the desire to maintain and improve the level of what's there. Despite the great habitat and abundant wildlife, the preserve raises 4,000 pheasants and 1,200 mallards each year and is constantly maintaining, expanding and improving habitat. Plus, at its huge high-fence operation at the Old Stone Fence facilities, it maintains large numbers of deer, red stag, elk, bison, wild sheep, goat and boar. Media members attending the safari had the choice each day to hunt gobblers, fish, or spend a half day doing each. That area of the state harbors arguably the highest density of wild turkeys in the entire state, and thanks to its own prime habitat and also agreements with other landowners, Basswood has jibs on the best locations in the area. Angling was available in Black Lake, the St. Lawrence River, and in any of several quality trout flows nearby. For media members who relish hunting and fishing, it was like being a hungry kid in a candy store.
Because of previous assignments, my activities were centered around gobbler hunting. The first morning I was teamed with Dave Forsythe. Dave had a spot on the back side of a large plowed field that jutted up to big hardwoods where he'd been seeing birds, including several adult gobblers. Although we heard one thunderous gobble back in the woods, that was it, and no turkeys responded or appeared.
Then it was off to another location, where we spotted a couple longbeards and accompanying hens in a big greenfiled. In spite of our pleas, the toms refused to gobble or be lured by our calling. The same happened in another greenfield farther up the road – a decent tom just ignored us. I told Dave not to feel bad, that our gobblers back home were acting the same way, much to the frustration of local hunters. The high point of our morning was when we encountered an old hen turkey that must have been bilingual, as she entertained us with a variety of "hen talk" for almost half an hour.
The next morning I was teamed up with fellow writer and friend Leo Maloney. Leo and I met local hunters Bryan Noble and Jim Rheome at Bryan's family's farm just as dawn crept in. Jim said there were two toms gobbling – one in the trees directly across a field in back of the barn, and another farther away toward another field. We began to hustle along the field when we heard the nearest tom fly down. We scurried to find cover, of which there was little.
Bryan said, "Bob, set up over there," pointing to a batch of small shrubs and briars next to a barbwire fence. I did, and then Bryan pointed to an opening in the fence just in front of my feet and said, "They like to come through here." We began calling and the tom responded, getting closer. But rather than come straight across the field to us, it opted to circle and come in along the fence-line to my right and behind me. Due to high brush and briars, I could only point my shotgun ahead and slightly to my left. As I peered over my left shoulder and through the semi-blocking growth, I spotted the tom as it walked near the fence and toward us. I thought, "This bird's going to pass right next to me."
As the tom grew closer, I tried to shrink down as small as I could in the sparse cover I was pinned down in. Sure enough, the tom walked by me at about 10 yards or probably less. I scarcely dared to breath. The bird stopped and its beady black eyes bore into me like lasers. Sweat time for Bob. Then, miraculously, the tom started walking again. And I could breath again. A few more steps and it would offer me a shot. Then the tom spotted the decoys Bryan and Jim and put out to my right. It turned and started straight toward my feet - right where Bryan had said the turkeys liked to exit the field. Time to do something, I thought.
As the tom closed the distance between us – 15, then 12, then 10 yards – it was suddenly time to try for a shot before I'd have the tom in my lap. I brought the shotgun up in one smooth move. The tom froze in mid-step just as my sights settled on its upper neck, and I shot. More correctly, I tried to shoot. The gun went "Click!" At that instant, I don't know who was more surprised, the gobbler or me. Both of us reacted. The tom launch and I jacked a fresh shell into the chamber. Too late, the tom was flapping away. My spanking new 3 1/2-inch shotgun shell had misfired, despite a deep dent in the primer from the firing pin striking it.
That was the beginning of as an adventurous a morning of gobbler hunting that I've ever had. I'll relate the rest of the story in next week's column.