As fall envelops the landscape, memories of my adventures through the woods of Maryland, Virginia, Delaware, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, extending all the way to the deep, serene forests of Maine, come rushing back like a vivid dream. In the late 1960s, I became captivated by hunting—a passion ignited by my father-in-law, Tom Sarlo, whose fond tales of his adventurous trips to Wyoming for antelope, to Maine for majestic deer, and to North Carolina and Maryland for waterfowl filled me with excitement. The countless hours spent in the field, pursuing game in the lush and winding waterways of South Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland, fostered enduring friendships that enriched my life.

Throughout the years, I have stalked white-tailed deer in the pristine Moosehead Lake area of Maine and in the shadowy woods surrounding Bangor. I explored the breathtaking Delaware Water Gap, the serene expanses of the Batsto Pine Barrens, Mannington Meadows in Salem, New Jersey, and the stunning Catskill Mountain range in New York. Each journey is etched in my mind, including those thrilling days hunting geese and ducks at Ernie Council’s Farms in Symra, Delaware, and Woodland Beach, as well as searching for elusive deer in the tranquil Blackbird Forest, Delaware.

One particularly memorable trip in November 1996 took me deep into the Catskill Mountains. Alongside my friends Scott and Bob Bevan, and Bill Tourtual, we embarked on a six-hour drive to our hunting destination. The journey led us through picturesque Lake Placid, site of the Winter Olympics in 1932 and 1980—a place forever etched in sporting history. I was struck by how small Lake Placid appeared; it seemed to dwarf against the grandeur depicted on television, contrasting the reality with its charming, quaint atmosphere.

I had made arrangements for the four of us at a rustic horse farm, situated 2 miles off the main road through the forrest, where a spacious log cabin awaited us, comfortably nestled among towering pine trees. The serenity of the setting was breathtaking, a beautiful tapestry painted with nature’s palette. When we arrived, it started to snow, which made the scene look like something you would find on a 33Christmas card.  Our hosts, the warm and welcoming Marie and Joe—both of Italian descent and in their mid-60s—provided an enchanting hospitality experience. Each morning, we were roused at 5 AM by the enticing aromas of freshly brewed coffee and a medley of mouthwatering breakfast delights wafting up to our second-floor bedrooms. Joe, a master chef, gave us a choice of breakfast food to choose from. That lst included waffles, pancakes, eggs cooked to perfection, crispy bacon, savory sausage, traditional scrapple, French toast, succulent ham, homemade muffins, and the freshest orange juice squeezed right from the fruit. He also packed us delectable lunches, or we could return to the cabin to savor a warm bowl of delicious soup that always simmered on the stove. For dinner, Marie outdid herself each night with flavorsome dishes such as juicy steak, tender pork chops, comforting pot roast, classic spaghetti with meatballs, and perfectly stuffed ravioli, all accompanied by a delightful assortment of side dishes. Homemade red wine flowed freely with our meals, enhancing the camaraderie. After dinner, we gathered around the crackling fire, recounting tales from the day’s hunt or sharing past adventures. The chilly mountain air bore its bite, but the comfort of the roaring fireplace and the warm glow of good wine created a cozy haven where laughter and stories thrived. It was clear from the outset: during our five-day stay, we would be well-fed and well taken care of.

The farm was home to a lively herd of horses, their paddock sheltered under the protective arms of towering trees, topped with a large canvas to shield them from the snow. Every time we strolled by, the sight of 25 or 30 spirited horses galloping in circles created a delightful spectacle. The guide used these magnificent creatures to transport supplies to his fishing camp, nestled higher in the mountains, during spring and summer.

The abundant woods and sprawling mountain ranges lay just a short, exhilarating walk from our cabin—a luxury that spared us from the need to drive anywhere to hunt. We could simply step out the front door and find ourselves enveloped in the tranquil embrace of nature.

On the first day of hunting, snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, painting the landscape in a soft, white blanket. As the day brightened, I heard the rhythmic sound of hammering in the distance. Curious, I quietly followed the sound until I stumbled upon an elderly man his wool cap and coat were covered in snow diligently installing railroad tracks for a whimsical miniature train, reminiscent of those at Disney. He warmly shared that he had been working on this labor of love for years, a project that gave him purpose and joy, especially for his grandchildren. What began when they were small had now transformed into a cherished legacy as they had grown into high school students.

The next morning, I ventured up the mountain, the ground beneath my feet perfectly adorned with a layer of glistening snow. That day was a gift; I encountered a rare white fox, a graceful lynx, and a snowshoe rabbit, each one exuding an ethereal beauty. Unfortunately, this was long before smartphones allowed for quick snapshots. Nevertheless, I savored the moments—truly appreciating the breathtaking animals I encountered. I found deep enjoyment in simply observing nature, relishing the solitude of the woods, where it was just me and the wonders of the wild. From my very first day of hunting, I vowed never to shoot an animal I didn’t intend to eat. That year in the Catskills, only Scott managed to bag a deer—a majestic eight-pointer with a broad, impressive rack. Its coat gleamed in deep brown, nearly black, a stunning testament to the thrill of the hunt.

In the fall, deer shed their reddish-brown summer coat and grow a thicker, grayish-brown winter coat. This darker color provides better camouflage against the dark browns and grays of the winter forest and helps to absorb more heat from the sun. 

For several years, a group of us would get together at my house at the end of the hunting season for a wildlife dinner. Jan Ferry, Bill Graves, Bob Bevan, Bill Tourtual, Tom Sarlo, and several others. We would all bring something that we had shot that hunting season.  Bear meat, venison, antelope, duck, pheasant, goose, rabbit, brant, etc. My wife, Connie, would look up recipes from a wildlife cooking book for directions on how to prepare those delicacies. Some of the invited guests would bring their contribution already cooked.

Another memorable adventure took place in the early 1970s; it was a three-day Canada goose hunt at Ernie Council’s farm in Smyrna, Delaware. Jim and Jan Ferry, Bill Tourtual, Stevie Moy, John Rowand, Tom Sarlo, Bob Bevan, Joe Miller, Bill Graves, Ernie Ritchie, and I. We were housed in a dormitory-like structure that held showers, toilets, and bunk beds, along with a dining area. Bevan only packed three shotgun shells and mistakenly placed his son’s hunting coat in his duffle bag, which was considerably smaller than his own. That resulted in all of us riding to a local sporting goods store so Bevan could buy more shotgun shells and a coat that would fit him.

 At the same time, each one of us secretly purchased a goose call.  The following morning, we found ourselves stumbling in the dark to five goose blinds erected in a corn field. The geese could be heard in the distance, sitting in a nearby pond. Someone starts blowing their goose call, which prompts several others to do the same. Before long, our entire group was doing the same. It was laughable. Ernie Council was sitting in his pickup truck parked in a tree line nearby. Besides our group, other hunters in the area were not pleased with us. I could understand why. Since I made the reservations for this trip, Ernie said to me that if we do anything like that again, he would ask us to leave. Out of the 10 of us, only Tourtual got a goose. He was shooting a large 10-gauge double-barreled shotgun. Plus, he was an excellent wing shooter. The geese are big, and when they fly over you, there is a tendency to think they are closer than they are. The secret is to wait until you can clearly see the patch of white on the goose’s cheek. Only then do you shoot. You also have to lead the goose before pulling the trigger. They can fly 30 to 40 mph, and if there is a tailwind, they fly even faster. When they are migrating, they reach speeds of 70 mph.

TOMMY TURKEY FINDS ME ATTRACTIVE

A few years ago, I had the incredible opportunity to join Chuck Zearfoss, affectionately known as “Ziggy,” for a deer hunting trip that remains one of my fondest memories. We traveled to a farm in Clayton, Delaware, where our longtime friend and former Gloucester City resident, Bill “The Worm” Seddon, called home. Upon arrival, The Worm enthusiastically directed us to a winding path leading to three tree stands set up for our day of adventure. The November air was refreshingly brisk, invigorating us for the hunt ahead. As Bill made his way to his stand, Ziggy and I excitedly donned our camouflage gear and gathered our shotguns and equipment from my truck.

I took a moment to sit on a log and lace up my boots when, out of the blue, a large Tom turkey with a broken wing came barreling toward me! This bold bird totally caught me off guard, waddling up without a second thought and attempting to “make friends” with my right leg. Ziggy erupted in laughter, a joyful sound that rang through the woods and probably sent nearby deer running for cover!

This turkey was relentless, and I couldn’t help but compare it to the Energizer Bunny, full of energy and charisma! Forgetting all about my boots, I dashed toward the tree stands with my new feathery companion, excitedly trailing behind, gobbling happily. When I reached my chosen stand, I swiftly climbed the ladder, my heart racing with excitement as I settled into my perch. Glancing down, I spotted my turkey friend looking up at me, waddling around, and continuing to gobble. I laughed nervously, secretly wondering how I would escape this quirky bird when I came back down.

As the morning unfolded, I was still laughing as Tommy Turkey looked up at me in the tree stand every so often and gobbled. Hearing that sound, both Ziggy and the Worm would laugh. Eventually, it wandered off toward my parked truck, leaving me with a treasure trove of unforgettable moments. This adventurous trip was not just about hunting; it became a reminder of the joy and laughter that the great outdoors can unexpectedly bring into our lives at times.  

GLOUCESTER CITY ROD AND GUN CLUB est. 1972

ABOVE: FIRST ROW: Joe Miller, Bill Cleary Sr., Bill Tourtual. Back row, Jim Ferry, Jan Ferry, Steve Moy

I was one of the founders of the Gloucester City Rod and Gun Club. That organization led me to become an NRA Safety Instructor and a member of the New Jersey Federation of Sportsmen’s Clubs and Ducks Unlimited. The Club purchased land near Mannington Meadows in Salem. It consisted of swamps and a large pond that ducks frequented. A few years later, that property was sold, and the proceeds were used to buy 10 acres of land and a run-down brick structure near the Batso Pines.

I recall one meeting of the NJ Federation of Sportsmen Clubs, held in the 70s at the Square Circle in Gibbsboro, where they were selling $5 turkey buttons. The money raised was to be used to import turkeys from West Virginia to New Jersey in the hope of establishing a turkey population. Today, according to the state Fish and Game, between 20,000 and 30,000 turkeys are roaming New Jersey.

I hunted in the Pine Barrens, and in the 70s and 80s, if you saw a turkey there or elsewhere in the woods, it was a rare sight. In the fall, we would always see or hear Canadian geese fly over our homes heading south during the months of October and November; they rarely stopped in our state. At night, when there was a full moon, and you were lying in your bed trying to go to sleep, there were times when the sound of geese heading south could be heard.

Have you ever come across the saying, “Be careful what you wish for?” It holds profound meaning, especially when we consider the history of hunting clubs that once sought to introduce turkeys to New Jersey. While many of us fondly reminisce about the sight of geese migrating south in the fall, the reality today is quite different. These beautiful birds have, unfortunately, become a nuisance, populating our public parks and playgrounds to the point where they hinder our enjoyment of these spaces. Their droppings can make walking difficult and have even impacted the health of local water bodies, affecting fish habitats. With some dogs falling ill due to this issue, it’s clear we’ve encountered unintended consequences. In fact, back in 2019, the state Department of Environmental Protection took action, trapping and relocating numerous turkeys. It’s a reminder of the importance of thoughtful wildlife management for a balanced coexistence. Let’s continue to cherish and protect our environment!

One of the favorite topics that came up when a group of New Jersey hunters got together in the 1970s was black bears. When are we going to see a black bear in the southern portion of the state? In North Jersey and the western part of the state it wouldn’t be a surprise to see one. But here in the southern part, there have been very few sightings.

https://www.njherald.com/story/news/2021/01/31/black-bear-complaints-population-double-in-new-jersey/6567022002

BLACK BEARS ARE HERE

I recall the  Monroe Township Police Department (Gloucester County, NJ) alerted the public one summer that a black bear was last seen heading towards the Glassboro Wildlife Management area in nearby Glassboro.

Police issued the following information about the species.

A black bear passing through an area and not causing a problem should be left alone. People should leave the area and allow the bear to continue on its way. When frightened, bears may seek refuge by climbing trees. If the bear does go up a tree, clear the area and give the bear time to climb down and escape.

There were numerous sightings of black bear in Gloucester County in 2020, according to in the New Jersey Herald.

Gloucester County didn’t have any bear sightings or other reports in 2019 but had 23 in 2020, and Middlesex County went from a single report in 2019 to 16 in 2020.

In Hunterdon County, the bear count went from 83 to 85. But in other areas there was a dramatic increase. Bergen County went from 20 incident reports to 75 and urban Hudson County went from zero in 2019 to five complaints in 2020.