Volume XV. 



RECREATION 



NOVEMBER, J90J. 

 G. 0. SHIELDS (COQUINA), Editor and Manager. 



Number 5 



MY CUMBERLAND TURKEY. 



MR. R. L. WARNER. 



Long before my conservative par- 

 ents permitted me to use a gun, I had 

 conceived an ambition to some day 

 make the acquaintance of the wild 

 turkey in his native fastnesses. This 

 youthful hope, fondly nursed through 

 the successive stages of muzzle load- 

 er, single barreled breech loader, Par- 

 ker hammerless, and 40-60 rifle, sur- 

 vived many experiences with grouse, 

 ducks and deer, and bade fair to be- 

 come a permanent fixture in my men- 

 tal inventory of things I should like 

 to accomplish during my journey 

 through this vale of tears. In the 

 great Northwest, where it was my 

 good fortune to grow up, there are no 

 turkeys. Yet even after I took up my 

 abode in Western Pennsylvania, I 

 lived 4 years within a half day's jour- 

 ney of turkeys and never thought of 

 going after one, until I made the ac- 

 quaintance of Mr. R. L. Sommerville, 

 of Lonaconing, Maryland. "Come up 

 here in the fall," he said, "and you 

 can get your turkey" ; the which I did, 

 and got him, or rather her, for fate 

 had ordered he should be a hen. 



On a delightfully clear day in early 

 November, I took a local on the 

 Georges Creek and Cumberland rail- 

 road for Lonaconing. I had previous- 

 ly been put in communication with 

 Bill Pollock, one of Sommerville's 

 miners, and a mighty hunter, and had 

 been told by him there were lots of 

 grouse, some quails, and a good many 

 squirrels, and that he knew of a gang 

 of 15 turkeys. 



At Lonaconing, I was welcomed by 

 my host, Sommerville, and introduced 



to Bill, who recommended that I first 

 try the country around Warnicks, 12 

 or 15 miles back of Lonaconing, hunt- 

 ing with Fred Otto, who had bagged 

 several turkeys there and knew the 

 range. 



For 3 days I followed Fred early 

 and late among groves of beech and 

 oak, through thickets of briar, over 

 mountains and around the edges of 

 buckwheat stubble, vainly seeking the 

 festive turkey. There was, indeed, 

 lots of small game, but for me it must 

 be turkey or nothing. There were 

 signs of turkey in plenty, and in a 

 field which stood on edge away up the 

 side of a steep hill there was a scare- 

 crow, built the season before, to keep 

 the young birds out of the buckwheat. 

 Think of it, a scarecrow for turkeys ! 

 I know a lot of fellows who would 

 like that job. But turkeys we found 

 not, so I returned to Bill Pollock and 

 we planned a campaign toward the 

 South, around Mount Savage. 



At 6 130 a.m. we took the train for 

 Cumberland, and were let off at the 

 Mount Savage water tank, 10 miles 

 from Lonaconing. Crossing Georges 

 creek, we passed through a little val- 

 ley into a steep canyon leading to a 

 notch between 2 high points on top 

 of the range of hills which guard the 

 gap. Bill's 2 fine setters worked all 

 the cover carefully without result. 

 After a half hour's climb we came into 

 a little flat at the top of the canyon, 

 where an open grove of young 

 beeches afforded ideal turkey range ; 

 but, although there were signs and 

 the dogs showed game, we found no 



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