As a hunter, there are a few hunts that are on my lifetime list to check-off as having done once. Elk Hunting in Montana or New Mexico, Whitetail Deer hunting in Saskatchewan, Red Stag hunting in New Zealand, Safari in Africa, Duck and Goose Hunting Chesapeake Bay, and Pheasant hunting in South Dakota are some of those on my list. I was lucky enough to get invited by a friend at work to hunt pheasants on his Uncle Steve's "farm" in South Dakota. It also happened to coincide with two business trips that made a perfect pheasant hunting sandwich.
Uncle Steve is one of the state's largest private landholders, and was instrumental in building up conservation interests for pheasants and the hunters that pursue them. Pheasants Forever was one of his favorite not-for-profit interests, and the care he has for his land and the pheasants that live wildly upon it is a perfect reflection of the Pheasants Forever charter. Everything revolves around the pheasants. Even a positive change in corn prices due to fuel alcohol production has him worried about farmers taking fields out of CRP (Conservation Reserve Program) and back into corn production. As a hunter, I appreciate an attitude like that. A super gracious host, Steve welcomed me to his home as if I were a long-time friend. His home reflects his interests, and was designed for the ultimate in pheasant-hunting, dog-rearing, snooker-playing, and friend-entertaining.
The first day of my two day's on one of his properties (seemed like countless farms are under his ownership), I got to hunt with one of his High School buddies and his friend. The 5 of us also had the luxury of having 7 dogs to do most of the work. All the dogs were of the retriever lineage. No Pointers here, this is "flusher" territory. Since the birds are truly wild, they prefer to run rather than hold when threatened. Pointers would forever be moving after the moving birds, and would end up frustrated at the end of the day. Flushing retrievers actually move in front of the hunters, adjusting their distance to account for the size of the field and the number of hunters. It is an amazing sight to see a good set of dogs work a field. We used a technique of applying blockers and drivers. A couple of us would sneak to the end of the field (millet, corn, trees, or cattails), and wait as quietly as possible. The drivers would then start at the other end with the dogs, pushing pheasants along until the pheasants either run out of cover, or freak out because of the perceived threat. These birds are so dang smart...they apply principles of geometry and trigonometry! They can calculate when they are equi-distant between the drivers and the blockers and flush just out of gun range of both. Hunters end up killing the dumb ones...those that fall victim to the process. They run until they are cornered and then flush. Even when things work as planned they fly so high and fast that they are tough to hit. After working 6 or 7 fields we found enough dumb birds to fill our 5 limits of 3 roosters apiece. The amount of birds we actually SAW v. shot at was in the thousands. The sight of hundreds of cackling hens and roosters taking flight is why this hunt is a true experience to collect. These truly wild birds began flushing hundreds of yards away as soon as they either heard our car doors slam, smelled the dogs, or heard us coming. They would jump out of cover and fly far out of range to safety.
That night, I got to spend a relaxed evening with Charlie's Grandparents: Erma and JR. Typical midwestern folks...welcoming, generous and friendly. Grandma Erma wouldn't think of letting us stay at a motel, she made up the extra bedroom for us, and had cookies and cheesecake waiting for us the night we first arrived late. She got up early to pack us a lunch, and wish us luck. Grandpa JR is the ambassador of the family and tells the best stories that had us rolling on the floor in laughter. They have lead colorful lives, and have a legacy of great children and grandchildren to be proud of. We took Uncle Steve, his two buddies, Steve's foreman, Charlie's parents and grandparents to dinner after that first hunt. Dinner was at the local steakhouse where we drank cold, cheap beer and ate hot, wonderful food in the presence of warmth, laughter and love.
Uncle Steve is one of the state's largest private landholders, and was instrumental in building up conservation interests for pheasants and the hunters that pursue them. Pheasants Forever was one of his favorite not-for-profit interests, and the care he has for his land and the pheasants that live wildly upon it is a perfect reflection of the Pheasants Forever charter. Everything revolves around the pheasants. Even a positive change in corn prices due to fuel alcohol production has him worried about farmers taking fields out of CRP (Conservation Reserve Program) and back into corn production. As a hunter, I appreciate an attitude like that. A super gracious host, Steve welcomed me to his home as if I were a long-time friend. His home reflects his interests, and was designed for the ultimate in pheasant-hunting, dog-rearing, snooker-playing, and friend-entertaining.
The first day of my two day's on one of his properties (seemed like countless farms are under his ownership), I got to hunt with one of his High School buddies and his friend. The 5 of us also had the luxury of having 7 dogs to do most of the work. All the dogs were of the retriever lineage. No Pointers here, this is "flusher" territory. Since the birds are truly wild, they prefer to run rather than hold when threatened. Pointers would forever be moving after the moving birds, and would end up frustrated at the end of the day. Flushing retrievers actually move in front of the hunters, adjusting their distance to account for the size of the field and the number of hunters. It is an amazing sight to see a good set of dogs work a field. We used a technique of applying blockers and drivers. A couple of us would sneak to the end of the field (millet, corn, trees, or cattails), and wait as quietly as possible. The drivers would then start at the other end with the dogs, pushing pheasants along until the pheasants either run out of cover, or freak out because of the perceived threat. These birds are so dang smart...they apply principles of geometry and trigonometry! They can calculate when they are equi-distant between the drivers and the blockers and flush just out of gun range of both. Hunters end up killing the dumb ones...those that fall victim to the process. They run until they are cornered and then flush. Even when things work as planned they fly so high and fast that they are tough to hit. After working 6 or 7 fields we found enough dumb birds to fill our 5 limits of 3 roosters apiece. The amount of birds we actually SAW v. shot at was in the thousands. The sight of hundreds of cackling hens and roosters taking flight is why this hunt is a true experience to collect. These truly wild birds began flushing hundreds of yards away as soon as they either heard our car doors slam, smelled the dogs, or heard us coming. They would jump out of cover and fly far out of range to safety.
That night, I got to spend a relaxed evening with Charlie's Grandparents: Erma and JR. Typical midwestern folks...welcoming, generous and friendly. Grandma Erma wouldn't think of letting us stay at a motel, she made up the extra bedroom for us, and had cookies and cheesecake waiting for us the night we first arrived late. She got up early to pack us a lunch, and wish us luck. Grandpa JR is the ambassador of the family and tells the best stories that had us rolling on the floor in laughter. They have lead colorful lives, and have a legacy of great children and grandchildren to be proud of. We took Uncle Steve, his two buddies, Steve's foreman, Charlie's parents and grandparents to dinner after that first hunt. Dinner was at the local steakhouse where we drank cold, cheap beer and ate hot, wonderful food in the presence of warmth, laughter and love.
I hope I am invited back next year.
