Bird Camp Diaries: December 2007

The Bird Camp Diaries are nothing more than whimsical monthly musings. I hope you find them entertaining, and sometimes thought provoking.

My First Pheasant Hunt

Story by Kim N. Price
PF/QF National Board member

Clark, S.D. - The land out here is so open. It's so big. It makes you feel like you've discovered America on your own. The rolling farmland reminds you of a painting on this crisp Autumn day that you have to stop for a moment to take it all in as you unload from the truck.

In the Deep South, you hunt in the loblolly and longleaf pine thickets where the ground is covered with broomstraw, chasing a pointer for the smaller upland species - the Northern Bobwhite. Out here, THE dominant species is the ring-necked pheasant - a beautiful bird that will elude even the best of braggadocios shooters - something everyone must find out for themselves who talks too much before performing.

"Roosta!" I shouted as that magnificent creature cackled right in front of me. It was so close to me the feathers almost tickled my face - thought it was actually running up my vest there for a moment. Two shots, one bird - whew, almost missed. "The fellow backing me up is good," I conceded. The dog has found the downed pheasant and by now my hunting buddies are bustin' a gut laughing. The big bird had scared the dickens out of me. But that's not what was causing the human cackles.

"There's no "A" on the end of rooster," exclaimed PF/QF President and CEO Howard Vincent. "Son, you've got to learn to talk right if you're gonna do this."

Bird Camp Diaries: December 2007 The kidding did not bother me because that southern drawl has encountered many such remarks on other trips above the Mason-Dixon.

That "roosta" was just one of the 12 we downed that beautiful October day on the official opener of pheasant season in South Dakota - a place where the locals will tell you quickly that is the No. 1 place to hunt these big birds. It's why so many hunters from so many states, including my own, Alabama, come up here to hunt pheasants.

The hunt was a part of a package Vincent, and PF/QF board members Bob Brengman from Rochester, MN, and Bruce Hertzke of Forest City, Iowa, and I purchased at the annual Pheasant Fest Convention in Des Moines the previous January. The money will end up back in the ground at some local PF chapter to build more pheasant habitat.

Oak Tree Lodge in Clark, S.D., is a major contributor to Pheasants Forever locally, where the money stays in the local chapter to do this kind of habitat work. Lodge owner Bill Makens donated the hunt our group purchased. Makens and his staff run one of, if not the better hunting facilities I have ever visited. Makens has invested dearly in his habitat and it works. The birds are there.

Being the newest PF board member, the idea for the trip was for the veterans to take the southern boy along to teach him how to shoot pheasants. That's when I began bragging, realizing later it was way too soon.

It was quite the setting for my first-ever wild pheasant hunt experience, and on opening weekend. It was like discovering a new land. I kept telling my buddies how much fun this was, and although I am a died-in-the-wool quail hunter, "I'd never had this much fun with my clothes on." They just laughed at me some more. "Get in line. Move up a little."

My first pheasant opener was everything they said it would be. Bob St. Pierre of the PF national staff tried to tell me just how big this day would be. He was right. It's a Super Bowl of its own. People come from everywhere to chase this bird. Everything's pheasant this weekend. PF stuff is everywhere too - everybody's wearing a blaze orange cap, trucks have huge PF decals and dogs are even wearing PF vests. The gun stores and ammo businesses have lines out the door. There's blaze orange everywhere - even a pick-up painted that way in one small town.

Announcing my plans for this trip at the local watering hole one night, thinking I was paving new ground - I discovered some buddies from home were headed to Mitchell, another group from home was going to Groton, while another group was headed outside Sioux Falls. I never knew so many people from Alabama came up here.

There's a banner across a main street in Huron that reads "Welcome Hunters." It makes you feel at home because you are not alone.

Parked at every corner is a pick-up with a camper, and dog boxes are even stacked on trailers. Every hotel, motel and trailer park that rents has the "No Vacancy" sign lighted.

It's like that in every community that dots the highways across South Dakota - all for the pheasant hunter.

"Rooster!" Hertzke yells, just as he knocks down our next bird. "Dangâ¦ good shooting there Tex. Little quick on the draw, huh?" So quick as a matter of fact my gun, nor the other two in our group were fired. "Get used to it," Brengman says with a smirk. "If you've hunted with him as many times as I have, you'll get used to it."

I never did get used to being out-gunned, but Hertzke - a.k.a. Wyatt Earp in my eyes now - is a heck of a shot.

We hunted four days in Clark and then moved to our new location outside Huron where Ben Bigalke, PF's regional wildlife biologist for South Dakota had invited us to see some established habitat areas he had helped plan and plant. PF contributor Woody Brehm from San Diego, Calif., has several thousand acres here and the habitat advice worked - the birds are here.

We walked onto the first field with Ben and the sky filled with birds. It almost took my breath. So many cocks and hens flying to freedom. What a sight! If you've ever seen a covey of quail, you understand what a rush you can get when those birds leave from under your feet. One-hundred or more pheasants filling the sun-drenched sky will do the same to you.

Bird Camp Diaries: December 2007 We walked and walked again this day, but it paid off. Those "toolies" as I labeled them, were deep, and are actually low-lying wet areas filled with cattails and other thick vegetation where the pheasants bury under for protection. The dogs had to sniff so low they appeared to get lost under the weeds.

The cornfields were plentiful too. There were grasslands, field edges and draws where birds could hide - that is until the dogs found them. I remember one field in Clark. There was a clump of trees and Matt Morlock, our guide for the hunt, guaranteed there would be birds in there. He was right, not one, but probably 25. We finished off our limit.

Much of the corn in these parts had not been harvested because of recent rains, and the tall, corn-filled stalks provided a different kind of hunting. In the areas where cane sorghum was growing as tall as the corn, the birds hung tight, and it took two walk-throughs to get them flying. Talk about some tough shooting.

Then there were the dogs. The dogs were having a field day too in all this habitat. The dogs are often-times more about the hunt than the hunt itself. Good dog work is like a pretty woman. You can't stop looking. We ride horses a lot down South to see the dog work in the tall sage and briars. But out here, the grass has started to lie down from the frostbite, and the dogs can be seen running back and forth across the habitat, cutting out a field as if following a pattern that has been drawn on paper for them.

Bird Camp Diaries: December 2007 Then, there's the camaraderie of hunting six days with your buddies. Once you hear a buddy snore, there's some kind of pact that bonds you all to a secret code. You never discuss it, but you all just know it's there.

Daddy always said that camaraderie was the best part of the hunt. Telling stories afterwards to your buddies, and not just today, but months from now kept the hunts living, he would say. Granddaddy taught him that as a young boy. Daddy was a smart, educated man. He darn sure loved to hunt, and there was no question that we boys would go every time he put old Sam - my first bird dog - in the trunk of his Chevy. He didn't have a truck, so we'd meet my granddaddy in the field, and he had one. We didn't have computers in those days, not even a color television set. So we hunted every weekend, and we hunted and we hunted. We're still telling stories from those hunts today too. You do stuff like that with your hunting buddies because they become your friends for life.

I even told my buddies stories about my Uncle Herman, who was a coon hunter. He took me hunting too as a young boy.

He loved dogs and they had names like Big Red, One Eye and Short Leg - everyone had its own story. I taught my buddies how to "holler" going down a "holler" and it made them laugh, and reminded me of a great fellow who I dearly miss.

My buddies and I generated a bunch of stories too. We've already started reliving them just weeks later.

All this stuff makes you realize just how fun it is to hunt. It reminds you why we do this. It reminds you why this organization is so successful - this "PF" thing about habitat has put so much out here. I'm glad I joined the team. The dollars going back into these grounds are providing hunting opportunities, and memories that will last a lifetime, especially for a first-timer, even at 53 years old. It makes you appreciate why you work hard to tell folks the story, help them understand that without habitat there will be no pheasants.

But not this year in South Dakota. Mother Nature has nurtured what the Good Lord provided and the bird hunting this year might go down as the best ever. That's quite a statement and something the locals will tell you they don't want to lose. That's why they support PF too.

We paused on that sixth day of hunting at the back of the pick-up and looked across the sky at one of the most beautiful sunsets you can imagine filling the horizon. We took pictures for the scrapbook. We've since exchanged them and told a few stories with them too. My hunting buddies and I agreed this is something we will do again together.

Bird Camp Diaries: December 2007

Everybody shook hands, and hugged. Men can get away with that when it's about stuff this serious. Then, my buddies took a few more parting shots at me, and we headed East - back to the real world where we get back to the job of making sure this beautiful habitat we just left is here next year for more hunting buddies to enjoy.

Kim N. Price is from Alexander City, Al. He is the editor/publisher of Covey Rise magazine and represents quail country for the PF/QF national board of directors.

Remember, if you have story ideas, dog photos, pre-1980 hunting photos and requests for future On The Wing consideration, please send correspondence to ahauck@pheasantsforever.org.

If you have story ideas, dog photos, pre-1980 hunting photos and requests for future On The Wing consideration, please send correspondence to ahauck@pheasantsforever.org.

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