We had downed our first rooster with Izzy retrieving to my Dad’s hand.
Sure enough I see feathers, the bird was hit and began to drop, the sound of his gunfire followed. I couldn’t believe it, this bird was going to land in his lap. I could see my dad on the horizon and this bird was heading his way. An additional 5 roosters flushed just out of range. Sure enough, they heard us coming and Rey worked a bit too close for pheasant comfort. I guess that is what you get out of a seasoned veteran. Rey and Karlos continued to work with me. After about 30 minutes and additional birds flushing out of range, my dad broke off to the left to work a tree row with Izzy and I continued along the marsh and cattail. Despite our early failures in working the field, all 5 (human and DK) were ear to ear grinning. We casted them into the cattails and both handlers and dogs were starting to settle in. We worked our way along the marsh and worked to keep the dogs within range. Things were slightly chaotic and sure enough at about 80 yards out that chaos turned to flushing pheasants far from range. The dogs were sporadic and inconsistent in their search. We pushed our way to a break in cover brought by a marsh and a small stream. After 14+ hours of driving and a hotel stay in Casper, we were working a field in hopes of harvesting our first South Dakota rooster. We placed their collars and put them back in their boxes. Naturally the dogs exited their dog boxes and were high strung. We readied the dogs, our guns, and our gear. We were seeing birds! We identified our parking area however, we pulled down the road to get ready vs. “If you aren’t seeing birds, they aren’t there.” As we pulled down the dirt road, a rooster scurried into cover. While preparing for the trip, I received some good advice which we utilized throughout the whole week. This area seemed to have the desired recipe. Upon arrival our first stop was a Game Production Area. We were actively searching for cover, food (bordered corn and sunflowers), and water. My OnX maps were heavily marked with target fields. In that moment I knew it was going to be a remarkable week. In that moment I nearly killed our first South Dakota rooster with the front corner of my Dad’s Ford F-350. Naturally, I shouted “rooster” as I barreled down the highway.
A rooster flushed on the East side of the highway in front of us. We received a warm South Dakota welcome into pheasant country. Along Highway 83, something magical happened. From Pierre and an Arby’s sandwich, we made our way North to Gettysburg. Our hope was to get an evening hunt in with an hour or two left of remaining light. We picked up our licenses along with a South Dakota pheasant hunting atlas and quickly continued on towards Pierre, South Dakota. The next day we made our way to Sturgis, South Dakota. Already this trip was turning out to be the perfect remedy to an otherwise turbulent year. How lucky was I to have lived the life I have lived. It’s in these moments you feel a huge sense of gratitude. I recalled many trips with my Dad to the Wind Rivers of Wyoming backpacking and fishing with our springer spaniels by our side. We made our way to Casper, Wyoming and stayed the night. It was happening and I could hardly contain myself.
Within a week, we were loaded up and on our way to South Dakota with Karlos vom Klepelshagener Forst, Isobel vom Hidden Creek (Izzy), and my girl Braya vom Hochland (Rey). He said he wouldn’t let me go alone and therefore he was coming. As it turns out, on that Sunday his hair was wild. A week’s notice goes against his very DNA. He is regimented, successful, calculated, and at his core a planner. Deep down I hoped he’d get a wild hair and say, “well I’m coming too.” That said, I didn’t expect it. I was clearing my calendar and I was going to do it in less than a week. It was in that moment that regardless of the obstacles, I decided I was going. I was frustrated that each time I had planned to go on hunts, life got in the way. On Oct 25th, I sat in my office frustrated. I had to go, but how would I find the time? It is the Dakotas where your club dog becomes a bird dog. It is the Dakotas where to clear your throat in an active bird field is to clear the field with flushing pheasants. It is the Dakotas where birds flush a hundred yards out at the sound of an opening truck door. It’s the Dakotas that held a different type of bird. You can even afford to chat with your hunting companions as you work a field. The birds are simply scared and confused. The birds are planted a short time before you arrive. You see in Utah the most probable venue to harvest a cackling rooster is at your local pheasant club. As I kid I remember hearing about pheasants and the Dakotas in tandem.
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