Always watching and reading about hunting, there are several places that come up time after time. South Dakota pheasants is definitely one of those places. Before committing, I wanted to understand what made SD stand out as the premier destination for ring necks. After some research, it sounds like habitat, habitat, and habitat are what makes SD the pheasant capital of the US. The deeply rooted tradition, government support (think CRP), and financial input from hunters (local and traveling) also play a factor into the numbers of birds seen in SD. Wanting to experience firsthand what the fuss was about, I booked a plane ride from Indiana to South Dakota.

Pheasant hunting is big in South Dakota as Cabela’s clearly depicted in their front yard. Experiencing it first hand, there is no doubt the hype that surrounds ringnecks in SD surpassed my expectations.

Initially hesitant about flying and missing the road trip experience of the hunt, traveling from the airport to the hotel and back and forth from the hunting grounds gave enough of a snapshot to satisfy my curiosity. The view can be summed up with wide open prairie and crop lands with maybe a tree in the background. Not exactly what I’m used to, but good for pheasants. As a general statement, the excitement and involvement around pheasant season was welcomed and encouraged everywhere. It felt like being a part of something much bigger than just my two days of hunting. The hotel had bird dogs walking everywhere. Special boot cleaners and rags had been placed outside the entrance to encourage keeping the place somewhat clean while also providing freezers for successful hunters. Initially, I thought blaze orange was a requirement for entry. Even the beer at local restaurants proudly supported Pheasants forever with special edition bottles. This was going to be fun.

If it wasn’t the dogs wandering around everywhere, hotel accommodations catering specifically to upland hunters, the local restaurants made sure to display their support through supportive brews. It was a breath of fresh air seeing hunting being so supported by a community.

Indications looked even better than expected as three cock pheasants ran from the ditch into the standing corn we were going to hunt on our first push. I was part of a large group with four experienced guides leading the charge. The guides ensured we kept in line and let the dogs do their thing. About 70 rows of corn were left standing with at least 100 yards cut on either side. The line of hunters was around 300 yards wide as I entered the corn. The hunters on the end moved forward of the rest of us about 50 yards so they would have a chance at any early fliers. It wasn’t long before the first bird flew and the shots began ringing out. From that point, it was practically non-stop. Getting caught a bit off guard, the first chance of the day for me flew up and over my head behind the line. Looking back it would have been an easy shot to knock it down, but spinning 180 degrees I was hesitant to fire with all the people around. As it would turn out, there would be plenty of additional opportunities to be had.

*This shot through the windshield of my rental truck pretty much sums the South Dakota landscape I experienced. It may not look like much but the pheasants sure like it.*

The next two days were filled with drives of standing corn, uncut grass fields, and some brushy timber. Standers were set at the far end of cover and the drivers and dogs would proceed forward. One of the pleasant aspects of pheasant hunting is the social facet. We weren’t trying to sneak up on anything. Moreso in fact, we wanted to make sure the birds knew we were there. The members on the exterior did their job on the less patient birds while those of us in the middle were more apt to have one jump in close range. Oftentimes, it would only take the line stopping for a short time to cause the birds in nearby proximity to get nervous and fly. The shooting was plentiful and by the end of day one my shoulder was clearly bruised.

One of the hunts that clearly stood out was when I was acting as a stander. Perched on the banks of a pothole I watched as the group worked through a wandering shelterbelt that had to have been at least a half-mile long. I could see the hunters working in and out of the Fall colors and tall grass. Birds would fly and I would see them drop before the report made it to my ears. When shots were missed there was a good chance that the birds would follow along the cover and make their way right for the four of us standing in wait. Having plenty of time to watch the birds as they flew closer and closer was a little more challenging than one would have thought. By the time the pheasants would reach us they were moving at Mach 1. The other aspect that took a little while to understand was why the guy to my left kept missing what appeared to be easy shots. The problem was I could see them coming well in advance but due to the trees, the angle of the birds’ flight, and the fact he was lower than I was, he was unaware most of the time a pheasant was coming in hot until it was on top of him. At the speeds they were traveling, I finally put two and two together. In either event, the shooting was fun and the birds were no easy target.

*The views went on forever, as well as the onslaught of birds drawing our fire. The mix of agriculture, pasture, grasslands, and trees has created the perfect storm for the non-native ringneck.*

It had been an amazing bucket list hunt the last two days in South Dakota. To my dismay, it was time for our last hunt of the trip with the ranch buildings in the backdrop. Hopping out of the bed of the red pickup and heading out to the far south pusher spot, it would have me straddling a barbed wire fence and keeping an extra lookout for any cows in the pasture. My task would be watching for any birds taking refuge in a strip of tall grass and cedars. It wasn’t a wide area but there was a dog and handler within 30 yards for the duration of the drive. Before the line even started moving shots were going off so optimism was in the air, along with ample lead pellets. The shooting continued and the dog kept working but nothing was stirring. The conversation was good with the handler and finally, a bird from the heart of the drive made it to the pasture alive and well. Out of range he landed and made his way back to the cedar line. Marking a cottonwood turning brilliant yellow, we had about 150 yards to go. Knowing there was a bird made the suspense of the approach almost unbearable. Of course, the rooster waited until the last minute when the dog finally got him in the air.

The pheasant cackled and rose straight up through the cedar limbs. He was close and right between myself, the dog, and the handler. Waiting patiently, the cock flapped slightly behind us to a safe height. This was the first time all trip that things went to slow motion. It was just me this time. No one else around. The two rounds in my gun either killed this bird or it was free for the day to live it’s best life. The shot was not rushed when the O/U met my shoulder. Swinging through the bird till the bead met his beak, it only took one load of #5’s. The dog was immediately on the downed bird, although he wasn’t going anywhere. Masterfully the dead rooster was returned to the handler.

A smiling hunter and a tired dog tells the story of a good hunt. The last push of the day led to these two birds, each downed by a single shot. Watching the dog work the cover, complete the retrieve, and deliver the bird was truly the icing on the cake.

There was another 75 yards to go before the brush ended at the ranch house. The dog got a quick drink and our little trio continued forward. Nearing the cattle gate it was now or never if another bird was going to fly. On que, just as the cover ran out, he exploded upward. Again, time stood still as the bird rose higher and higher. Unconsciously while the rooster labored to escape, the gun shouldered itself. The barrel cut through the blue sky until it met the body of the rooster. Pausing briefly to admire the beautiful creature in flight, the barrel continued its journey. With another single shot the bird sailed lifelessly into some nearby farm equipment. The dog was impressed with the shooting and rewarded my efforts with another flawless fetch and handoff. The last 30 minutes of the trip was certainly the capstone. When two shots lead to two birds with the dog work within sight, it’s tough to beat.

Wing Men

Sea Sickness Not Required