Flush with pheasants

from the desk of Steve Deibler

As dark approaches, I speed down the small two lane road, Dad in tow, towards the pheasant hunting Mecca of North America. Eyes are red and tired after a nonstop 1400 mile, 22 hour marathon drive from Atlanta, Ga. Pheasant hunting Mecca is the glacial lakes region of South Dakota, and the frontier town of Aberdeen. East of the Missouri River, we pass miles and miles of cornfields without seeing a single pheasant. We start to question the validity of reports put out by the South Dakota Department of Tourism. " The best pheasant population in 40 years and as many as 20 pheasants per square mile around Aberdeen". With the last magical hour of daylight, the pheasant gods shout " All clear," and pheasants start appearing everywhere. Roosters are sneaking out of the corn, picking gravel along the road, flying in front of the truck, and eating seeds in the green grass along the highway right-of way. Our dull senses, weary from travel are now sharpened from excitement.

Pulling into Aberdeen, we realize a hunters dream town. " Hunters Welcome" signs are everywhere. They are in virtually every store window or on every shop door. This kind of place is becoming harder to find each season. As my Dad and I step out of the truck, cramped muscles can’t take the smiles off our faces. As time passes there are fewer and fewer hunts for my Dad. I want this one to be special. My Dad, though humped over with the rigors of time has a smile like a kid on his first big hunt.

October is a special time in South Dakota, as hunters, such as us descend from across America for the ritual called " pheasant hunting". The cold crisp October air is refreshing compared to the hot humid Georgia air we left behind. The object of our obsession is the Chinese ringneck pheasant. This colorful Asian import has adapted exceptionally well to the grassy plains and fertile farmlands of the upper Midwest. This year is exceptionally good as a result of three consecutive mild winters, yet adequate spring moisture for the newly hatched chicks to survive.

Tired and weary, I unpack the truck into a hotel room which will be our home for the next 5 days. While unpacking, our outfitter, John Paul drives up and introduces himself. John Paul is a life long South Dakotan who has been pheasant hunting since the age of twelve. He is friendly and enthusiastic, as he explains, the previous weeks hunters limited out every day. This man knows pheasants. Wow! That’s 10 hunters, 3 roosters each, for 5 days. Do the math ! 150 roosters, Double Wow !!!

" Are there any left ?" I ask.

John Paul assures me there are lots of pheasants.

" O.K.?" I say, somewhat skeptically.

John Paul departs after setting up a 10:00 a.m. meeting time the next morning. Over the next few hours I greet a diversity of weary hunters as they roll in by trucks and planes from all across North America. Young hunters, old hunters, men, women, experienced and novice; they all arrived to comprise our group of 13.

The next morning is spent purchasing nonresident 5 day hunting licenses and boxes of #5 and #6 shot. Mostly high brass loads for the fine vintage Merkel and LeFever side by sides, as well as the high tech Browning and Benelli autoloaders. A diversity of shotguns reflecting a diversity of hunters. Chokes are mostly modified; however, I use an improved. Blaze orange hats, gloves, jackets, vests, ear muffs, eye protection, and dog collars make it look like a road construction work zone.

A caravan of vans, suburbans, and dog trucks follow John Paul north of town. This expedition leads us nine miles to a small German colony of farmers. The " Hutterite" colony consists of approximately 70 simple but hard working farmers with awesome farmland. A mixture of corn, soybeans, food plots of sorghum, all separated by slews full of dense, dense cattails.

Upon arrival, the caravan of hunters and dogs unload. The caravan has grown to 17 hunters and lots of dogs. Dogs and hunters are going every which way. It’s starting to look like an unruly kindergarten class on the first day of school.

John Paul explains the hunt,

" I need the pushers to the south,"

" Flankers east and west,"

" Five blockers to the north,"

" This slew will hold lots of birds since they just harvested the corn, pushing them into heavy cover."

"Don’t shoot til after 12 noon."

Hunters start scattering to their designated locations around the slew, and I overhear John Paul say, " This ought to be interesting !"

The first push is through a long narrow slew. The slew is 100 yards wide and 500 yards long. My Dad, a blocker, sits in his chair, and 4 other blockers are posted to the north. Pushers and flankers line up in a scraggly rag tag line and tromp through the cattails. Labs criss cross in a frenzy in search of the quarry. First to flush is a whitetail doe and fawn, then a jackrabbit, then a cottontail. John Paul reassures me the birds are there. J.P. says, "The roosters are running now but they’ll fly". J.P. yells, " Slow down, make them nervous". We trudge on into the brisk South Dakota wind. John Paul shouts, " Hen".... "Hen" , then " Rooster !" All hell breaks loose, as shots ring out and a ringneck rooster folds and falls into the cattails. A 5 minute search by hunters and dogs reveal a fine rooster with grand tail feathers and sharp spurs. The hunt resumes and the remainder of the afternoon is filled with John Paul echoing " Hen".... " Hen".... "Rooster !"... "Rooster !".... " Rooster !" Roosters explode from the thickest of cover with cackles and the strength you only find in wild birds.

By late afternoon, the sun starts to dip, as smiles abound, and spirits soar as high as the pheasants have flown, John Paul counts the pheasants, another limit, time to load up and head home.

Back at the lodge, stories are swapped over cocktails, followed by more cocktails and a fine prime rib dinner. South Dakota beef is second to none ! Sleep comes easy for tired hunters preparing for 4 more days of hunting. Dreams are filled with gunfire and " Rooster !"....

"Rooster !"

Four more days of thick brush busting, cornfields, pheasant flushes, fine dog work and full limits fulfill this trip.

This is an upland bird hunting trip you don’t want to miss. Hunters can be young or old, man or woman. The young go-get-um hunters push the thick cattails with the dogs. The gentleman types with their side by sides work the flanks. The senior, less able, and probably smarter hunters bring their stools and act as blockers, all killed roosters. The pushers had classic jump and flush shooting. The flankers and blockers got pass shooting similar to a dove hunt, however, these doves were on steroids. Some pushes resulted in flushes of 200-500 pheasants. No Joke ! And think how many slipped back through the line without flushing or were hunkered down in the cattails ! Thanks to John Paul and his excellent family run operation. Especially those cover busting labs. If you’re interested in the finest pheasant hunting in North America, you need to come to Aberdeen, South Dakota. If you do it next October, stop by and see me, I’ll be hunting with John Paul at Triple J Pheasant Hunts, a fine family run operation with good guides, dogs, food, and lodging on 12,000 private acres. You can book this hunt directly or through www.deibleroutdoors.com. Did I mention the incredible duck, goose, or whitetail hunts? Well, that’s another story for another day.

For an incredible adventure in the South Dakota or another remote location, join one of our group hunts by contacting Deibler Outdoors at (770) 377-5321 or visit us on the web at: http://www.deibleroutdoors.com