TimJ
Well-known member
I haven't been hunting much this fall and I'm not much of a writer so bare with me.
This afternoon a gentleman I have hunted with a time or two most years since I was 13 called up and asked if I wanted to go walk a small chunk of cover his son in law farms. I hate to call him an older gentleman, I'm half his age and he can still out walk me...and even if he couldn't I wouldn't say so.
Well we got out there with a little over an hour left in the day, just right for this place. We've been running about 10 degrees below normal the past couple weeks but today was as nice as a december day gets, 45 degrees, light wind and a warm sun. The mix of cattails, switchgrass and whatever other kinds of tall prairie grasses growing there are text book roosting cover. Plowed corn fields all around it so there is plenty of food.
We started walking and right away we were kicking up hens. Then like a wave they just kept getting up farther ahead. We only saw a few roosters in this flock and those were in the air while we were still 100 yards away. The birds are a little wild it seems. We see several roosters go down in a thick patch and we make a plan to circle them a little so they can't get away. They didn't agree to that plan and I have no idea where those birds went.
We continue a little further north along this side of the small creek. Half a dozen hens held tight but no roosters. Didn't really matter, I got my adrenalin rush. Those who have flushed wild pheasants will know the feeling of wind on your face when you literally step on a pheasant. One was so close I checked my jacket for pheasant droppings. It missed and I was able to control my bodily functions better then she did.
We turned back along the other side of the creek heading south. A little snow from last week had drifted into this side and all the tracks were from before this warm up. As we came to the place the cover widened out fresh tracks were everywhere. I cut back to cover more ground and kicked a hen, she took two jumps four feet to my side and lifted into the air. Cool but can we have a rooster please. I find three or four sets of muddy tracks to follow in the melting snow. Whoosh! "Hen!". Whoosh! Another...HEY THAT'S A ROOSTER! Bang, the smell of Kent Fasteel back in my face and a brightly colored bird is flopping in the grass. He's dead right there and a nice looking bird. I put him in my vest and keep following tracks.
The cover gets too wide for just two of us, we can only hope to just push a few to the end of the field. As we get close to the end one tries to make an escape behind us. My hunting partner gets a shot but it doesn't go down. Dang, he doesn't miss much.
We are getting closer to the end and I know I have to get closer to the fence. I have to get a better angle to the setting sun and there is a house at the end that I don't want to shoot anywhere near. Shot probably wouldn't reach but why risk it. Hen! Hen! Hen! Dang it again, a rooster right at the house! A few more steps and I would have cleared the angle. Wow those tail feathers looked long. :-(
We still have a few minutes so I look if there is enough time to walk the last 100 yards of cover. Yep, 12 minutes we can do that...Whoosh! "Rooster!" Bang! We both have a pheasant now. I quickly walk across the creek to retrieve it for him, nice young bird and doesn't look shot up.
We walk a small strip at the end and have a couple close calls with hens and see some roosters flying wild out the end. No matter we are both satisfied.
On the way home he tells me about the only time he ever guided pheasant hunters. It was near Watertown SD in 1945, he was a senior in high school. The limit then was 7 a day then, he thought he shot 20 of the clients birds that day. They weren't much for shots. At the end of the day they gave him the half of a case of shells they had left, in 1945 that was a big deal.
Three shot and a rooster for each of us, I'll take that any day.
This afternoon a gentleman I have hunted with a time or two most years since I was 13 called up and asked if I wanted to go walk a small chunk of cover his son in law farms. I hate to call him an older gentleman, I'm half his age and he can still out walk me...and even if he couldn't I wouldn't say so.
Well we got out there with a little over an hour left in the day, just right for this place. We've been running about 10 degrees below normal the past couple weeks but today was as nice as a december day gets, 45 degrees, light wind and a warm sun. The mix of cattails, switchgrass and whatever other kinds of tall prairie grasses growing there are text book roosting cover. Plowed corn fields all around it so there is plenty of food.
We started walking and right away we were kicking up hens. Then like a wave they just kept getting up farther ahead. We only saw a few roosters in this flock and those were in the air while we were still 100 yards away. The birds are a little wild it seems. We see several roosters go down in a thick patch and we make a plan to circle them a little so they can't get away. They didn't agree to that plan and I have no idea where those birds went.
We continue a little further north along this side of the small creek. Half a dozen hens held tight but no roosters. Didn't really matter, I got my adrenalin rush. Those who have flushed wild pheasants will know the feeling of wind on your face when you literally step on a pheasant. One was so close I checked my jacket for pheasant droppings. It missed and I was able to control my bodily functions better then she did.
We turned back along the other side of the creek heading south. A little snow from last week had drifted into this side and all the tracks were from before this warm up. As we came to the place the cover widened out fresh tracks were everywhere. I cut back to cover more ground and kicked a hen, she took two jumps four feet to my side and lifted into the air. Cool but can we have a rooster please. I find three or four sets of muddy tracks to follow in the melting snow. Whoosh! "Hen!". Whoosh! Another...HEY THAT'S A ROOSTER! Bang, the smell of Kent Fasteel back in my face and a brightly colored bird is flopping in the grass. He's dead right there and a nice looking bird. I put him in my vest and keep following tracks.
The cover gets too wide for just two of us, we can only hope to just push a few to the end of the field. As we get close to the end one tries to make an escape behind us. My hunting partner gets a shot but it doesn't go down. Dang, he doesn't miss much.
We are getting closer to the end and I know I have to get closer to the fence. I have to get a better angle to the setting sun and there is a house at the end that I don't want to shoot anywhere near. Shot probably wouldn't reach but why risk it. Hen! Hen! Hen! Dang it again, a rooster right at the house! A few more steps and I would have cleared the angle. Wow those tail feathers looked long. :-(
We still have a few minutes so I look if there is enough time to walk the last 100 yards of cover. Yep, 12 minutes we can do that...Whoosh! "Rooster!" Bang! We both have a pheasant now. I quickly walk across the creek to retrieve it for him, nice young bird and doesn't look shot up.
We walk a small strip at the end and have a couple close calls with hens and see some roosters flying wild out the end. No matter we are both satisfied.
On the way home he tells me about the only time he ever guided pheasant hunters. It was near Watertown SD in 1945, he was a senior in high school. The limit then was 7 a day then, he thought he shot 20 of the clients birds that day. They weren't much for shots. At the end of the day they gave him the half of a case of shells they had left, in 1945 that was a big deal.
Three shot and a rooster for each of us, I'll take that any day.
