Follow along with me and Critter, as we take a triple limit of 3-pheasants, 3-sharptails and a fall turkey in South Dakota.
PHEASANTS, SHARP-TAILS & FALL TURKEY
October 1997
You’d think I could have taken pheasant and fall turkey at home in Iowa. Foolishly, I tried several times to force a hunt in two areas too far apart, Central Iowa for pheasants and Northeast for turkey. If I’ve learned anything about dual limits, it’s easier to accomplish in a single area with acceptable populations of each bird. Whenever you introduce driving time you risk the hunt. One of my biggest problems was that I had so many suitable areas, that I seldom hunted, that I jumped at any excuse to include them in a dual limit hunt. I should have located a new area for either pheasants or turkey.
On several occasions in Southern Nebraska, I hoped to bump into a river bottom turkey, while pheasant hunting, but like tracks and tags, hope doesn’t make very good soup. One year, I even bought two fall turkey tags, hoping to shoot a limit of pheasants and a turkey, and quail and a turkey. How’s that for confidence? Needless to say, by the end of the season, I had only had one brief glimpse of a turkey, running through lake bed brush, when I had a limit of pheasants in my coat. How’s that for reality?
I first hunted Northwest South Dakota for fox and coyote in 1995. I was amazed at the number of pheasants and grouse I saw all the way through central North Dakota. On a meandering pheasant hunt in 1996, I randomly ended up in the same area and had an exceptional bird hunt, taking several dual limits. I saw about 60 Merriam’s turkey on public land and ducks. Ducks everywhere. Piles of mallards and pintails. I walked down to a stock dam in a CRP field for pheasants and could hear the dusks dabbling long before I could see them. I healed Critter to see how close we could get, and what a rush! We were up wind of them, and they flushed in wave after wave of green headed drakes. A literal cloud of mallards passed over our heads. Then there was a small marsh that was crawling with pintails. I wasn’t much of a duck hunter, only because there wasn’t time to hunt everything, and I had never shot a drake pintail.
Ever since my first year of hunting prairie grouse I had wanted to take a combination limit of sharp-tails and pintails. I always thought that would make such a cool picture. Just like pheasants and mallards that I’ve taken several times and don’t have a picture of.
In 1997 I applied for the South Dakota draw for fall turkey and ducks and was successful on both. That’s when I realized the vagaries of western water. In 1996 there was plenty, in 1997 there was none. The stock ponds were mostly dry, except in over grazed pastures that held a few widgeon. Even the fall turkey had disappeared. Do you know that first day, 600 miles from home, and how am I going to salvage this trip, feeling?
It was my third day of hunting sharp-tails in the early morning, on the edge of turkey habitat, and pheasants in afternoon CRP, before I finally saw a turkey. I had a three bird limit of grouse and a pair of roosters in the truck, when I decided to give Critter a rest and grabbed my Weatherby .224 to try to call a coyote, out of a long brushy canyon. As I rounded the first bend, I saw a small flock of turkey pecking their way towards me. They hadn’t seen me as I settled against a large rock, and sorted the largest bird through my scope. My center fire rifle was a legal weapon for fall turkey in South Dakota, which went a long way towards explaining the various piles of turkey feathers I found, while sharp-tail hunting and snooping around. At first, I thought they were bobcat kills. I had seen three different bobcats while bird hunting and coyote calling. But I later determined they were more likely long range rifle kills, once I realized that each pile was within sight of a road.
I wasn’t going to shoot my turkey with a rifle. That’s simply not upland bird hunting. You upland bird hunt with a shotgun. Besides, I was pretty sure I could take a triple limit, pheasants, sharp-tails and a turkey in the same day, now that I knew where to find enough of all three. I put the turkeys to roost and slept little on the bitter cold night.
I don’t remember the overnight low, which is really the early morning temperature, but the three inches of water in Critter’s bowl was froze solid inside the tent. You learn when winter time tent camping, to pull your hunting clothes inside your sleeping bag for a few minutes to warm them. The thought of hopping around the tent on one foot, trying to get your naked legs into cold crusted pants, makes getting up in the morning a 1….2….3…Go affair. Without some kind of personal challenge countdown, I’d likely rest till noon.
I parked my Jeep pickup facing the direction of the turkey draw so Critter couldn’t see me leave the truck with a gun. She wouldn’t make a peep if she couldn’t see me leave, but would howl like a banshee if she did. I stuffed a hand full of copper plated 6’s in my camo coveralls and my Ithaca Mag 10 in the cab of the truck before leaving camp. I couldn’t risk shuffling around in the truck with Critter.
I waited for several minutes to let a doe mule deer with her yearling fawn clear the trail ahead of me. The deer spooked anyway and went clattering up the side of the canyon and all the turkey were squawking before I rounded the bend. Fortunately, turkey have the attention span of a young puppy, so I was still able to sneak into position. I could at least see them on the roost while they relaxed into typical turkey, tree banter.
That’s when I first realized the stupidity of my position. It was very cold and the turkey were roosted near the top of a finger, off the main draw I was in. I was west of the birds on a cold, clear mourning. Why would a turkey fly off a roost to the cold, dark side of a draw when the bright, warm, sun beckoned on the opposite side of the hill? I should have stayed awake a little longer last night and thought this through.
It was also foolish to attempt to shoot a turkey at the beginning of the day. I was 600 miles from home with only one turkey tag, but I could shoot five daily bag limits of grouse and pheasants. If I shot a turkey this morning, but failed to get a limit of either grouse or pheasants, I would be done until next year. The smart play was to shoot pheasants and grouse first and a turkey last.
I was on the wrong side of the turkey draw and it was too late to adjust so I crept and crawled my way as near to the top edge as I could, hoping for the best. I also smiled to myself. I was soaking a diaphragm turkey call in my cheek, but I had never called to fall turkey before. And I didn’t have a clue what sounds to make. I had shot a few fall turkey in the timbered hills of Northeast Iowa while ruffed grouse hunting, but that was a simple matter of walking until I saw a flock and then snap shooting a bird. I wasn’t prepared for the stalking, and hunt planning necessary, for these open prairie birds. I may as well have brought Critter with me for all the luck I was going to have.
I heard them fly down and clucking their way through the tall sage. They were gradually working further away towards the far side of my ridge. I again crept along, like we all think we can, until I hurt all over and made it about ten yards in as many minutes. That’s when I thought, “the Hell with this” stood up and trotted towards the crest of the ridge. Hoping at least one immature bird would stand too long gawking, so I wouldn’t have to do this again tomorrow. Or maybe the flock will break up and I can try to call them back like the books say to do..POOFF! There was a turkey running through the sage just 20 yards in front of me! It’s amazing that a mind that can’t calculate the decimal equivalent of one- half in an hour long math class, can accurately calculate range, speed and required lead in an instant.
“That’s a turkey! Too Far!! No it’s Not! SHOOT!”
In the pre-season, I shrug off a fall turkey as a meat hunt. Not much sport or skill involved. Kinda like road hunting. Better than sitting at home, but not real hunting. But then when that turkey appears in front of you, you’re every bit as excited as on a spring hunt. And then there’s the same anxiety we all feel every time we pull the trigger. “did I hit him? Is he dead? Should I shoot again? WOW. That was cool!” Then that exhilaration when you approach your kill. With some animals it’s more heightened then others, but if it’s not there…..killing animals is much too dramatic an event to pursue without anxious blood coursing through your veins. If you aren’t anxious, then you should be shooting inanimate targets. Save the animal’s last dignity for a predator more deserving. Be it man or beast.
Shooting this turkey was a lucky start to the morning that I hadn’t expected in the last hour. I had 8 hours left to hunt and was more confident than ever, that I could shoot at least one other limit of something, before dark.
If I ever see the day, when a fist grip of game bird legs, be it chukar. ruffed grouse, or a fall turkey, doesn’t make me feel a little pride, I’ll quit bird hunting.
I took my time putting up the turkey and loitered until 10:00 a.m., the start of pheasant hunting hours. Most days I started early hunting grouse and then would switch to pheasants at 10:00. But I could usually count on flushing enough sharp-tails for a limit after 10:00 and enough pheasants for a limit before 10:00. I thought it was time to give Critter a break and try to shoot all of them at the same time.
We started out hunting nearly a mile of the perimeter fence around a large tract of CRP Walk-in, without moving a bird. There was a deep swale that began at the far road and ran the middle length of the section. That weedy, brushy waterway had to be holding pheasants.
I directed Critter to drop down to hit a brushy patch before we reached the end of the fence line. Normally, I’d walk a fence right to the ditch, but Critter had a good nose and if she hadn’t scented a bird in the first 5,000 feet I risked there not being one at the end.
Once we neared the brush, pheasants began flushing.
First just hens and finally a lone rooster that I hit well. As Critter returned with the bird, two more roosters flushed at 30 yards and I snapped a quick shot at the nearest one. I drew feathers and he faltered, then coasted into a line of small trees 100 yards ahead. I tried to shoot again but realized I hadn‘t reloaded from the first rooster. We worked the trees and tall grass expecting a runner but Critter put up a lone rooster, fifty yards out, that I didn’t believe was the one that I had hit. I coaxed Critter back to hunt dead, but she was disinterested and I couldn’t hold her attention. While you’re kicking through every clump of grass that could hide a cripple, your mind races through all the runners that your dog trailed for hundreds of yards before they caught them. And the other cripples that just seem to disappear. I continued to part grass with my gun barrel trying to ignore the fact that I seemed to be more interested in finding this bird than Critter was. At this stage I stop looking for the whole bird and am intent on just finding a feather. One feather to another and possibly a trail to the bird.
Critter continued to cast further away and flushed a pair of roosters at the end of the tree line that headed toward my parked truck.
I shot my gun into the air as she returned hoping that I might create some new excitement and she would hunt harder to come up with the bird. But not today. After what seemed like 30 minutes, I finally surrendered the bird to the predator Gods.
I was hopeful we would meet up with those two, tree line roosters again, when my attention wasn’t divided.
We circled back to the bottom of the swale and followed the meandering course up the center of the section. About half way back, Critter flushed a lone sharp-tail from a patch of short grass, and I hit it well. It had been difficult to keep Critter in the bottom as she continually crept towards a heavily grassed side hill.
With our first sharp tail in my coat I decided to let her run and it wasn’t long before she was trailing a bird. I ran and gasped and ran some more to keep up. Critter had proven on many pheasants that she had an excellent nose, but she wasn’t immune to over running it. I could tell when a rooster tired of trying to lose her by weaving, and he would all out sprint. That’s when my work really began. For such a short legged dog, she was fast. She would run as hard as she could with her head high. Watching for the flush. Usually as a last resort, roosters would button hook to the side and let her run past them. I could tell when she would lose the scent, and would turn and cast back towards me. That was my queue to get within 30-40 yards of her because the rooster was going to flush between us real soon!
I was just within 40 yards of her when a rooster flushed between us and I hit him well. At my shot another rooster flushed a little further out, but a doable shot. Except again, I didn’t do it well enough. Critter stayed with her retrieve and on her way back followed the flight of the second bird and we both watched it falter and appear to fall stone dead near my truck and about 300 yards away, in very tall grass.
Critter met me half way to the second bird with her retrieve. I took the bird from her and she immediately started quartering. Not a head long dash to where the other bird fell. She was hunting.
To say that this retrieve didn’t go well is an understatement. Critter was tired after hunting hard for four full days. I’ll give her that. But like on the tree line, she simply wouldn’t hunt dead. I’m sure that when tired, dogs, like humans, loose some of their mature judgment.
It appeared that the rooster fell near the fence we had hunted in on. The far side of the fence was wheat stubble. Although we hadn’t flushed any birds three hours ago when we hunted our way in, a flock of sharp-tails must have moved in while we were gone. Critter ran through the fence and began chasing grouse out of the stubble. Several within range which didn’t aid my disposition. I needed two more grouse, but I needed the crippled rooster more. Ignoring the rooster and shooting grouse would have been a selfish thing to do and I’d already been selfish enough by shooting at a rooster I shouldn’t have. Most days it would have been fine. I usually shoot better and Critter was a Hell of a cripple and dead bird hunter. But this was a bad day for both of us.
Finally, I realized that I had to put a stop to Critter’s grousing. She had probably flushed 25 grouse by now and wasn’t slowing down. An errant sharp-tail swung over me and I killed it. I do shoot better when I’m mad. Critter scooped it up and when she brought it back I grabbed her collar and kenneled her. She wasn’t helping anyway. That was enough dog for me, for one day.
I don’t know how long I searched for that rooster, but it was long enough that I decided that the day was lost. I couldn’t cripple and lose another bird. I realize that every hunter and every dog has bad days, I just wish ours could have been on a scouting day.
I stopped back at the truck, gave Critter water and a boiled egg treat, loaded up with more shells and decided to shoot a sharp-tail on a yellow hill in the middle of the CRP. Alone.
I was more mad at myself, than her. I always hope for clean kills or misses. I love to shoot. All of the sensations from the heft of the gun to the shove of recoil, muzzle jump, thunder and smoke. Completely missing birds just gives me the opportunity to do it more. But crippling sucks the joy out of hunting.
I’m sure that much of my exasperation was caused by the fact that I had already shot my turkey. The only turkey that I was licensed for. I was in the midst of excellent bird numbers and I couldn’t get the job done. I have this rationale I use on days like this. I could either accept the fact that I’d lost a couple of birds and keep hunting for a limit bird. Or concede failure, only to come back and try again. That I will start from scratch, shoot another turkey, two more sharp-tails and two more pheasants trying to get three of each. If I fail again, I’ll try again. It’s better for the birds in general to just suck it up and do what I have to do to finish today.
Some of you might question my shooting dual limits. As if hunting more than one species or state in the same day, is hoggish.
I’ve worked very hard at being a good upland bird hunter. I was never casual about bird hunting. It has never been an activity that I could take or leave. I’ve had relationships fall apart because I insisted on going bird hunting. I’ve lost income, substantial income, just for the prospect of doing more bird hunting. Everyone makes life choices. Some choose to have children and raise a family. Some choose to accumulate wealth. Others to spend days off sitting on the couch watching others having fun. I have always chosen to hunt. With friends or without. With a dog or without. I have always chosen to hunt.
And if you’re being honest with yourselves, which guy’s experiences would you rather be listening to or reading about? The guy who’s happy to just be able to get out for a few weekends a year and maybe kill a bird or two. The guy who’ll only hunt with a dog and a friend. Or the guy who goes no matter what.
In western CRP, yellow grass is short and thin. Usually on the west or south slopes. Short grass is sharp-tail grass. If I’m hunting pheasants I concentrate on dark spots. Dark grass is lower in elevation, weedier, thicker and taller, than light colored grass.
I had about two hours of shooting time left. I needed to forget about pheasants and shoot my last sharp-tail. Grouse are easier to approach without a dog and I was certain there would be a bunch on that hill.
As I left the truck, I noticed a small patch of volunteer wheat about 100 yards away. I decided to walk through it on my way to the yellow hill. Wouldn’t you know. A juvenile rooster flushed at my feet just as I stepped into the desk sized patch of wheat. At that range, I tried to shoot him in the head. After years of bird hunting without a dog, I learned the deadest birds were those shot in the head and neck and if I missed it was because of over leading. My shot was near perfect and the rooster fell decidedly dead. I even walked up to be certain that he was dead, and then went back to the truck for Critter. She needed this retrieve.
Critter heard and probably saw the shot. She was crying like a banshee. You’d think someone was pulling out her toe nails. The hair on my neck pulsed every time she wailed. Many hunters might doubt me, but I believe a simple episode like this teaches your dog a great deal. They learn that you know a little about bird hunting yourself. That birds flush and fall where you walk. I do know that they pay a lot more attention to where I want to hunt after I change directions and shoot a bird without them. You only have to do that a few times and your dog will pay better attention to your position and travel than all the backyard training can enforce.
Now, I was a happier hunter and Critter a joyous dog. I let her prance around with the rooster as if it was the first bird of the day. We sat in the grass for a few minutes and mended our relationship. We had our pheasants and two hours to shoot one grouse.
The yellow grass hill was a good grouse hill. I was very picky about my last bird. Critter flushed several in range but I waited for a crossing shot. Those are my best. Soon she had a pair up at 25 yards crossing left to right. The Superposed barked, feathers flew and the sharp-tail crashed down.
I was beat. Critter was beat. And together we had beat three species of upland birds in one day.
Killing a turkey, in the choppy, sage and rock, prairie hills, a limit of pheasants and sharp-tails in western CRP, all in the same day, was a cool experience for an Iowa boy. Much more so than I anticipated. I think I’ll try it again someday, but with better shooting.
That hunt was 23 years ago and it’s still embarrassing to reveal the two birds that I crippled and lost. I can’t recall another day in the 13 years I hunted Critter that we lost two birds. Hell, it was rare for us to lose two birds in a season. But to not come clean about it would make that hunt out to be something that it wasn’t. I hope that you would sense a higher level of pride in this story, if I hadn’t lost any birds.
To not be truthful, to not share that some days aren’t as humane and clean as we would like all of them to be, is wrong and deceitful. Out of respect for you listeners, I’ll strive to present each of my hunts as honestly as I can recall.
Hunting isn’t glamorous and pure. It can be reckless, bloody and final. But it should seldom be cruel. At least to the best of our abilities, it should never be cruel.
In a future podcast, I’ll discuss in depth my opinions on crippling, waste, and wanton waste. But since I’ve already raised the uncomfortable subject of crippling and loss, I’ll expand on it lightly here. .
Unintentionally losing a bird in the field, isn’t wasteful. Everything on earth isn’t wasted if not consumed by a human. As conservationist we should all be aware of that fact. The only waste in unintentionally losing a bird, is that another hunter has lost an opportunity to pursue it. That’s all.
Intentional waste, is wanton waste, and that’s illegal, immoral and inexcusable. There’s not really much more that can be said about wanton waste.
Of course there is the inhumane aspect of crippling. I doubt that there’s a hunter listening who isn’t as uncomfortable talking about crippling as I am. But an honest exchange of emotion and opinion on crippling should aid all of us in our acceptance of the risk that each shot we take poses and our need to minimize any thoughtless decisions.
I wrestled with challenge and sportsmanship at an early age. Once I received a little shooting instruction from a classmate, I became a fair wing shot. After a couple of summers of shooting recreational skeet and pheasant hunting, I became a good wing shot. Then after a few later seasons of recreational skeet and ruffed grouse hunting, I was probably in the top 5% of upland bird wing shots. I was also very fast and could ordinarily kill either bird within 5-10 yards of it’s flush. But I wrestled with that.
For me, a question arose between the challenge of wing shooting and a sporting chance for the bird to escape. If I routinely killed nearly every pheasant that flushed within 20 yards, what opportunity is there for that bird to survive? Without an opportunity for a bird to survive a flush, could my hunt possibly be considered sporting?
Of course ruffed grouse didn’t allow the open field opportunities of pheasants, but I still became a reliable killer of ruffs. You might recognize that from a few of my earlier podcasts on ruffed grouse dual limits.
I had a really good Lab, named Pitch who I worked religiously through summers on wild pheasants and retrieving. Pitch became as good a bird dog as I was a bird hunter.
My challenge wasn’t in finding birds. Forty years ago, with Pitch, Iowa was a very generous pheasant and ruffed grouse state. I hardly ever returned from a walk out my back door without a three bird limit of roosters. And although the distance to birds increased with ruffed grouse, the likelihood of a three bird limit was the same. Even while in high school, I often times left on a pheasant hunt with only the five shotgun shells my gun would hold. I felt that if I couldn’t kill my three roosters with five shells, I didn’t deserve a limit.
It wasn’t long before I began to question how much fun it could be for Pitch to practice 100 yard retrieves in field work but only get 10 yard retrieves on pheasants. And if I seldom missed a bird at 25 yards, why wasn’t I letting them fly further before shooting?
When a trap shooter regularly shoots 100’s at 16 yards isn’t he compelled to accept a handicap by moving to a deeper yardage?
First, I encouraged Pitch to range further. With her working at 25-30 yards and most flushes at 35, shooting was more challenging and fun. I soon realized that five shells might not be enough, but I still typically limited out. The more I shot at 35 yards the better I got till I started shooting at 40-45 yards. I found that range to be the perfect balance between an opportunity for Pitch to make more challenging retrieves and for myself to miss a few birds, shoot more shells, and still bring home a limit.
With ruffed grouse, increasing the distance to target wasn’t a normal option, so I tried to hit all close birds in the head and neck rather than the body. Of course at more than 20 yards I shot them anywhere I could!
I had quit shooting in the off season in the mid-1990’s as I felt that I had also reached the perfect balance between my ability to hit pheasants out to 45 yards and a good share of any ruffed grouse that I had shots at, with some likelihood that a few would survive to evade another dog and hunter. I seldom shoot recreationally even today. Which is probably a little naïve when you consider that I still attempt dual limits.
I still try to let birds get a little air under their wings today, because I’m shooting a Superposed instead of my old pump Weatherby. With only two shots there isn’t an opportunity to throw lead like I used to so it makes no sense to be shooting a partially open pattern at 20 yard birds, when the shot would be more effective at 35 yards.
I’m not sure how all of this leads back to my having lost two crippled birds in South Dakota, but I hope it does illustrate that the reasons and ranges I choose to shoot, are a thoughtful balance between my ability to kill birds and some likelihood of escape. If there’s a way to accomplish both efforts without crippling and possibly losing a bird, I haven’t found it in nearly 50 years of bird hunting.