Scott Linden Outdoors

If you listen to my podcast or watch my TV show, you know I’m big on public access. When I ask you in my Upland Index survey, you say finding suitable hunting grounds is the biggest challenge – and threat – to our sport. So, to the vocal dismay of some I tell you where to go and why.

Nope, you’ll never hear about latitude and longitude nor exact starting points. But you will have enough to go on, to start your own adventure and boot-leather investment. Case in point:

One of the biggest pleasures I get – in addition to finding birds on public land – is meeting and talking with fellow hunters. In that same survey, you tell me that is high on your list of reasons you go, too. Cabela’s brings me to their Pheasant Classic opening weekend in Mitchell, South Dakota to do just that. Two birds, one shot. “Scotch double,” say the clay shooters.

One of the joys of hunting South Dakota is, they know what side their bread is buttered on. They make it easy to visit, find accessible land, and even buying a license is one of the better online experiences of state wildlife agencies. Get the app or glom onto the hunting atlas, find the brown/green/blue spots, and go hunting.

South of Mitchell, state highway 37 puts you into six or eight parcels, from a few dozen acres to a whole quarter section.  But this story is about the hunt, not the hunting spot. Noon is the start time the first week, and Flick was beyond ready as the clock struck twelve. Damp, drizzly, but not enough to bitch about, especially after three days of driving and two days of retail.

Manny remembered his training, investigating every scent and objective on the quarter section we found. Head up, head down, covering ground nicely, with enough pauses to get my juices flowing. Of course, you know the problem: within minutes you’re already envisioning a quick find, steady point, and slow-flying bird that you put on the ground with a single, skillful shot.

It wasn’t quite that simple. Points in shelter belts went unanswered by this shooter. Points at 100 yards ended in wild flushes as I thrashed through CRP that was head-high and ankle-grabbing at the same time.

We rounded the circle (I like big round hunts – the wind is in your favor three-quarters of the time) and a bleep told me Flick was stopped within 40 yards. He was still on point when I caught up, but once I was in the picture he began tracking. Slow, methodical, head down and clearly on something.

That something was a rooster that had outrun Flick and I. Lesson learned. Wild roosters are not going to wait for a human holding a gun to catch up. I would stay closer to my dog. A couple more versions of the same, and things came together. Beep. Flush. Bang!

Good dog.