Tag: pheasant

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The Blogmore Hunt

By Lee Schoenbeck

Photos by Jeremiah M. Murphy

For the last several years, sometime in November on a farm southwest of Holabird, a not-so-secret conclave gathers. Ostensibly their mission is to chase and bag the wily South Dakota ringneck. The Mount Blogmore hunt accomplishes that mission well each year and, even with loaded weapons in hand, it proves that the divide between red and blue in South Dakota is not too wide.

The Origins of the Hunt — a Wosterism

Somewhere along the interstate of life near Reliance, one of the infamous Woster brothers, this time Kevin, came up with the outrageous idea that political bloggers across the political spectrum could join together civilly, be properly armed, and share the bonds of friendship that are a natural by-product of a South Dakota pheasant hunt. Kevin is the founder of the political blog Mount Blogmore and the outdoor blog Take it Outside, hosted by the Rapid City Journal. Kevin is one of South Dakota’s founding brothers, the Wosters: Jim, Terry, Kevin and probably a few other siblings that haven’t been quite as newsworthy. Kevin’s politics lean a little left of center, he claims. But when you’re talking about somebody from Lyman County, left of center may just mean that they were a few days late with their annual John Birch Society dues.

The Place — as Blue as you can get in Hyde County

Kevin’s wife hails from Highmore, and through that relationship, Kevin is friends with Holabird rancher Nick Nemec. Nick’s not much into hunting, but he and his wife Mary Jo are lots into company and political talk around the dining room table. Nick’s got plenty of pheasants, which he is about as interested in chasing as he would be the beautiful blue jays that populate the shelterbelts by his home. But if company wants to visit and chase around his fields, then for a day, Nick’s a pheasant hunter. Between shelter belts, a few cattail sloughs, and sunflower fields, the Nemecs have the kind of traditional pheasant habitat that you only find with a real farmer who practices real conservation. It’s easy to find the Nemec farm in the fall in even years — just look for the only Democrat signs along Hwy 14 between Holabird and Harold, and turn south!

The Crew — Eclectic, Political and all South Dakotan

Birds, dogs and hunters of all political stripes at the 2009 Blogmore Hunt.

Kevin handles the invites. Just about anybody that’s posted on a blog and cared about South Dakota politics appears to be eligible, although the size of the crew of actual attendees ranges from 5 to 15. Tony Dean was at the first hunt. John Thune and Tom Daschle have been invited. This summer George McGovern was anointed the 2012 hunt captain — unfortunately that couldn’t come to fruition. Jon Lauck, Pat Powers, Bill Fleming, one of the Nielson brothers (of polling fame), and Doug Wiken are a few examples of politicos who have graced the hunt. Each of these would be colorful in his own right, but a few others stick out.

My son, Jake, has been along and asked me if the guy that said he was a Methodist-Buddhist (Todd Epp) really was such a thing. (And if so, what is that?) Jake also wanted to know if that Cory guy (Heidelberger) was serious when he said he didn’t carry a gun and shoot pheasants because he was a pacifist. (I assured him he was.) But my all-time favorite may have been the first year, when staunch defender of the right, Sibby (Steve Sibson), attended the hunt and missed five consecutive roosters my dogs put up in front of him. When I poked him later about the Second Amendment also including the requirement that you know how to bear a firearm well enough to hit a barn from the inside, he seemed to laugh along — but he never returned to another Blogmore hunt.

The Hunt — Who Could Captain this Ship?

Every good hunt I have ever been on has, at least unofficially, a person in charge to provide some order for these armed primates. Blogmore is an exception. The unofficial hunt photographer, Jeremiah M. Murphy of Rapid City (he’s not a pacifist — he’s just excellent at self-assessment and knows which weapon he shoots most capably) captured the organized disorganization in one of his candid shots accompanying this article.

In past hunts, I’ve gotten the credit for laying out a successful plan for hunting large sunflower fields with small groups (section it off and hunt it cross rows). Plus, since most of the dogs are mine — and all of the ones that behave are — I get to have my share of input. This year our gracious landowner did lay out a plan of attack that on its face looked crazy, but in spite of our inartful execution, worked brilliantly.

The temperature ranged from 9 to 17 degrees, and the wind was at least a steady twenty miles per hour from the west, with even stronger gust. With dogs, you always hunt into the wind so they have their best shot at trailing the birds’ scent. But Nick convinced us that when the birds flushed at Mach 1, the cover we wanted them to land in was his and it was to the east, so we needed to push them with the wind out of a cattail-filled dam and draw. Skeptically, we started into the cattails. To the east we had only three blockers, who were spread out over several hundred yards of pasture and draw. The walkers included me and my three labs on the north side, and Kevin, Nick and one very rangy spaniel thing named Rosie on the south side. What Rosie lacked in discipline she made up for in raw energy. Within less than two minutes Rosie had put dozens of pheasants into that jet stream headed east. Kevin and I each dropped one, and the blockers enjoyed many opportunities to fire their weapons — unburdened by the task of recovering downed birds.

And never bet against the landowner — the birds all came down in the shelterbelts to the east, still pleasantly huntable on the Nemec land.

The Meal — Stories Shared, Friendships Made and Renewed

Kevin Woster and Bill Walsh in the Nemec dining room.

After the hunt, the group gathers at the Nemec dining room table for a feast of chili and whatever else Mary Jo has chosen to warm the hearts and stoke the bodies for the discussions to come. In years past the debates and discussions have included such diverse topics as everybody telling their favorite Frank Kloucek story (that should be a book), to assessing the fall of Tom Daschle and the rise of John Thune on the political landscape. This year, for the first time, former congressional candidate Bill Walsh joined the hunt. It took some prodding, but he shared recollections from the 1978 Democratic US House primary.

With Woster moderating the discussion, as long as the chili holds out, the South Dakota stories flow at the Blogmore Hunt. Real friendships are made by the most unlikely of people. Personally, there’s a strange character from Rapid City named Bill Fleming that has become a close pen pal (or whatever we call keyboard friends now) ever since meeting at the early hunts.

The Secret to World Peace

As hunts go, when the wind chills are below zero, 5 hunters yielding 10 birds — and missing another hundred — is a good day. It may be a few days before the frostbite goes away, but the friendships, camaraderie and experience hand around for a lifetime.

The real magic of the Blogmore Hunt is the Red and Blue sharing that takes place at the Nemec dining room table. History is filled with examples of the healing power of this phenomenon. Senator Karl Mundt and his colleagues used a weekly poker game. President Reagan and Speaker O’Neill shared a bump on the back porch at that white house. So here’s my thought. Senators Johnson and Thune and Representative Noem should get the Nemecs to lend them the dining room table for a week, ship it to DC, have Mary Jo make a roaster of her chili and get Harry and Nancy and Mitch and John all together for a little bonding and bridge building, Blogmore style. It can’t hurt, and if they play nice, Kevin might invite them to the real Blogmore Hunt next year.

Lee Schoenbeck grew up in Webster, practices law in Watertown, and is a freelance writer for the South Dakota Magazine website.


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A Terry Redlin Moment

By Lee Schoenbeck

This past weekend was the in-state opener for pheasant hunters. We now have a preserve opener, a youth opener, an in-state opener and an out-state opener. This is too much red tape for a traditionalist like me, so generally I just wait for the High Holiday of the opener on the third Saturday in October. But I am a traditionalist — not a fool! This year, with all the beans and corn out and the CRP hayed, the in-state opener promised to be an opportunity to hunt virgin birds on public lands in ample numbers, so I was all in.

WHERE TO HUNT

The waterfowl hunters are a good resource. My duck hunting buddies said that all the birds they heard or saw were near water, and one suggested Long Lake. Long Lake is about 4 minutes from the edge of Watertown, the state’s fourth largest city. From my home, it is an equal distance to Long Lake or Wal-Mart! That just didn’t sound like a recipe for a successful hunt. But I checked with another buddy and his advice echoed the first — take the Memorial Park road from town until you hit Long Lake, and then north until you find a place to park. That seemed like odd advice, but I took it.

For the in-state opener you can only hunt public areas, which lends itself to a concentration of hunters. Pick a public spot four miles from the city of Watertown, and you’re asking for something that looks like the Oklahoma Land Rush. As I drove north, there were multiple pickups parked every quarter-mile. This didn’t look promising, but since I mostly just wanted to get a chance to work my three dogs without being shot at, I was flexible. I saw an area with two trucks and room for me to park, so we were in. As I parked, I notice to my right a monument — I was at the Terry Redlin Wetland Area.

TERRY REDLIN — ONE OF THE GREATEST

Terry is a Watertown native that lost one leg as a high schooler in a motorcycle accident. The state agreed to send him to art school as part of a vocational retraining program, and at first blush, the rest is history. He learned to paint wildlife scenes that captured the beauty of the upper Midwest like nobody had previously imagined. He became so popular that more people bought copies of his work than almost any other artist to ever walk the face of the earth –seriously. But Terry Redlin was different. He never forgot what the people of South Dakota did for him, and he was determined to repay the debt he felt. He returned home. The Redlin Art Center, and many other charitable contributions, are monuments to his commitment.

Not surprisingly, Ducks Unlimited and the South Dakota Game, Fish & Parks recognized his support of the outdoors with a monument and the dedication of a public hunting area near his hometown of Watertown.

THIS CAN’T ACTUALLY WORK

So I got out with my three dogs — with two hunters and their sons and dogs to my left and another group a quarter mile to my right. On the first pass towards the water, the only scent the dogs picked up was towards the dads — and no good hunter will crowd a dad taking his kids on a hunt. After a swim for the dogs in Long Lake, three quick flushes yielded two roosters, two shots and a pretty good day. On the swing back to the pickup, about 40 yards from the Terry Redlin marker, one more rooster decided to give it a go, and a quick bark from the over-and-under finished the day. According to the satellite time on the iPhone, my anticipated two-hour walk with my dogs lasted all of 31 minutes!

ASSESSING THE HUNT

My hunting buddy Yseth had to go out later, hunt longer and had less success. When I told him about my hunt, his quick retort was,”You got lucky!”

Personally, I think he missed another obvious answer. Terry Redlin painted the beautiful and multi-colored pheasant like nobody before or since. Maybe, just maybe, the birds hang around his monument because they appreciate his work too?

Lee Schoenbeck grew up in Webster, practices law in Watertown, and is a freelance writer for the South Dakota Magazine website.


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What’s the Limit on a Bishop Hunt?

By Lee Schoenbeck

My neighbor claims to have started his own church: SOW, which stands for Saints of the Outdoor World. His collection plates aren’t real great, but attendance spikes on Sundays in the fall — about the time of the duck and pheasant openers. In our neighborhood, we understand that hunting is a religious experience.

For Catholics in eastern South Dakota, hunting is embedded in our faith. Seriously. There is a stained glass window in St. Joseph’s Cathedral that depicts a hunter. The bishops assigned to this diocese have embraced the relationship. It’s not likely that there are many dioceses in America where funds are raised for seminarian education by arming the faithful and sending them out in the field to put wings and lead in the air. But in South Dakota, it makes perfect sense. This past month, the 17th Bishop’s Annual Charity Hunt was held at the Horseshoe K Ranch near Gann Valley.

HISTORY and LOCATION

The hunt was started in 1996 by Miller businessmen Jim Hart and Dr. Wayne Carr. In the early years there were a few dozen hunters at Carr Farms, under the spiritual — if not hunting — direction of then Bishop Robert Carlson. Bishop Carlson took up pheasant hunting later in life, when his papal assignment landed him in South Dakota. He became an avid hunter — at one point threatening (tongue in cheek) to put his Bishop’s Hunt head-to-head against Bill Janklow’s Governor’s Hunt for want of an invitation to that South Dakota ritual.

Over time, as the hunt grew, its location moved to venues that could accommodate larger and larger groups. Korzan’s near Kimball were gracious hosts for several years. Most recently, the Grohs family has extended their hospitality to the event at their Horseshoe K Ranch.

“BE SAFE OUT THERE”

In 2006 Bishop Paul Swain took over the reins of the Sioux Falls diocese, coming from Madison, Wisconsin. Bishop Swain was a former military officer, practicing attorney, and advisor to a governor — but never a hunter. His first experience with pheasant hunting was to host and participate in the hunt that he inherited with the office.

Now for your average non-South Dakotan, the concept of a pheasant hunt is more than a little strange. Think about it. You tell them that they can be a”blocker” or a”walker.” The walkers will carry their shotguns and start at one end of the field — walking towards the blockers. When a pheasant gets up, which it will between the blockers and the walkers, they are told to shoot it. To the uninitiated, at first blush it seems that they are being told — unbelievably — to shoot at each other. After appropriate inquiry, their worst fears are confirmed — they will be shooting at and be shot at by the rest of the group! But they are instructed to find solace in the part of the safety lecture where the hunters are all told to be careful to not shoot anybody as they put 240 pellets into the air with each pull of the trigger on their 12 gauge.

The Bishop’s Hunt starts with a Mass each morning of the two-day hunt. No hunter ever prayed as fervently as Bishop Swain that first morning of his first Bishop’s Hunt. For those fans of the old TV show Hill Street Blues, Sergeant Phil’s admonition to his officers at the end of the morning briefing to”be safe out there” had nothing on the passionate”God Bless You” that came from the lips of Bishop Swain that day — at what surely must have seemed like a pre-emptive dispensing of the Last Rites.

PURPOSE — THE SERIOUS SIDE

Through the sponsorship of organizations like Avera, Tessier’s and Muth Electric, the hunter’s registration fees and proceeds of the banquet auction, the Bishop’s Hunt generates funds. Initially the funds went to the support of the Catholic elementary school in Huron, and later the general mission of the Catholic Foundation. More recently, the funds have had a more focused purpose.

Bishop Swain came from a military background and South Dakota had many families affected by military deployment when Bishop Swain arrived here. Understanding the helplessness of a family crisis for a soldier deployed a half a globe away, he created the St. Raphael’s Fund to meet any needs of soldiers or their families — without red tape or reservations. If a soldier found out that his wife was in turmoil because a fridge had died in the home back in South Dakota, with no way to pay for it, then without regard to denomination, the fund paid for it. From the tragic to the mundane, St Raphael’s Fund is there to step in and help the families of soldiers. The hunt was so successful, within a few years the fund accumulated more money than it could spend — and the hunt took up a new mission.

Educating seminarians is a blessing — but an expensive one. For the last two years, the hunt’s goal has been to raise enough funds each year to pay for the education of one seminarian for one year.

TIES THAT BIND

Every hunt we partake in generates memories and relationships that survive and transcend that one day in the field. What hunters understand is that the hunt isn’t about killing. It is about camaraderie, it’s about an experience. Lives in houses and hallways and highways don’t create that personal bonding experience that Mother Nature presents as an opportunity out in the fields enjoying all the smells and tests and contours she has to offer. The hunt is about working with dogs and people, and facing the surprises the good Lord has created for us out there on the land. You get to know people on a hunt.

Tom Walsh would be a character in any crowd, but armed and given a field for a stage he rises to the part. Bishop Swain has recorded one pheasant kill. This writer was there to see it. The bird rose in front of the walkers, the bishop’s gun went off, the bird fell — and Tom Walsh yelled,”Nice shot, Bishop!” To this day the Bishop wonders about the smile on Tom’s face and the twinkle in his eye (and maybe the smoke from his barrel), but the seal of the confessional is absolute … so,”nice shot, Bishop.”

Major Martin Yost was leading forces in the Middle East when Bishop Swain started the St. Raphael’s Fund. On two separate tours his service there coincided with the Bishop’s Hunt, and Captain Yost got up at 2 a.m. to appear by Skype at the hunt banquet, providing the gathered with insights into the lives of our South Dakota soldiers serving in those desert stations. Last year Major Yost, now home in South Dakota and serving full time with the Army Guard, was a guest of Bishop Swain at the hunt. This year Major Yost was last seen late at night by the bonfire, plotting with a dozen other new hunter friends on how an Occupy Blue Cloud movement had real possibilities to succeed with the right strategic deployments.

Dick Muth is one of those unassuming, polite guys that isn’t prone to talking about his accomplishments in life, which are many. Dick has been a team leader and catalyst of the hunt for many years. But in those times you get to spend with new friends around the banquet table you learn things. There was a hunter that had just returned from serving in Iraq, and Dick walked up to thank him for his service. As you listened, you heard this hunt leader relate how he understood the challenges because — right out of a small town in South Dakota — he had found himself in the jungles of Vietnam, relying on his rifle for survival. You’d never imagine that surviving that experience unquestionably shaped the work ethic and drive of a young boy that returned home to South Dakota a man. Hunts provide the opportunity to learn about the people that are about us.

A LASTING REWARD — TAKE TO THE FIELDS

So this fall, take part in the hunt. Spend time afield with friends and family. Learn something about them, your state and yourself. If you get lucky, be a part of making your hunting experience a lasting reward for some bigger purpose. Take a young person out and mentor them. Take a disabled vet out and make a down payment on repaying them. Go to a charity hunt, as you will unquestionably be blessed with more than you give. While — if you’re a hunter — you can hunt any time and save the coin, you don’t always get the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of others you share this earth with. A charity hunt is an opportunity to reap and share the bounty we have been so richly blessed with here in South Dakota.

There is one other charity hunt that my buddies and I take in each year — the Mother of God Monastery Charity Pheasant Hunt at Oak Tree Lodge near Clark. We refer to it as the”Nun Hunt,” but that’s a story for another dayÖ.

Lee Schoenbeck grew up in Webster, practices law in Watertown, and is a freelance writer for the South Dakota Magazine website.

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Do You Remember Opening Day?

By Bernie Hunhoff

Anyone who has lived in a small South Dakota town has experienced the flurry of excitement generated on Opening Day of the pheasant hunting season. Sportsmen and sportswomen hurry from store to store, gathering licenses, shotgun shells, sweet rolls and orange caps — all required gear these days if you are to successfully pursue the wily ringneck.

It’s the same in almost every town, varied only by the weather — cold drinks for warm autumn afternoons and coffee or hot chocolate for the gray, brisk days.

When my brothers and I were growing up on a Utica farm, Opening Day seemed festive because dad took off work to guide our city uncles who came to hunt. Any day that dad wasn’t on a tractor in spring, summer or fall was like a holiday and good reason to celebrate. Since no one had a hunting dog, we got to tag along to beat the bushes, find the downed birds and then carry them. Why did that seem like fun?

When we were old enough, we’d hurry home from school during hunting season to change into some clothes that didn’t matter if they got “stick-tight” on them, then grab a 20 gauge and head for the nearest cornfield.

Those were the days when shells were cheap and pheasants plentiful. I could take a box of shells out and shoot all 25 of them — sometimes all at the same pheasant — in an hour or two.

We had a sharpshooter in the family. Dave had a double barrel 12 gauge, and could generally get his three-bird limit without leaving the end rows. Maybe that’s why he was county sheriff for 32 years and I’m still trying to hit the right key on my laptop?

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Grand River Grasslands

By Christian Begeman

One of the greatest legends of the early American West was born somewhere near the convergence of the north and south forks of South Dakota’s Grand River. Frontiersman Hugh Glass was mauled by a female grizzly bear with cubs while he was out hunting alone in August of 1823. His companions left him for dead. Yet somehow he survived the ordeal and proceeded to crawl and float some 200 miles to the nearest fort on the Missouri near present day Chamberlain. The story is amazing if not epic. Those two adjectives could also describe the region of land that surrounds those same forks of the Grand River today.

The Bureau of Reclamation created the Shadehill Dam and Reservoir in 1951 at the joining of the forks. The reservoir and much of the adjacent land is part of the state park system and comprised of three different units (including one named after Hugh Glass). The Grand River National Grasslands is just beyond the parkland. For a wandering photographer like myself, it doesn’t get much better than spending a late May weekend drinking in the fresh air and wide open spaces these protected lands and waters have to offer.

I grew up about an hour east and a little south of the area. Occasionally my friends would make their way to Shadehill for waterskiing and general fun. The waters haven’t quite warmed up for that kind of recreation yet, but cold waters won’t stop dedicated anglers. On my first afternoon at Shadehill I met some fishermen who traveled from the Black Hills area for the weekend. They proudly showed me a stringer full of a variety of fish. Later that night, I set my alarm for three a.m. in order to capture the Milky Way above the waters. One of the first things I saw as I rubbed my blurry eyes in the darkness was a blazing falling star lasting almost two seconds. I was wide awake after that. If you’ve never experienced the night sky where there is very little light pollution, you are missing out. There is simply a sense of wonder in western South Dakota’s dark night skies.

Later on, I positioned myself above the bluffs of the dam to get some sunrise shots. It was a chilly morning — 37 degrees with an accompanying stiff breeze. I noticed mists coming off the waters of the Grand River below the dam as the light bloomed in the horizon. The water from the reservoir’s release tube was much warmer than the brisk air above it and the result was a foggy steam that hung low on the river. This kind of scene is photographic gold. I took a few shots from the bluffs and made my way down to the river to shoot the steam against the rising sun. At this point I was in the zone, focused and intent on the scene in front of me. I walked briskly along the tall grass and sage on the riverbank when something happened I don’t think I will ever forget. I suddenly felt the ground, or at least what I thought was the ground, start to move under my right foot. A squawk erupted from under that foot, followed by a loud rustling commotion. A bellowing war whoop erupted from my deep inside my chest and my heart rose to my throat. I had stepped on a slumbering hen pheasant and she scared me half to death in her haste to get away. The good news is she was in flight before my full weight came down, so nothing but my pride was hurt. I’m glad no one saw or heard the ruckus as I’m sure”war whoop” is a very generous description of what actually came out of my mouth.

Later that morning I hiked five or six miles along the Blacktail trail in the Grand River Grasslands, enjoying prairie flowers, wildlife and bird sightings. Like I said before, the whole area is a photographer’s dream — at least this photographer’s dream. But don’t take my word for it. Why not take a weekend to check the area out yourself? My only caution is to simply watch where you step.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing our prettiest spots around the state. Follow Begeman on his blog. To view Christian’s columns on other South Dakota state parks and recreation areas, visit his state parks page.

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Pheasants: We Salute Them and Shoot Them

By John Andrews

I was putting my extensive knowledge of South Dakota to good use a couple weeks ago. My wife was crafting a quiz for her eighth-graders, and for extra credit she wanted to test their knowledge of our state symbols. She asked me what they were, rapid fire style: State Animal? Coyote. State Fish? Walleye. State Insect? Honeybee. State bird? Ring-necked pheasant.

Then there was a pause.

“Are we the only state that hunts its state bird?” she asked.

I had to think a minute before I turned to Google, the giver of all knowledge, to answer definitively. The answer is yes, South Dakota is the only state to hunt and eat its state bird. We’re also one of three states whose state bird is not native to the United States.

It made me wonder how Chinese ring-necked pheasants made it across the Pacific Ocean. I discovered that the first batch of 60 pheasants arrived in Port Townsend, Oregon on March 13, 1881. United States consul general Owen Nickerson Denny shipped the birds and a variety of other Chinese plants from Shanghai, hoping to establish them in their home state of Oregon. Most of them died on their way to Portland, but a few survivors were released on the lower Columbia River. No one knows for sure if any of these birds survived, but we do know that Denny imported more pheasants in 1882 and 1884. Those did survive, and pheasants began a new life in America.

Breeders tried introduction efforts in South Dakota as early as 1891, but none took root. The first successful release happened in 1908, when a group of farmers near Redfield bought three pairs of birds from an Oregon farm. They turned them loose in Hagmann’s Grove just north of town, and the birds made themselves at home. State officials were pleased with the success, so the game department purchased 48 more birds in 1911 and released them near Redfield. From 1914 to 1917, 7,000 pheasants were released in the thick brush of the James River valley in Spink County.

Soon South Dakota boasted enough birds to hold a one-day pheasant-hunting season held October 30, 1919. Fewer than 200 birds were bagged on that cold, rainy day, but a tradition had been born. The pheasant became so important to our culture and economy that the legislature deemed it our state bird in February 1943.

South Dakota remains the nation’s pheasant capital. In 2005 more than 10 million birds lived here. Read our current issue to find out how we know that. So this fall, when you head out for”the opener,” tip your cap to our state bird before you fill him with pellets.

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The Weapon and the Warrior

By Lee Schoenbeck

Pheasant hunters have an odd relationship with their firearms. How they pick them, what they pay, how many they own are just a few of the perspectives that may not make sense to the un-field-tested eye.

The warrior is looking for beauty, for those sleek curves and fine lines that send strong signals of integrity, dependability and fulfillment. The warrior and his weapon are making a lifetime commitment. There may be a few other firearms that catch his eye for a second, but that one — that perfect fit — is going to be reached for every time when he heads to the field for the big dance.

My first shotgun came by happenstance, and the romance is still there 25 years later. Dad didn’t hunt and we didn’t have a shotgun in the house. When I came home from law school, I saw that Grandpa Tony had an old gun that he brought with him when he moved off the farm. It was a Remington Model 25. Remington only made the Model 25 for 5 years, from 1945 to 1950. Like their big brother, the Model 12, they are durable. The Model 25 I got from Grandpa outlived the store (Jeske’s Hardware) and the town (Lily) where he bought it — and it outlived Grandpa. It’s been reblued twice, and has had cases of 2 æ-inch pheasant loads pass through its chamber. It’s a little worse for the wear at the moment, but I’m confident Cliff the local gunsmith can fix that.

Based upon hunter preference, the Remington Model 12, Winchester 870, Benelli Nova, and Browning A-5 (“the humpback”) are America’s shotguns of choice. There are many fancy and more expensive options out there, but the warrior that shows up with one of these is immediately recognized as a dependable hunter. Winchester doesn’t make the Model 12 any more. Some cynics contend that Winchester quit because you couldn’t sell a hunter two of these super durable weapons in a lifetime. In its 89 years of production, Americans bought 2 million of the shotgun known as”the perfect repeater.” The”Humpback” was produced continuously for almost 100 years, beginning in 1889.

I carry my firearm in the field, one-handed, like a pistol, with the trigger finger leveraged against the front of the trigger guard. I don’t hunt with gentlemen. My buddies are about dropping birds on a first-come, first-serve basis. If you need to fumble for the safety, you get to watch somebody else shoot the bird. So for me, I can only shoot a Benelli or a Winchester, as no other manufacturer puts the safety on the front of the trigger guard. That safety location allows the shooter to swing on a flushing bird, while drawing down the weapon, and hitting the safety as the shooting finger comes off the guard and squeezes for the trigger. The whole motion, of course, takes about a second, which is also the difference between birds on the ground and birds flying away on a windy South Dakota afternoon.

Manufacturers have invented new and improved ways to make and market shotguns — the choke is one such feature. If you don’t hunt, then things like chokes mean nothing to you. If you use a Model 12, which is a full choke, you don’t care either. Chokes are tubes that are screwed in the end of the gun, to affect the spread of the shot pattern as the shot leaves the barrel. The fancy options are called”improved” or”modified,” to give a wider pattern spread. The old-timers, shooting dependable weapons like the Model 12, have only one option — the full choke. It delivers a tight pattern. For a blocker, it’s like poking a fly coming at you, with a pencil. But if you learn to drop birds with a full choke, you’ll bring home the birds every time. As for those other choke options, they are designed for the”choke excuse”:”Dang, missed that one ’cause I had the modified in.” Young hunters from the 5-7 zip codes should be raised on a full choke. They will never be confused with”out-of-staters,” and they won’t need to learn the”choke excuse.”

What the warrior will pay for his weapon is another mystery. Go to an auction and watch the crazed warriors bidding on firearms off the flatbed. Afterwards place a call to Vic Carter at Kones Korner, which is like accessing an internet volume of information on firearms options and prices. You’ll soon find that the same weapon was available for 10 or 20% off, but of course Vic’s sales don’t satisfy the same visceral competitiveness that winning the gun at the auction provides.

I own a $5,000 shotgun. It’s obviously not the Model 12 or 25, which go for about $300. It isn’t even one of those fancy Belgium Brownings like my FBI brother-in-law shoots. It’s not an automatic, has no fancy tubes, and it doesn’t make pizzas. No. I got mine at the Webster Museum of Science and Industry benefit auction. For twenty years I have been buying raffle tickets at $20 a pop for guns at banquets to benefit habitat for about everything except ground squirrels — and I have NEVER won the gun. Didn’t win one at DU, Pheasants Forever, Pro Pheasant, Rocky Mountain Elk, or even the greased pig foundation. This spring though, at a museum banquet of all things, I finally won the gun. I figure I’ve got at least $5,000 into that shotgun I finally won, even if Vic said I could buy one new from him for under $300.

The warrior’s weapons case inevitably includes firearms with special significance — real South Dakota family heirlooms — the kind kids fight over when the warrior is gone. We have one such shotgun. When the feds made us give up lead shot for waterfowl, and before the days of 3-inch shells in 12 gauges, there was the 10 gauge. The 10 gauge has about the same amount of iron in it as the cavalry cannon pieces at Fort Sisseton, but without the carriage and wheels. It was a goose hunter’s signature weapon. Today there are fancier and more mobile firearms to bring down the now common Giant Canadian, but in 1987, when the feds took away our lead, the 10 gauge was king.

At our wedding rehearsal dinner in Kranzburg that year, the gift my bride gave this warrior was a Zabala double barrel side-by-side 10 gauge. The thing shoots shells the size of small mortars. I think Arnold Schwarzenegger was carrying one of them in one of his army movies. But the treasure of this weapon came in the presentation. In front of all of my family and all of my soon-to-be family, my wife presents this broken (as in not put together) shotgun. The unique feature of my only shotgun, the Model 25, was that it couldn’t be broken down. I had no idea how to connect the pieces standing there at the head table — looked like a Rubik’s Cube to me. My soon-to-be-wife, from a serious pheasant hunting lineage, reached over, took the parts and made them into a gun in about 45 seconds.

I’ve been working to catch up in the warrior category ever since.

Lee Schoenbeck grew up in Webster, practices law in Watertown, and is a freelance writer for the South Dakota Magazine website.

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S.D.’s High Holiday

Pheasant Season Opener is a family event in South Dakota

By Lee Schoenbeck

As I write this it is the night before the South Dakota High Holiday, the Friday before the third Saturday in October, and my friend Bernie Hunhoff just called to ask if I would write a column on the outdoors for the on-line version of South Dakota Magazine. On Pheasant Opener Eve, who could resist?

Next to Christmas, there really is no other time in South Dakota that screams FAMILY like”the opener”. If you’re a 57 zip code, or used to be, or want to be, you don’t even need to use an adjective for people to know that”the opener” is that special event on the third Saturday of October when over 100,000″out-of-staters” join over 75,000 South Dakotans in our native ritual of the pheasant hunt.

Thursday night as I was impatiently waiting with my 16 year old in line to get his hunting license before the weekend onslaught of out-of-staters, I listened to a gentleman ahead of me getting his license. No matter how the clerk asked for information, each answer included the fact that he may not be living here any more, but that he was a South Dakotan. It was a little annoying at first, but as I listened you could tell there was a story there he wanted to share. He had sold his farm near Huron the year before and had moved elsewhere to be near children and grandchildren. It soon became clear that the other out-of-staters straggling near him were his sons from Connecticut and Chicago. This was a story happening a thousand times over across South Dakota during our High Holiday, a family united afield back in their native South Dakota.

I have to admit that while I thought it was kind of neat, I was still annoyed with two trips back and forth to town to get the gear it takes to outfit a sprouting 16-year-old for the weekend hunt. At 16, fashion matters, hand me downs — even afield — don’t cut it. I’ve done this with sons and daughters, same deal either way. Finally, after 10 gallons of case and all my after work daylight was burnt, I had a son properly licensed and outfitted for the weekend hunt.

The next morning I happened to read the latest Ike’s issue and caught some perspective on all this preparation. It turns out that 92% of youth that enjoy the outdoor hunting experience come from a family that hunts. Meaning the majority of children that will be a part of carrying on our state’s outdoor legacy will be those whose parents made the effort at some point to make the High Holiday a family experience. That former Huron farmer pushing his eighth decade was still enjoying the fruits of some time spent with his sons years ago, getting them outfitted, getting them afield and making sure they had an experience that made them want to come back for many more years together.

Besides the family bonding opportunity our High Holiday presents, those who hunt also leave a substantial legacy for the rest of their communities. The federal excise taxes on hunting and fishing equipment and ammunition provide more than 75% of the total funding of many wildlife agencies in America. Those dollars support habitat development, clean water, and the creation of outdoor opportunities of all stripes.

This year the rooster roundup continues until January 1st. If it sounds like taking a youngster out in the field safely with a loaded firearm for a several mile walk might be a little inconvenient — it is. Like a lot of what’s involved in raising children, there’s sacrifice. But I have yet to hear a mother endure the unbelievable pains of labor and express regret about the fruits the experience.

So when you get the chance, grab a son or daughter and be a part of something special for today — and for the future — out on the land here at home in South Dakota.

EDITOR’S NOTE: See more photos of the 2011 Pheasant Opener in our gallery.