Pheasants Archives - Hunt Southwest Minnesota

Our Outdoors: Turn it Up for Late Season Pheasants

Our Outdoors: Turn it Up for Late Season Pheasants
By Nick Simonson

Late season pheasant hunting is by far my favorite. The throngs of people have disappeared from the landscape as colder, snowier, and windier conditions generally keep the fair weather uplanders inside watching football on the weekends. Access to places both public and private – with the demands of deer season now subsided – is far more open and landowners are often welcoming once their tags are punched, and the holidays are upon us. Taking the time to introduce yourself and explore those relationships and options is well suited for this time of year. But late season pheasant hunting isn’t just a walk in a winter wonderland, it requires changing some things from early fall, adding some layers to deal with the chill and dialing things up a bit in terms of effort to make those possibilities a reality.
Shot & Choke Tweaks
With a fully developed pelt of feathers, rooster pheasants are at their brightest and most beautiful in this final month of the season. Many times, we joke that a shot which seemed on point was unable to penetrate the iron long underwear those late season roosters must be wearing underneath all that plumage as they fly away unscathed into the winter breezes. This phenomenon often results first from first birds getting up at a farther distance, startled by the crunch of refrozen snow or careless conversation, and surviving other hunters and their dogs this far in the season, making the far-out shot pattern a bit less effective as the birds rise. Thus, tightening the choke on a shotgun from modified to full, and dropping a shot size, from six to five or five to four, can help provide a tighter pattern and bigger pellets which arguably do more damage when they connect with those fully dressed late-season roosters. Consider upping your salvos and giving yourself a gift of a premium pheasant load for the late season, or even going from a 2 3/4-inch shell to a three-inch shell, patterning these changes out to see the effectiveness firsthand.
Learn to Layer
Early season pheasant hunting conditions often allow for the option to shoot in long-sleeved shirts and a vest, or even in those warm afternoons, just a tee shirt. Odds are with the pattern established this fall, those days are far behind us and cold temperatures will require some layering up for the season-ending outings for upland game. Today’s thermal layers are far more efficient and thinner than ever before, allowing for the addition of base layers on top and bottom that don’t bulk a body up.
Remember too that late season pheasant hunting is a game of staying in motion, and that heat is readily built through the physical activity required to get birds up. So as layers are added, have a plan to shed them as activity levels ramp up and warmer conditions allow. It’s better to have more to start and take them off as needed, as you can’t put on what you didn’t bring with, and the cold should never end a hunt with all the options available.
Love the Work
Finally, pheasants are often found in the deepest of places this time of year, and late-season roosters will hole up in the thickest cattail sloughs and the gnarliest brushy cover to stay warm and away from predators of both the furred and firearms-toting varieties. This means meeting them on their turf is a requirement for success and busting through slough-edge snowdrifts and stomping cattails are part-and-parcel with a late season hunt. Be ready to put in the extra physical effort that December roosters demand. Go back to the layering drawing board after each late season hunt to determine how much clothing is needed, and what get up allows for the best high-stepping through reeds and brambles to get those birds in the air this time of year.
With these tips in mind, late season pheasant hunting will likely become a favorite for you as well. The hunting spots are more open, and with the right changes the hunts can be amazing as bunched-up birds flush by the dozen. Make the adjustments to firearms and shells along with clothing, and get ready to do a little extra work for those long-tailed birds of late season…in our outdoors.

Our Outdoors: On the Upswing

Our Outdoors: On the Upswing
By Nick Simonson

Make the Turn. Hunters know habitat holds birds, and areas conserved benefit all wild creatures. The first step to more and better conservation comes with experience in the field linking encounters with wildlife with the places they need to survive and thrive. Simonson Photo.

Grass equals birds. Habitat equals deer. Clean water equals fish. These are the things I along with many other hunters and anglers have come to know in the outdoors.
I can recall once cutting from corner to corner on a dirt field to grab the pickup truck and collect my dog and hunting buddy who were finishing off a walk, and there in the middle of nothing but black dust and wheat stubble a covey of partridge flushed, surprising me straight out of my early autumn evening thoughts with enough shock to shoulder my shotgun instinctively. Other than that, the barren ground has provided nothing else for me in my adventures when it comes to flushing birds or bounding bucks.
For those who hunt and fish, we know the connection between conservation of those marginal spaces and their major impacts on where small game, big game and favorite fish species reside. Cruise along any protected and undeveloped shoreline in the summer, and you’re likely to see bluegills teeming in the shallow weeds, and that occasional bruiser largemouth tucked under the branches of an overhanging willow tree on those lake edges where the blades of development haven’t touched the shore, and no docks break up the natural boundary between land and water.
Whether it’s natural prairie or that which has been replanted, so too with each step in that area comes the opportunity to be startled by the wings of a brightly colored rooster pheasant in fall, or the heart-pounding rise and run of a whitetail deer at close range. Like the study of math, the equation in the outdoors becomes a bit clearer over time that wildlife species are a function of their available habitat. The more grass, the more upland birds we have; in both lean times when cold winters and wet springs hamper reproduction, and in those good years where rain falls softly, and mild summers spur the appearance of large broods along the roadside in August. With habitat, the bottom of a population cycle isn’t as bad and quick rebounds are possible among those species dependent on grass to beget the next generation. Without habitat however, we as hunters find ourselves taking on the mantra of a bridesmaid ball club, adopting the hopeless motto of “maybe next year.”
In society’s model of doing great things every 20 years or so, forgetting all about them, re-learning them, and implementing them once again, we’re somewhat stuck in the trough of remembering what it was that made hunting so good two decades ago. In that same autumn back when I cut across the dirt field in September to the startling flush of those Huns (which were likely there due to the CRP surrounding the harvested acres on four sides), I was surprised even more on a November hunt for deer. In winds that would have canceled any other trip afield, in the spirit of the waning season I urgently walked the edge of a public access parcel as the northwest gusts roared through the leafless trees and bent the tall golden stems of dense planted prairie grass, that even when arched in the gales, still came up to my armpits.
As I made my way into the twenty-acre sea of swishing stalks, I caught sight of dark eyes watching me at the far end, tucked into the angle created by the belt of trees. Another pair appeared, and then another and another, all framed by turning ears and nervous noses checking the air. My form was mostly concealed by the screen of vegetation, rendering me unidentifiable. The noise of my movement was muted by the rushing wind through the grass. My scent was carried miles away in a matter of moments. One by one, nearly two dozen heads rose up in the corner of the thick prairie habitat, and I stood there in amazement for what seemed like an eternity before the first deer snorted and turned, starting a stampede through the northern stand of trees. If there was ever an instant where the connection between places for our big game to live were tied with magical hunting moments, that was the one for me.
While such spaces may not be as prevalent on the landscape as they once were, they still exist and still provide the lesson which connects habitat to wildlife, and in turn, those instances in the outdoors which keep us coming back. Share a walk this autumn with someone new, or perhaps an old hunting friend who has been away awhile and talk about the “good old days” when these moments and others may have been more commonplace. Through that nostalgia comes learning (or re-learning), through that learning comes experience, and through experience comes advocacy to help society make the turn upward once again in that cycle of doing, forgetting, remembering, and re-doing. The impact of adding one voice with the knowledge of what’s important, when done by many, can begin to turn the tide in a single season, and bring about the conservation improvements and solutions which can once again usher in a new era of seemingly endless habitat and boundless opportunities…in our outdoors.

Our Outdoors: Four Factors for Upland Game

Our Outdoors: Four Factors for Upland Game
By Nick Simonson

Hunts are best viewed in hindsight. The thrill of the flush and the clamor of the shot often overpower the memory of the longer, quieter stretches of the walk leading up to those moments. But it is in that prologue to the excitement where we begin to realize what came together to make those thrilling instants happen. This autumn, as upland game season starting dates begin to peel off the calendar – starting with this week’s mourning dove opener on Sept. 1 – keep in mind the big four for all upland species, to help set up more of those memorable moments. While each species of upland game varies, the four things they look for are: food, water, cover and grit.
The last factor is easy for most upland birds to locate and also for hunters to identify. A gravel road bounding a wildlife management area, or a sandy stretch along a creek provides plenty for pheasants and grouse of both types to grind their grainy foods in digestion; but keep it in the back of your mind while hunting that any source of grit is a plus-one in the upland equation for a good hunting area. It’s the other three that often provide a challenge in identifying the food, water and cover that goes into an excellent space to explore for upland birds, and those factors certainly vary from species to species.

Doves
Being the smallest of the five primary upland species in the upper Midwest, mourning doves eat smaller things. When staking out a spot to set up for an evening hunt, consider that diet. Identify spaces near small grain fields of canola, wheat, or sunflowers which provide the base forage for these migrating birds. Water plays a key role in mourning dove hunts, as the birds will head to a hydration source in the morning and evening, so identify seeps, springs, and both natural and manmade ponds where the birds will come to. Set up a decoy spread and a concealed spot around them to intercept doves in their daily movements. Cover for doves is key too, and large shelterbelts and farm groves will hold them during the day. Watching their movements from spot to spot, or from field to roost will provide tips on their travels.

Partridge
Hungarian partridge, while sadly becoming more of a rarity on a changing landscape, remain the ultimate edge bird. Shorter in stature than their upland contemporaries, they key in on small grains like wheat and oats, where available. Adapted to the demands of more arid conditions, they get most of the water they need from their forage which includes green leaves in addition to agricultural sources, along with moisture generated by dew, so an obvious water source isn’t a necessity in a good hunting spot for these upland birds. As a result, look for their fall flocks to congregate under the cover of shorter grasses adjacent to wheat fields, especially those where the stalks of the harvested fields have been left taller to provided added cover.

Sharptailed grouse get much of their moisture from green, leafy plants. That makes grassy areas next to alfalfa fields ideal habitat to hunt for these early-season upland birds. Simonson Photo [[Set near middle of article]]

Sharptailed Grouse
Sharpies are the birds of the open prairie but love a good lookout in the middle of it or on its edge. Finding those fields of rolling knee-high grasses that are dotted with buckbrush and buffaloberry bushes is always worth a mark on the GPS. This habitat provides the flock plenty of cover for their mid-sized bodies and allows a sentry to post up in an elevated position to watch for trouble. While sharptails will eat most agricultural overflow, smaller grains like wheat, peas and soybeans are a draw. They too get a great deal of their required moisture from green leaves, and any stretch of CRP next to an alfalfa field is worth a walk because of that. Plus, plenty of late-season grasshoppers are often associated with those adjacent green leaves and are still consumed by growing grouse from this year’s hatch until the first hard frost knocks insect populations back.

Ruffed Grouse
While one of these upland birds is not like the others simply due to its home range, it shares many of the same proclivities, just on a grander scale. The ruffed grouse, like the ringneck pheasant, is an edge creature, however its edges are trees of the northern forests as opposed to ground cover of the prairie. Surviving mostly on aspen buds and forest greens, along with berries such as highbush cranberries, the ruffed grouse somehow turns nature’s most bitter crops into the best upland game meat. Thus, look for thunderbirds in those spaces where pine turns to popple, or those aspens give way to open areas with highbush or other berry plants along a meandering forest creek where they also get their water in addition to leaf-borne condensation. In the early morning or afternoon, ruffies will dry off along an opening in the woods or forage and get grit in those spaces, such as a logging trail, clear cut, or natural meadow. Walk the edge of the trees and its likely you’ll find one, or a small group together in those openings, particularly in the early part of the hunting season.

Ringneck Pheasants
The ultimate edge creature in upland hunting is also the most pursued. The ringneck pheasant is notable for occupying those spaces where field meets grass, or where that low cover meets denser stands of cattails, cane, or willow thickets. On cold nights or after a snow in late season, plan on your hunts to start in those thicker areas. When things are warmer at the season’s start, light grasses to waist-high CRP will hold birds moving freely about between roosting areas such as shelterbelts, brush lines, and farm groves, to food sources that run the agricultural gamut. The modern two-crop focus of corn and soybeans has benefitted these bigger birds, but they will also eat wheat, peas and other smaller items. A water source such as a stock pond or small creek surrounded by tall grass is a good area to mark on a walking map as well, as pheasants will look for additional hydration beyond what they consume.
This season, as walks and hunts for upland species get underway, consider the four elements these birds require. Knowing their preferred habitat, the food they consume, where they get their water, and that additional consideration of grit will help lead to the more exciting part of the hunt when the cover explodes with the beating of wings and a smoky shot rings out, heralding the start of a new season…in our outdoors.

Our Outdoors: Trail’s End

Our Outdoors: Trail’s End
By Nick Simonson

The whir of wings on the far side of the stand of pines caught my attention as my hardworking lab sniffed out the row’s only resident. From the sound and the urgency, I guessed it was a pheasant as we had put three hens up on the walk down the valley, before turning our backs to the wind and wandering up the hillside. While I never saw it, my mind was comfortable on this final walk of the year in presuming it was of the fairer sex that seemed to exclusively inhabit the near side of the wildlife management area.
At the end of the trees, mixed in amongst the cottontail trails and the toe-drag of whitetail deer through the snow was another set of three toed tracks. I dismissed them as the markings of the just-escaped hen as I waited for my dog to finish up his double-back inspection of all the scents that had piled up behind the wall of green and the snowdrifts that had built in behind it. It had been a long time since either of us had hunted in calf-deep snow, and I could feel the strain of the final afternoon’s hike of four miles building but was relieved by the warming temperatures of the first afternoon in a while where the mercury rose above zero and winds were light. As I stretched and Ole wandered back to me, I followed the upland bird tracks out of the mix and into the snow-covered plants up the slope.
They lacked the notable straight-line urgency of pheasant tracks, and I was puzzled by their absence of direction and relation to nothing in particular. They curled around the stalks of the brushy cluster of berry plants, now bare from winter’s winds stripping their gray-green leaves and the small white beads of fruit had been long lost to the frost. Like the trail of a bumblebee in a child’s drawing, the path looped over and around itself, showing the haphazard walk the upland creature had made in the drifted snow now covering the vegetation. I shrugged as I traced it into the drift, where it disappeared, without wing or tail marks to signify a takeoff or landing. They simply vanished into the white of the crest rising out of the frozen plants. Then it hit me.
Snow from the drift exploded all around me as if I had triggered some sort of bomb buried within the depths of the white wind-forged wall. It continued to rise and swirl as wingbeats pounded and threw a sparkling smokescreen up while a chuckling covey of sharptailed grouse took flight so close I could have hit two of them with the barrels of my over-under. In the second it took to figure out what was going on and mount the little scattergun, I replayed those stories relayed from mentors in outings long past, about how late in the season, they had experienced the same moment: exploding snowbanks, beating wings, laughing birds, and a feeling of bewilderment that sometimes stunned them to the point they were unable to shoot.
Had it not been for the fact it was late in a season filled with many successful hunts and once again warm enough to walk in my light jacket over my sweatshirt, both factors played to my advantage and allowed the butt of my small shotgun to find its home between my chest and shoulder. Overriding the adrenaline and excitement, the shot I could muster rang true and my dog was quickly on the downed sharptail at the far side of the drifted brushy stretch. Stunned, I cautiously wandered through the area, seeing the grouses’ tracks now amidst the deep holes in the snowbank and my lab’s bounding footprints, expecting yet another covey to rise.
Receiving the sharpie from my dog, I looked it over. In late season splendor, its plumes of black, brown, gray and white were full and thick and for its sacrifice I promised to honor it as the last bird of the season and craft from its coat a series of flies for spring crappie and trout fishing on the small lake down at the end of the brushy drain which led to the impoundment. I congratulated my dog as the last of the rush wore off and we turned back toward the truck as the late afternoon sun of the final day of the hunting season guided us through the quiet snow and an exciting end to another memorable season…in our outdoors.