If you’re up to the likelihood of unpleasant winter weather, Jack Hirt says a late-season pheasant hunt in South Dakota is almost always sure to be a good time.

After a full day of waterfowling on a Canadian prairie adventure we shared, hunting partner Mike suggested, and son, Bill, immediately seconded, that we “ought to get together to have a go at SoDak’s roosters one of these years.” Since I happened to have a new, young dog that needed all the seasoning I could give her, I was certainly up for it—provided the plan met certain basic criteria—which I proceeded to explain.

First off, our (mine and Bill’s) most recent SoDak trips had been public land-oriented, during which we found ourselves continuously dealing with so much unnaturally-factored hunter competition that it severely distracted from the overall experience. Thus, I wanted to hunt private ground, simply because at this stage of the game, it’s ultimately important to me that we and our dogs be able to enjoy a high-quality hunt, by and for ourselves, at our own pace.

Second was the condition that it be a late-season hunt. Late, as in all the crops being off. Which means in turn that the birds, when not feeding, would be concentrated in any readily apparent cover. And that, from a time and particularly a human energy standpoint, would allow us to optimize our efforts.

Then finally, that it included comfortable, but dog-friendly accommodations, would be a must. I mean, what good is cocktail hour if you can’t reach down and scratch your dog’s ears while enjoying your favorite beverage?

So, being that it wasn’t too hard to come to terms, we set out to find a situation that met them. And while it wasn’t easy, we got it done in time for an early December trip.

Now, when it comes to December in South Dakota, the weather is sure to be up for grabs. And the birds are bound to be wily “survivors.” In this regard, we weren’t disappointed, though the first day’s hunt was a pleasant surprise.

Stepping from the truck that morning, we were promptly smacked in the face by the biting prairie wind. A fact mitigated only by a muffled cackle, then the glimpse of a rooster that flushed after an errant door slam, only to sail into a tangled patch of weeds a hundred yards distant. Without hesitation, we set off in hot pursuit of the crafty old bird. Unfortunately, it too easily gave us the slip as it exited the cover’s back door, far out of range, in what would prove a recurring theme for our hunt as a whole.

Warmed to the task, the six of us set out to work the farm’s wide, thickly overgrown tree rows. It didn’t take long for the canine half of our team—Mike’s Desi, Bill’s Anna and my Tilly—to get a noseful of the obvious runners, that, as expected, began to flush wild. But here and there, when one no doubt felt cornered, a rooster would sit tight, much to its ultimate demise.

It was great fun! And, after three hours of honest hustling, we pocketed the last bird of our three-man limit.

Having been directed to another, but similar-looking part of the big farm on day two, we were anticipating more of the same. Oh, there were enough birds, to be sure. But, they were a lot looser in the somewhat thinner tree rows and the noisy, shell-iced cattail sloughs we hunted. We had to stay at it, and it took all day, but we eventually “got ‘er done.”

It started to snow that evening, with only a few inches predicted. But the literally howling wind we woke up to the next morning was steady at 25, gusting well into the 40s. The gale was driving the snow in blinding, whiteout sheets across the ice-slicked gravel. We pretty much idled out into Siberian-like countryside with the farm hand’s words, “Have at it if you want. The whole farm’s yours today,” echoed in my ears.

Well, we were there. Even though the weather was nasty, we had to at least give it a shot.

I soon found that trying to keep pace with my pup in the slippery, sugary snow was impossible for me with my then-still-newly-replaced hip. Which left me with blocker duty as Bill and Mike powered through. Still, it proved a grim duty for all. So, with only my three birds in our collective bag by mid-afternoon, we took time for a little powwow.

It would have been easy to pull the plug. In fact, it would have been smart. But while I was ready, and sensed Mike was, too, Bill, ever-the-stubborn one, flatly stated, “Well, me and Anna are going for one more walk.” After which Mike relented adding, “Desi and I are in.”

Having motored around to block and pick them up, I stepped out and, standing in the lee of the truck, was happy to hear their occasional, storm-muffled shots. It turned out that in “one last slough,” they found the honey hole.

The sight of the two of them emerging through the blow, fists full of feathers with their dogs still happily hunting in front of them, was one I’ll long remember.

Doggone, I sure love it when a plan comes together!

Looking for a new location to try this hunting season? You’ll find some great suggestions in the fall issues of MidWest Outdoors, available by subscribing on our website.