Amazing Firesteel

It didn’t start well. The local weatherman was calling it a blizzard. When Dakotans uses the word “blizzard,” it pays to take notice. Huge drifts were reported along with power outages and closed roads. The next day was the start of our November Shooting Sportsman Readers & Writers hunt at Firesteel Creek Lodge (www.firesteelcreeklodge.com), in South Dakota. Oh, joy.

I made a quick call to the lodge and learned that, although they had lost electricity, the power had just been turned back on and that some of the roads were actually open. What’s the worst that can happen? I thought as I boarded my plane in sunny, warm, dry, calm Florida.

When we flew in to Bismarck before the trip south to Isabel, it didn’t look so bad. The guides told us that the storm had pretty much missed the lodge. There was about a half-foot of snow, not much more. Things were looking up. I just didn’t realize how far up.

All of our people arrived safely. Some drove from the Left Coast. The rest flew in from all over. Most of the luggage made it, and only one gun was missing. That had been shipped via FedEx, who claimed they couldn’t get through the road we had just driven down.

No one really knew what to make of it all. None of us were looking forward to hunting in the 25 degrees and 25-knot prairie winds that faced us that first morning. On the way down, I’d purchased a terrorist-inspired head sock with eye slits, just in case it got really bad.

After a tremendous “last meal”-style breakfast, we broke into three groups of a half-dozen plus guides and dogs. Then we started to walk the land. The wind calmed; the sun came out. We were in a hunter’s Eden. It was the start of the most amazing South Dakota hunt I’ve been on. There were birds all over the place. I mean all over the place. Everywhere you looked there were pheasants. And not just pheasants. Coveys of Hungarian partridge dotted the fields. Fleets of normally unapproachable sharp-tailed grouse soared past and landed in the tops of nearby trees. Twice I walked up to within a dozen feet of a deer nested in high grass before it sprang up and bolted for cover, scaring me witless.

On the first drive I shot more roosters than I normally do in several full days. For the rest of the day and into the next, I concentrated on Huns and sharpies and was even able to make an occasional double. This is from a guy whose previous idea of a double was two fingers of single-malt. When even an outdoor writer can get a bunch of birds, you know the hunting is good. The really good shots got in some fantastic shooting, whereas the more modest shots had more opportunities than they’d dreamed of.

The incredible shooting went on for two days. On our third and last day, it returned to normal. Pheasants were a bit scarcer. The Huns and sharptails didn’t let you get as close. You had to work for your birds and make each shot count. It was still good, but it wasn’t otherworldly.

What had happened? As one guide explained, we had lucked out with the weather. He said that the best days of shooting are Opening Day (always capitalized) and the day or so just after the first snow of the season. Apparently that first snow reminds the birds that the Dakota winter has finally come and they had better start chowing down to fatten up. That means they go where the food is and, it just so happens, that’s where the hunters are too. 

Live and learn. I never knew that about the first snow. Next time I won’t be so quick to grumble about the weather.

Have you experienced incredible hunting after the first snow? What was your experience?

That’s it for now. Boots off. Beer open.