Loran Smith: Pheasant hunting in South Dakota

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Loran Smith: Pheasant hunting in South Dakota

Loran Smith
Loran Smith

It has been several seasons since I have pheasant hunted in South Dakota, but I fully expect to return to the “Mount Rushmore State.”  Have my calendar marked for next fall.

What made me think of making October plans at this juncture on the calendar is that I got an email in the last fortnight from a long time South Dakota friend, Homer Harding.   Harding and his friend, George Mickelson, introduced me to South Dakota hospitality and pheasant hunting.  I have never experienced a greater combination of experiences.

 

 

 

 

In his note, Homer allowed his hunting days are over.  “I’m 98 now,” he wrote.  I hunted with him for years with him getting his limit in his early years as a nonagenarian.

He walked the South Dakota grainfields as fluidly as a teenager strolling down the street.  When the day ended, he was eager for a steak dinner, a couple of Rob Roy’s, and good conversation.

The way I met Homer came about through a friendship with a Coca-Cola executive, Bill Schermerhorn, who was friends with the governor of South Dakota, George Mickelson.  The governor had a great affinity for golf and arranged for tickets to the Masters via his relationship with Georgia governor, Zell Miller.

 

 

 

 

I hosted Mickelson’s party while they were in Augusta and a warm friendship ensued with the governor and his state treasurer who was Homer Harding.

There were trips to Pierre, the capital city, where the governor and Homer arranged pheasant hunts.   At the end of one trip, we wound up having dinner at the governor’s mansion after which the governor’s wife, hosted a small Georgia party at a new museum a few blocks away.

While we were at the museum, the governor and Homer cleaned the pheasant we had killed which we brought home with us.  I remember another trip when we showed up at a local steak house for dinner.  There must have been 20 or more diners-to-be who were awaiting seating.  The proprietor immediately went into a scramble to bring about VIP arrangements, but Mickelson would not allow that to take place.  We went elsewhere.

When the governor attended the Masters, he stayed at a budget motel.  When I told him we could get him an upgrade, he said.  “That is not a problem.   We only need a place to shower and change clothes.”  I wanted to move to South Dakota so I could become eligible to vote for him.  Made me wish all politicians were like that.

Tragically, Mickelson was killed in a plane crash, a heartbreaking circumstance for all his friends.  After that, I kept returning to South Dakota to hunt with Homer always going by for a moment of silence at the memorial to the late governor.

Initially, it was hard to hunt without regret since we all knew that we had lost a close friend with the governor’s death, but as Homer said, “He would want us to carry on.”

Killing a cock pheasant in South Dakota ranks with the best of outdoor experiences.  The landscape is different, but its uniqueness is captivating.  Prairies, the Missouri River which Lewis and Clark (and Sacagawea), traversed, the “Badlands,” and Mount Rushmore—all secondary to walking the fields in pursuit of bringing down a pheasant for supper.

You walk the fields, knowing that ahead of you is a beautiful bird which is cagey and extraordinarily alert.  Pheasant are so cunning that you can walk past them as they hunker down into the corn and grain stalks, poised to blast up and away.

The cock pheasant is the most beautiful of birds.  I have several mounts on the wall of my den, each connected with the heart-warming memory of a morning or afternoon hunt in the most uplifting of outdoor settings.

South Dakota was the 40th state admitted to the union which came about on Nov. 1, 1889.   Not sure what a survey would reveal, but I think most non-residents are most aware of Mount Rushmore and pheasant hunting when asked about this state named for the Sioux native Americans.

The people of the state are hearty and generous.  They enjoy the outdoors and are proud to welcome visitors every year to hunt their farms and ranches amid the most welcoming of hospitality.  I miss those trips to South Dakota, and I still miss my friend the late governor.

 

 

 

 

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