As we set foot into the stretch of private land the welcoming owner offered up to us on the abnormally warm November afternoon — nearly 60 degrees as we started our trek with two hours before sunset — it wasn’t long until I could hear the squish-squash of each of my lab Ole’s steps in the grass outside the cattails at the center of the initial slough. Making our way around the main cover, we came to a small, separate stand of reeds and birds began breaking out the far side. First a pair of hen pheasants downwind, then a rooster off to the side, then another and another all into the angled yellow sun until my count hit double digits and I stopped keeping track.

Persistently, my dog stayed on their scent, swirling in and out of the cattails as the swampy stand gave up its residents as they scattered to the farmyard over the harvested wheat field to the east and the stretch of grassy drain which would mark our southern track for the afternoon. The unhayed space sported far more cover this fall, as wet conditions inundated the area adjacent to some public access acres on the far side of the road which housed a large slough complex we love to hunt in the late season, when everything freezes up and roosters are free to roam in the tangles of thermal cover.

Crossing the fenceline from our starting point and knowing a good group of pheasants awaited us in the grassy stretch, it wasn’t long until my lab was back on scent. We weaved our way along the eastern edge of the drain, finding that the dry hill leading up to the field just wasn’t where the birds were at. They were in the thick of the damp areas between the rise and the main cattail draw at the middle of the property, and it wasn’t long until a young rooster flushed from the wetness around my boots and Ole was fast on the retrieve bringing the soaked bird back to hand.

Back and forth we whipsawed between the cattails and the hillside, sloshing and slopping our way along, turning a one mile walk into a two miler by adding on the curves we created to better play the fading west wind. With each turn back into it and down toward the drain, my dog would send another hen or rooster skyward before taking a drink from the standing, slightly green water, which in the unseasonable warmth at this point in the month was still sending groups of just-hatched midges into the air around us, but thankfully, no mosquitoes.

As we wrapped, and my half-kept mental tally topped an estimated thirty birds seen on the day, Ole went on point to my right and with a “go” command, he lunged at me, sending a rooster scurrying through the wet grass in front of my feet and barnstorming just above the cattails to my left. I fired a shot and the bird dropped a leg but kept on flying. I watched as he headed toward the fading sun and was frustrated at what I felt was a good shot didn’t get the job done. About to give up, I saw the rooster flutter and crash land on the far side of the drain, out past the deep water of the cattail-lined canal which would prevent immediate pursuit. Heading back to the nearby truck I marked the spot where it looked like the bird had gone down, and promised my dog a follow-up on it after we got in the vehicle and made it to the far side for our final walk to get the bird back up.

As it turned out, we wouldn’t have to search for him. A dark object in the middle of the gravel road quickly came into focus between where the drain connected underneath via culvert with the main slough to the west. It was our pheasant, and the recovery would be easy. With two in the bag and sunset creeping up on us like the waterline slowly working its way from my boots to the knees of my upland pants, we called it an afternoon and headed off toward the expanding purple of a bank of evening clouds, soon lit red and pink by the sinking sun as we made our way to the main road.

The hunt was a solid reminder that pheasants can tolerate a lot of things, including wet conditions almost more suitable for mallards. But where the grass is tall and the water level still allows for some running room along with a few raises in the land and dry areas to hunker down on, it’s likely that a rooster or two can be had if you don’t mind swamping it along with them … in our outdoors.