[Congressional Record Volume 142, Number 24 (Tuesday, February 27, 1996)]
[Senate]
[Pages S1319-S1320]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                  SOUTH DAKOTA: SPORTSMAN'S SANCTUARY

  Mr. PRESSLER. Mr. President, When I was growing up on a farm in 
Humboldt, SD, I knew and participated in one of my home State's best 
kept secrets: hunting. Almost every year I have returned to my State to 
hunt pheasants in the fall. I did so again, with great success, just 
last fall. South Dakota is a sportsman's sanctuary, a heaven on earth. 
It's becoming less and less a secret. Hunting-related tourism has 
boomed in my State. People from around the world travel hundreds--even 
thousands--of miles to experience a special piece of South Dakota. The 
tourism industry has become an integral part of South Dakota's 
continued prosperity and economic growth.
  I have many fond memories of growing up in South Dakota. A recent 
article in the Wall Street Journal articulated many of the sentiments I 
feel about South Dakota hunting. Sun-filled, crisp blue skies; fields 
thick with pheasants--indeed, South Dakota is filled with many such 
days of splendor. I encourage my colleagues and all Americans to share 
in this unique South Dakota experience. I extend a warm invitation to 
visit my State.
  Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the full text of the Wall 
Street Journal article, ``Where Pheasants Swarm as Thick as Locusts,'' 
be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the text of the article was ordered to be 
printed in the Record, as follows:

               Where Pheasants Swarm as Thick as Locusts

                          (By Michael Pearce)

       Gettysburg, SD.--A half-dozen gunners and a pair of dogs, 
     we quietly eased into a grassy field that was the picture of 
     prairie tranquillity. During the first few minutes signs of 
     life were rare, save the occasional flushing meadowlark and 
     the lone redtail hawk that rode the same gentle wind that 
     pushed rippling waives across the grass and rattled the 
     skeletal remains of wild sunflowers.
       But the serenity vanished one-third of the way through the 
     field when a gaudy rooster pheasant flushed inches in front 
     of a pouncing golden retriever. And within seconds pheasants 
     were rising like popping corn; first one, then another, 
     followed by a pair, another single and then a trio. 
     Throughout the rest of the hike pheasants rose in numbers 
     that rivaled swarms of locusts of biblical proportions.
       The result was a pleasant pandemonium. Hunters fumbled to 
     reload as rooster after rooster lifted skyward, towing tails 
     as long as their brilliantly plumed bodies. There were 
     countless shotgun fusillades, shouts of ``good shot,'' 
     ``rooster coming your way'' and ``hen, don't shoot'' amid the 
     roar of beating wings.
       Though no exact count was taken, estimates of pheasants 
     flushed from the field ranged from 200 to 400. Days, weeks 
     and months after the final flush of the one-hour hunt the 
     gunners would use every superlative imaginable as they vainly 
     tried to describe the experience to family and friends. But 
     to a true wingshooting aficionado they only needed to say ``a 
     good day in South Dakota.''
       First introduced in the waning years of the last century, 
     the varicolored Asian imports 

[[Page S1320]]
     have thrived in this state, creating an autumn tradition as popular as 
     gridiron rivalries and the World Series for many. Longtime 
     locals still talk of Depression-era days when they flushed 
     rising clouds of ringnecks from weed patches to feed their 
     families through the long winter ahead. It was about the same 
     time affluent sportsmen from around the world began coming to 
     the prairies to experience the incredible sport.
       But as with much of America's wildlife, South Dakota's 
     pheasant population has risen and fallen at the whims of 
     Mother Nature. Worse yet, it suffered at the hands of modern 
     agriculture, which steadily replaced needed nesting and 
     winter cover with sprawling inland seas of corn and wheat. 
     But the tide has turned. South Dakota's pheasant hunting has 
     been nothing short of phenomenal lately.
       ``Thanks to several things--mild winters, the cover of the 
     Conservation Reserve Program, and private habitat programs--
     our pheasant population has been incredible the last few 
     years,'' said Paul Nelson, president of Paul Nelson Farm, the 
     Gettysburg outfitter who hosted the hunters mentioned above. 
     ``Most of our guests have simply never seen anything like it, 
     or compare it to the glory days of the 1950s. It's not 
     uncommon for our guests to flush 200 pheasants from just one 
     field.''
       Not surprisingly, the mind-boggling bird numbers have again 
     brought sportsmen from around the world to the place where 
     pheasants outnumber people many, many times over. ``Pheasant 
     hunting is really, really big in South Dakota. People come 
     from all over the world,'' said Mark Kayser, outdoor 
     promotions manager, South Dakota Department of Tourism. ``We 
     estimate we had 100,000 hunters afield on opening day. A lot 
     of them have been coming for years. It's like a homecoming 
     for them.''
       According to Mr. Kayser, the visiting hunters come from all 
     walks of life. Air strips are lined with private jets, and 
     parking lots hold everything from new Suburbans to rusted old 
     pickup campers that seem to spew low-income sportsmen like 
     clowns from a tiny circus car.
       But no matter how they arrive, the visiting sportsmen are 
     spending much-needed money in pursuit of South Dakota's state 
     bird. ``Our Game, Fish and Parks Department estimated that 
     pheasant hunting adds about $55 million to the South Dakota 
     economy,'' said Mr. Kayser, a lifelong resident and avid 
     sportsman. ``Some think that's on the conservative side. 
     But there's no question that it's very big for a lot of 
     small-town economies that are otherwise just dependent on 
     agriculture.''
       So it appeared during a recent trek through the central 
     part of the state. Every convenience store held a full 
     selection of ammo, orange hats, gloves and licenses. Signs 
     advertising church-sponsored dinners and bird-cleaning 
     services were as common as mile markers on some highways.
       Accommodations ranged from tents, back bedrooms in the 
     homes of landowners who allow hunters to roam their land and 
     bunk for a nominal fee. In recent years a number of 
     businesses have blossomed that cater to sportsmen who want 
     the creme de la creme of wingshooting action and worldly 
     accommodations, such as Mr. Nelson's legendary establishment.
       Picked up in a nearby Pierre, guests are taken along a 
     back-road maze that soon places them at the huge lodge that 
     features a country opulence and is rated among the best in 
     the nation. Served by a hand-picked staff from across the 
     state, Mr. Nelson's guests feast on five-star cuisine as they 
     talk business or simply relax.
       But there is no time for total relaxation when taken afield 
     by Mr. Nelson's guides and dogs. Proof that agriculture and 
     wildlife can coexist, Paul Nelson Farm's thousands of acres 
     spew birds like bees from a shaken hive. The wingshooting is 
     indeed so good that Mr. Nelson had to seek special regulation 
     that allows gunners to take more than the state-regulated 
     three-bird-per-day limit.
       Still, the action is hot enough that most guests are back 
     at the lodge by late afternoon, where they can bang a round 
     of sporting clays or simply sit quietly on a balcony, favored 
     drink in hand as they watch scores of gaudy cockbirds sail 
     into a small sanctuary just yards from the lodge. Mr. Nelson 
     reports that few who depart fail to leave a deposit for 
     another all-inclusive hunt, which will cost around $2,000 for 
     three days.
       After a morning at Mr. Nelson's, I joined Bob Tinker, of 
     Tinker Kennels, near his home in Pierre. Walking upland 
     prairie pastures toward endless horizons, we followed his 
     stylish English setters as they found, pointed and retrieved 
     prairie chickens and sharptail grouse.
       The next morning I traded walking boots for waders and made 
     a predawn trudge into a marsh that actually smelled of ducks 
     with Mike Moody, a guide from Herrick. The first flock of 
     mallards that passed over our decoys was easily 100 yards 
     from first duck to last. Never were there not ducks in the 
     air. Totally addicted, I was with Mr. Moody the following 
     morning for another incredible day. At one point some 200 
     beautiful mallards landed amid our decoys, like leaves 
     cascading from an autumn maple.
       As we walked from the marsh at midmorning, bags of decoys 
     on our backs and limits of tasty ducks in our hands, I 
     learned the best duck hunt of my life could be just the 
     beginning. ``A lot of times we'll take our ducks, then walk 
     the C.R.P. [Conservation Reserve Program grasses] for 
     pheasants in the afternoon,'' said Mr. Moody. ``And if the 
     geese are in and you fill out on pheasants in time, you could 
     even . . . .''

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