Written by Doug Abts
In the cornfields of South Dakota, on the banks of Firesteel Creek, There's a lodge that's become a legend, for an experience that's truly unique.
It's the vision of the famous fastballer - pitcher Todd Worrell, And you'll have to go there to believe the story I'm about to tell...
Breakfast is served at seven, and the food is delicious and hot. It's your fuel for the morning hunt, so you load up on all they've got.
With your guns it's out to the skeet range, to break some birds of clay. After a game of "Annie Oakley", you're ready to take on the day.
Then the roar of the mighty War Wagon beckons you all inside, Where Todd breaks out his whiteboard, with a plan to conquer and divide.
You'll have pushers, wou'll have blockers, you'll have wingman two-by-two. Your group will be in a formation, no pheasant could ever break through.
As you march straight through the switchgrass, the birds rise again and again. You can feel your heart in your throat, as you shout out "Rooster" or "Hen!"
And then in a blaze orange circle, as you have all the pheasants surrounded, The sky grows black with feathers, as each rooster is flushed and pounded.
The dogs work back and forth, as they retrieve every colorful bird; And as always, you're at your limit, each shooter has dropped his third.
Finally, back home in the mudroom, all the hunters have tall tales to tell, Claiming that with every single shot they took, at least one pheasant fell.
Of course Todd, the Daves and young Andy, smile as they hear these words; But they wish the hunters didn't waste all those shells, missing so many birds.
So, if you doubt a place like this exists, or think what I've said is untrue, Then head on out to Mitchell and see how life can be better for you!