Author Gary Lewis fooled this pheasant that fell for a sideline stratagem. Pheasants like edge habitat best of all. When the group is small, you can score by hunting smaller pockets and keeping a blocker at the end of the row. Photo by GaryLewisOutdoors.com.

Dried rows of corn rattled in the November breeze. The old Lefever side-by-side rode light in my right hand. Ducking to get a glimpse through the uncut stalks, I spied a skulking rooster, his head low to the ground. And then, a hen and another rooster.

We had boxed the corner of the standing corn: Sam was in the ditch at the point; Mark, 40 yards to the north; and me, 50 yards downhill to the east.

Dana, Adam and Chad, who already had a rooster in his game bag, busted up through the 10-foot stalks. They whistled, howled like coyotes and shouted. There were pheasants and quail feeding on the corn, and as the drivers approached, the birds ran skittering away toward our corner, to circle on the ground or take to the air.

Following the drivers' progress, I was startled to hear a sudden rush of wings behind me as a rooster leapt skyward. Turning, I shot too soon, then took a better shot and folded the bird.

We were hunting farmland just west of the Idaho border in eastern Oregon: rolling side-hill land, with a gentle slope up to sage-covered tabletops.

We pushed fields of standing corn, fallow hillsides, fence lines stacked with tumbleweeds and soggy bottomland. Pheasants would burst from cover hundreds of yards away to soar onto the next property, or would hold to flush with a roar of wings almost at the toes of our boots. Drives were structured to give everybody a chance. Responsibility and muzzle control were constantly stressed above the bagging of game.

It was important for the success of the hunt that certain procedures be followed in driving the fields. When necessary, we walked in a straight line, six abreast, across a field. At such times, one hunter shouldn't lag behind the rest, nor should another get too far ahead. Fields of fire were explained: A hunter in the middle of the line could shoot only up or straight ahead of him. A hunter on the edge could shoot up, ahead or to the side, where no other hunter was endangered.

That ordered, managed hunt for wild birds taught me a few things about roosters and the strategy it takes to put them in the game bag.

The hunt is like a magic act: The hunter is the magician, and the pheasant is the jaded audience that's seen it all before. Whatever trick you decide to pull out of the bag depends on the habitat and the number of "stagehands" -- or hunting partners -- you have at your disposal. And as any good magician knows, you have to understand your crowd.

Pheasants love the "edge" -- that fringe habitat found at the borders of cropland and scrub, the streambanks and ditches that border fields of grain. In the morning, they prefer the sunlight to shade.

And if a rooster has survived a season or two, don't expect him to spend much time with the hens. If the ladies are headed one way, you can bet that a long-tailed rooster is headed in the other direction.

In the fall, the rooster has one goal -- his survival -- and all he knows is what he's learned about how predators work. He's been on the menu every day of his life, outwitting foxes, coyotes, bobcats, owls and hawks. When autumn comes, you're just another predator with opposable thumbs and a shotgun. He'll beat you, too, unless you even up the odds with a few tactics he hasn't encountered.