The gents were from Texas and Colorado. To say they knew how to party would be an understatement. They were the party.

We were headed to my favorite field that day. A field I call “the honey hole”. The previous two weeks had been non-stop rain, so it was good to see the sun out finally. Unfortunately for us, that also meant hordes of mosquitos buzzing incessantly. Normally the only bugs that persistently pester are flies. So to arrive at the field and be almost swallowed whole by clouds of mosquitos was less than ideal. Luckily there were brief bouts of wind which subdued the evil blood suckers. The gents were placed in ideal locations throughout the field. Hunting beneath trees or behind large rolls of hay. The birds were coming in frequently and consistently. Parakeet, pigeon, and dove fell in scores. As to be expected, the gents were all good shots. They were serious in the field, concentrating fully on decimating the dove population. I knew better than to believe that they were timid. They were wild. Lions, bears, and buffalos! The birds started to dwindle towards the afternoon and it was time for lunch. They trickled into camp, had beer or wine, and conversed jovially with each other sharing stories. 

The feast began with bacon wrapped dove breast and a light salad, accompanied by the famous Argentinean Malbec wine. The next course, pork ribs cooked to perfection followed by chicken breast and thigh; lightly seasoned with lime and salt. The third entrée was tenderloin, pink in the center, which was extremely moist seasoned with pepper. Lastly, a layered tiramisu with two layers of graham cracker crust. It was filling, it was delicious, it was just what everyone needed. Having finished the meal, we sat around and conversed a little longer before we headed back out to the field.

The morning was okay, but the evening was phenomenal. We moved to another corn field which was closer to the roosting area. The gents were set up in an L shape effectively funneling the birds to each other. Cloud after cloud of dove started pouring in. With each shot in the back line, about a hundred dove would peel off from a cloud and start swirling in the middle of all the blinds. A living hurricane composed of feather, meat, and bone. Oh, the horror! So they did what any cowboy would do, shot until their arms nearly fell off. This went on for about two hours. There was hooting, there was hollering, and there was plenty of dead birds littered across the field. Around 5:30 pm the birds slowed down and the shooting became less frequent. The gents started walking back to the van. Everyone was very content with their day. Each having a bigger smile than the person before.

All in all it was another great day of hunting in Argentina! As far as the outcome to hammer is concerned? Let’s just say Benton knows how to make it a “sure thing”. Sorry Boom Boom, maybe next time. 

Don’t cry for me Argentina!

Parker Tipton

Host & Guide

Pointer Outfitters