Welcome to Sports Afield

In the Land of the Dove
Argentina dove hunting is the ultimate wingshooting experience.
By John M. Taylor

As the rising sun balanced on the horizon, they came in waves . . . in torrents; doves hurtling toward the millions of sunflowers looking for breakfast. Thumbing shells into the already hot Beretta semiauto, I soon gave up loading the magazine and shoved in only single rounds as frantically as one of Custer’s cavalrymen.

“This is wingshooting’s best bargain,” my colleague Nick Sisley said. He’s been to Central and South America nearly sixty times, and he’s never been disappointed. The Cordoba area of Argentina holds some 32 million doves, and they wreak havoc on agriculture throughout the area. A fertile area of flat plains and gently rolling hills, there’s plenty of rain to provide bounteous harvests of corn, wheat, milo, and soybeans, except when the doves devastate several hundred acres in a single sitting, making no-limit hunting the order of the day.

Our overnight flight from Dallas dropped us in Santiago, and the flight into Cordoba lasted little more than an hour. In clear weather, the trip up and over the Andes is spectacular, but this time heavy clouds blocked the view. Landing with us in Cordoba were several other groups of hunters, and each had to have his guns checked individually by Argentinian customs and army officials. In our group, which consisted of four writers and three executives from Beretta USA, all permits were in order so it took only minutes, and soon we were headed to H&H Outfitters’ luxurious Sierra Verde Lodge, a bare forty-five-minute drive from the Cordoba airport.

I’ve never been in an Argentinian lodge that was anything but beautiful and gracious. Sierra Verde was nothing less. Originally built as a home in the 1930s, the Hayes brothers, who operate H&H Outfitters, have owned it since 1990. Settled in and unpacked, we ate the first of many wonderful lunches. Excellent food is a staple of hunting in Argentina; it’s no place for dieters. Well fed, we trooped to the gun room to unpack the guns and head to the field for the traditional first afternoon hunt. The Beretta representatives had brought along a selection of guns for us to try.

Dove hunting in Argentina can take several forms. I’d hunted at another H&H lodge, Rio Seco, which is two hours north of Cordoba where the terrain is hilly and the area less agricultural. There, we hunted hilly nesting, roosting, and watering areas, and the shooting was spectacular.

Our host, Zeke Hayes, told me, “This time of the year [early April] Rio Seco’s not as good as when you were there in October.” I’ll take his word for it, but it seemed at the time every dove in the world was around Rio Seco.

“We grow hundreds of acres of sunflowers just for the doves,” Hayes continued, “And this time of the year they produce the best shooting.” We’d soon see.

As we neared the field, flocks of doves could be seen skittering low across the standing sunflowers. We rolled to a stop, and, like a first sergeant detailing troops, Hayes read off the names of who were to disembark. I stayed on the fifteen-passenger van to the last stop. There I was told that Sapo (his nickname; sapo is Spanish for “toad”) would be my bird boy. In his mid-20s, with two children and a wife who’s studying to become a teacher, Sapo was hardly a boy—he was a fine companion afield who chose my locations each day, built my blind, counted my bagged birds, kept my shell pouch topped off, carried everything, and did anything he could to ensure I had a great time. Bird boys are assigned to hunters for the duration of the hunt, so in ensuing days, when I saw Sapo, I knew it was time to get off the bus. It is made clear that if the assigned bird boy doesn’t suit the individual hunter, it takes only a word to the outfitter, and a new face appears. I’ve never had an Argentinian bird boy who was anything but spectacular.

Our first full day found us sharing a huge sunflower field with a group from Georgia. We’d arrived at Cordoba with them, and because of the size of the field, it was advantageous for us to surround it in order to keep the birds moving. We met at lunch and when they learned that some of the shooters in our group were affiliated with Beretta, the questions flowed. Randy Bimson is Beretta’s Technical Support Manager, and there’s little he doesn’t know about shotguns. Opening his tool satchel, he began servicing the Georgians’ shotguns regardless of brand, instructing in fine points as he worked. Following a wonderful asada (cookout), we headed back to the field.

Argentina is normally warm and sunny, but the afternoon turned cold and blustery. Those with coats snuggled into them and the rest of us made the most of turned-down sleeves. The winds rose and howled and the doves became supersonic missiles. My buddy Nick Sisley and I shot together so we could trade off shooting and taking pictures. Between us we had a 20-gauge Beretta 3901 semiauto that’s a sleeker version of their old 390, and a 686 Silver Pigeon .410. The 20-gauge shooter took the rocketing birds going with the wind, and the .410 took the birds flying into the wind. The shooting was as sporty as it gets.

Next page

Back to article archive