Thinking back, I still can’t believe I almost shrugged it off.
It was back in April when one of my outdoors buddies sent an email: “My wife bid on and bought me a five-day dove hunt in or near Córdoba, Argentina that includes four additional slots for other hunters. This hunt retails for $28,000, but we paid $2,500 which means each hunter will pay only $500 for five days of hunting, room, and board at a first class lodge, etc.”
I can be a nervous traveler, especially to an exotic place like Argentina, so initially, I hemmed and hawed.
Then a second email arrived: “In addition, I have a good fishing buddy who will be meeting me at the end of the hunt to spend a couple of days fly fishing for Golden Dorado. If you are interested in joining the group, let me know.”
That meant a two-week “cast and blast” adventure, more expensive and way longer than I like to be out of town, but how could I say no?
“It’s on my bucket list,” said my pal. I’d never heard of golden dorado or Argentina dove hunting, but now they were on my bucket list too. And I was going to check them off.
First, I told my wife about the trip, and she gave it an enthusiastic yes.
Next, I wrote out the $500 check and started looking for flights to Buenos Aires. I’d kept a bunch of Delta Sky Miles earned while traveling on a past presidential campaign, and it was enough to give me a free ticket, in Delta’s “comfort” section, no less.
As summer approached, I started to research the trip and realized I was in way over my head. It was time to get serious about preparing.
In Virginia, hunters can keep 15 doves a day, so few that it’s not worth hunting. But in Argentina, MGW Outfitters gives out awards for those who shoot 1,000 birds a day as part of an arrangement with the agriculture community that considers the enormous flocks of grain-gorging birds to be evil pests.
My first thoughts dealt with protecting my shoulder. I like to shoot, and a monthly round of skeet and sporting clays are nothing, but firing off 1,000 or more shells a day is a meat grinder.
One friend suggested a T-shirt with a shooting pad. Another, my shooting vest. Why not both? Together, they worked.
I checked in with the lodge to see about renting guns. Getting weapons in and out of Argentina is a pain, and nobody wants to run 4,000-5,000 shells through their gun in a week. They offered Benelli, 20-gauge, Montefeltro shotguns for $75 per day. I searched through gun sites and found a pre-owned one that I used for practice.
Next, what to wear? Early March in Argentina is like late summer in D.C., hot and humid. That meant another trip to Cabela’s to get outfitted.
I also had to prepare for the fishing trip. Dorados demand strong rods and heavy lines, not the delicate combos for trout I’m familiar with using. Out of a pile of unused equipment in the basement, I pulled an 8-weight fly rod and reel, attached a weighted bass bug to a steel leader, and began to practice.
I sucked. Countless times I had to duck the hook because I didn’t put enough oomph into the back cast. And, as I found out later, I didn’t burn enough blisters into my casting hand to create the callouses needed to throw the 6-inch weighted flies hundreds of times to dorados and piranhas in the Corriente River.
Along the way, I downloaded some easy-to-learn Spanish played on my drives to work at the Washington Examiner. I mastered “Me gusta más cerveza” and “Dónde está el baño,” but little else.
And I went to AAA for an international driver’s license, which turned out to be a $28 joke document. Neither the Hertz rental agent in Córdoba nor the Argentine cops and troops who asked for our papers at frequent roadside checkpoints looked at it.
At the last minute, I got a Fodor’s book on Argentina for highlights. I focused on the steaks and gaucho hats.
It was then I realized I’m not the great planner I thought I was. Nearly a year to get ready, and I wasn’t really. But, as they say, don’t cry for me because I was off on a trip of a lifetime.
Paul Bedard is a senior columnist and author of Washington Secrets.
