4

Index

Patagonia .....................................................................6 Four Seasons Adventures...................................................................8

Estancia Alicura.............................................................................24

Province of La Pampa............................................38 Reserva La Colorada.....................................................................40

Golden Stag Safaris......................................................................54

Estancia Poitahue Hunting Ranch......................................68

TGB Outfitters................................................................................82

Province of Buenos Aires..................................96 Argentina Sportsman..................................................................98

Estancia San Pedro.....................................................................112

Provinces of Santa Fe & Chaco...................126South American Adventure Safaris..................................128

Province of Santiago del Estero...................144Estancia La Peregrina................................................................146

Bookings...................................................................................................160

Special Thanks to:................................................................................161

The Drawings.........................................................................................162

TextCraig Boddington

PhotographyGuillermo Zorraquin

Production & EditionJohn John Reynal

Juan Pablo Reynal

Graphic DesignMariano Alvarez

Pablo Recúpero

Original DrawingsEsteban Diaz Mathé

Pre-PressPatagonia Publishing Company S.A.

Credits

Copyright © Text - Craig Boddington │Copyright © Drawings - Esteban Diaz Mathé │ Copyright © Pictures - Patagonia Publishing Company S.A.Blanco Encalada 125 - B1642ABB - San Isidro - Buenos Aires, Argentina.

www.patagoniapublishing.com

ISBN: 978-987-21511-9-5

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Argentina

6

PatagoniaPatagonia is not a province, but a very large and somewhat loosely defined geographic region occupying essentially the southern tip of the South American continent. It takes its name from Antonio Pigafetta, one of the few survivors and chronicler of Ferdinand Magellan’s legendary voyage to circumnavigate the world. They made land in the region in 1520, and although the exact origin of his term is unclear, Pigafetta described the indigenous people as “giants,” terming them “Patagons.” Of course they were not giants—but they were a tall people, most probably the Tehuelche Indians who we now know averaged about five feet eleven inches, genuinely towering over the Spaniards, who averaged about five feet one inch in those days.

Patagonia lies in both Argentina and Chile, comprising the southernmost portion of the Andes to the west and south, dropping into low plains in Argentina to the east. To the east of the Andes, it lies south of the Neuquen and Colorado Rivers, including the Argentine provinces of Neuquen, Rio Negro, Chubut, Santa Cruz, and Tierra del Fuego. The southernmost portions of Mendoza, La Pampa, and Buenos Aires provinces are also considered part of Patagonia. East of the spine of the Andes, in Chile, Patagonia lies south of the 39th parallel, but excluding the Chiloe Archipielago. Both Argentina and Chile claim part of Antarctica, but this is also excluded from what is considered the Patagonian region.

In both countries the region is sparsely populated, with the traditional economy based around mining, ranching, and, where suitable, agriculture. In recent years, however, tourism has become an increasingly important industry, including skiing, trekking, fishing, and hunting. Naturally the region was home to millions of guanacos and rheas, preyed upon by plentiful pumas. Today the center of the wildlife industry is Bariloche, located on the shores of Lake Nahuel Huapi, which, together with the mighty Andes themselves, is the most recognizable geographic feature in the region. Victoria Island, directly

opposite Bariloche, received the first European red stags nearly a century ago, and over the years they have spread north, south, east, and west, forming the basis for a hunting industry of worldwide importance.

The two Argentinean provinces most involved in the sport hunting industry are Neuquen and Rio Negro, with the center at Lake Nahuel Huapi. Neuquen is a relatively small province of 94,078 square kilometers with about a half-million inhabitants. It is bordered by Mendoza to the north, Chile to the west, and Rio Negro to the south, meeting La Pampa province in its northeast corner. The primary rivers are the Colorado to the north, forming its border with Mendoza; the Limay to the south on the Rio Negro border, and the Neuquen River, from which it takes its name. Summers are mild and winters cold and snowy, with some areas along the Andes receiving as much a 4,000mm of precipitation.

To the south and southeast, Rio Negro is a much larger province, about twice the size with an area of 203,013 square kilometers—but even more sparsely populated by about 550,000 Argentineans. Rio Negro has only a small border with Chile, stretching eastward all the way to the Atlantic to the south of La Pampa province, where it borders Buenos Aires province. Chubut province lies to the south, there is a small border with Mendoza in the northwest corner. The Limay River is its natural border with Neuquen, as is the Colorado River with La Pampa. The most important river, however, is the Rio Negro, where the majority of the farms and towns are located. Summers are temperate toward the Andes and much warmer to the east, with winters cold and often receiving heavy snowfall. The Andean lake district to the west receives as much as 2,000mm of precipitation—but the arid plains to the east receive as little as 200mm! The vast majority of both the tourism and hunting in Rio Negro are to west, toward the Andes and Lake Nahuel Huapi.

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8

Estancia Baguales sits on a peninsula offering spectacular views of Lake Nahuel Huapi-even better from horseback!

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Four Seasons Adventures

We landed in Bariloche on a warm, sunny afternoon in early March. Met by Cane St. Antonin of Four Seasons Adventures, we quickly loaded up our gear and headed toward the mighty lake, Nahuel Huapi. Cano pointed off across the shimmering surface to shaded mountains on the far side. “That’s the Huemul Peninsula, and our camp sits just behind that darkest peak.”

Heading south along the lakeshore, we passed bathers along Bariloche’s beaches, then turned east around the end of the lake, crossing into Neuquen province. Now we were in Nahuel Huapi National Park, where we soon pulled off the road for a few moments to get our first view of red deer. They were feeding out into an open valley a few hundred yards off the road, and we briefly joined other Park visitors in admiring them. This was sort of like the impromptu parking lots that form when a herd of elk is encountered in Yellowstone Park—but there would be no parking lots or other vehicles where we were going.

From the hard surface road to the hunting lodge at Estancia Baguales is just twenty-odd kilometers, but it’s a tortuous track that winds its way down the peninsula, up and over its spiny ridge and back again. Baguales are wild cattle or wild horses, and Estancia Baguales was well named, with wild cattle still roaming the ridges. It sits at the tip of Peninsula Huemul, itself well named. The huemul is a native deer of the Andes, no longer present, but the peninsula looks out across the water to Victoria Island, where European red deer

(Cervus elaphus) were first introduced into Patagonia nearly

a century ago. Finding ideal habitat, they thrived on the island. Carrying capacity was reached in just a few years, but it was a short swim to the mainland, and over time red deer from Victoria Island have spread throughout the Bariloche region, and continue to expand their range today. Huemul Peninsula offers the shortest swim, so legend has it that, after Victoria Island, the peninsula was the second place occupied by red deer.

Red deer were first introduced into Patagonia on Victoria Island, just a short swim from the Huemul Peninsula. It was

here that the deer first began to spread across Patagonia, and it remains a wonderful place to hunt free-ranging red stags.

40 XB

10

Dusk was falling quickly when the winding road took us once more to the shore of the lake, then bent back upon itself to ascend the final ridge. “Just five kilometers more,” said Cane—but that short distance took us through a different world populated by the stately lengas, monstrous hardwoods that are the dominant trees on the peninsula.

It was almost full dark when the road took us into a grove of mature lengas in a saddle between two peaks. So dense was the foliage that it was black dark in the grove, and I didn’t realize we had come home until I saw the faint glow of candlelight coming from the windows. The old hunting lodge at Estancia Baguales features all the comforts of home—sans electricity! The rambling two-story structure was built in the 1920s from local cypress. Comfortable and snug, the house reminded me of a hunting house in Austria’s Tirol, appropriate enough since that house had served as camp on several hunts for the native European cousins of the Argentinian red deer. Cane turned us over to his elder brother and partner, Cano St. Antonin, and Donna and I settled into the upstairs bedroom. An excellent dinner was served later, in the Argentinian fashion, but I don’t recall much about it. We were jet-lagged and exhausted, and the last thing I recall was standing by the open window, just long enough to watch the full moon come up through the branches while a stag roared somewhere nearby.

AMONG THE LENGA TREES

Four Seasons Outfitters’ superb cook produced amazing meals in a lovely setting.

The old lodge at Estancia Baguales is reminiscent of an Austrian hunting lodge, rustic and comfortable.

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In the morning we left camp on foot well before daylight, headed down the spine of the peninsula. One stag—just one—was still roaring, and we already knew we had a bit of a problem. The morning was just barely cool enough to wear a light sweater, and the moon was just completing it circuit across the night sky. Between unseasonably warm weather and a full moon primary deer movement would be at night. In more open country, where glassing is effective, that isn’t such a problem. Here, among the lengas, if the deer weren’t moving and roaring it could be difficult.

Still, I high expectations rather than concerns! At full daylight we approached a broad saddle between two prominent peaks. The country here was a nice mosaic of brush and open ground, a perfect place to catch deer moving. It was oddly quiet, but I put that down to us being a little early and the weather a bit too warm. Cano led us up to a pile of rocks that offered a good vantage point, and we sat, looking and listening.

From the spine of ridge one sees blue water on three sides. Here, a bit lower on the northern side, we could see just one arm of the lake, and off beyond the tip of the peninsula Victoria Island, where red deer first arrived in Patagonia. We glassed for quite a while, enjoying the warm sun but hearing no roaring and, almost inexplicably in such an obvious crossing, seeing no deer at all.In the native Indian tongue Nahuel Huapi means “Tiger Island.” It is not altogether

TIGER ISLAND

The views from the high ridges of Huemul Peninsula are spectacular. From some points you can see the Lake Nahuel Huapi on three sides.

13

clear that “tiger” refers to the jaguar. The great spotted cat might have occasionally wandered as far south as Nahuel Huapi, and of course is called el “tigre” across much of his range. But it could also be that nahuel refers simply to “great cat.” The great cat of Patagonia, and of Nahuel Huapi, is the puma, the South American cougar. As we watched that enticing saddle a pale animal stepped into the sunlight. I was confused, unable to believe my eyes, but Cano knew immediately and hissed the word, “Puma.”

Actually, he was wrong. There were four pumas, not just one, an incredibly rare sight as they strode boldly across the sunlit hillside. This answered the question as to why we weren’t seeing any deer on this ridge but heck, I’ll trade a morning of deer hunting for a sight like that! Donna was perched on a rock just below us, so we got her up

to our vantage point in time to see them. For the camera crew, sadly, they were too far—but through good binoculars they were plain as day. The group was a big male, broad chested and powerful; a full grown female, only slightly smaller but clearly not as heavily built; and her two cubs, two-thirds grown.

They walked down the hillside and disappeared. Cano explained that the Peninsula, though a private inholding within the Nahuel Huapi National Park, was hunted according to Park rules. The pumas were strictly protected, and apparently were doing just fine: So far this year they had eaten five horse foals on Estancia Baguales! We went over and examined their tracks and took some pictures, then headed back to camp. There would be no deer on this ridge on this day.

Pumas are completely protected on the Huemul Peninsula, with sightings common. One morning we saw an unusual family group, a big male with a mature female and nearly grown cubs.

The spine of the Andes looms to the west, the higher ridges holding permanent snowfields.

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Some years back, like many ranches, the deer were seriously overpopulated, with the stags generally of poor quality because of competition and lack of food. When the St. Antonin brothers acquired the hunting rights their first efforts were to reduce the herd and cull out the stags showing obviously poor genetics. The deer responded quickly, with the stags growing larger and more robust, and producing better antlers every year.

However, Baguales is not a place where one sees a great many deer. This is partly because the population is kept at a sustainable level, and partly because of the thick cover. That evening we went out on foot yet again, working some heavy forest below camp with guide Evaristo. The evening was very warm, too warm—but just as it started to cool we had stags roaring just below us. Evaristo had us set up overlooking a saddle on a gentle ridge, believing deer would work up from the bottom and cross. They did not, but continued roaring below us. So, with dark approaching, we picked and moved, stalking the sound of the nearest stag.

We got very close; at dark the roaring vibrated in our ears, and it seemed certain the stag would step into view. He did not, so our first day at Baguales ended with no deer actually seen. Admittedly, this was a bit disheartening—but there were deer around. We were

sharing the camp with American hunters Ken Mayer and Gary Kramer, and that night Ken came back to camp with a fine twelve-point stag. Clearly they were out there!

It was still black dark the next morning when we mounted gentle horses and the wonderfully comfortable Chilean saddles and road up the spine of the peninsula toward the high mountain where it joins the main lakeshore. There was much more roaring this morning, and we saw deer. Actually, we saw quite a lot of deer. We surprised several hinds and an unseen stag when it was still too dark to see them. We quickly dismounted and tied the horses, moving on into the forest on foot. A few minutes later we jumped two more stags, both small, and then we came out of the forest on a bench overlooking a broad valley on the southwestern boundary of Baguales.

In the next hour we saw three stags working their way up out of the valley. Two were young ten-pointers with growing to do. The third, well, he was a big boy—but he was across the fenceline onto the neighbor’s ranch, and there was nothing to be done except watch him go! We got back to camp in plenty of time for a fine Argentinian-style barbecue, this of lamb—and then a much-needed siesta through the heat of the day.

A GREAT PLACE

From this view of the Lake Nahuel Huapi the town of Bariloche sits just above the farthest arm of the lake—a modern city within sight, yet we’re truly in wild Patagonia.

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It was to horse again for the afternoon hunt, but hunting with Cano again, we reversed direction and went to the very tip of the peninsula. There was somewhat of a horse trail that would take us near the ridge’s last high point, and then Cano’s plan was to hunt that final point on foot. Again I was struck by how gentle and sure-footed these horses were—and the sheer comfort of that sheepskin-padded saddle! We made it to the top with some time to spare, so of course took some of the endless photos and video essential to this project. And then we struck off down the narrow, rocky hogback of the ridge.

Up here, at least, it was cool—but it was also much too windy, with gusts howling along the top. We reached a false crest of tall rock and peered over. Beyond was a timbered saddle, and then one last rocky point before the peninsula fell into the lake. Cano had seen a good stag in that saddle a few days previously, and many more in previous years. It was indeed a perfect spot for a stag to come and roar, and as we watched a hind fed out just below that last point, then vanished again.

So we settled in among the rocks, watching and listening, and a few minutes later came one faint roar, just one, almost lost on the wind. Except, to hear it at all, the stag must be fairly close. We agreed that he had to be in a timber pocket below us, no more than a hundred and fifty yards, possibly half that. The game now was to find him, pinpoint his location, and see his antlers. A higher shelf of rock behind us and to the left might offer a different vantage point. Cano went up there while I stayed put.

Five minutes later movement caught my eye. Just below me, not a hundred yards, a patch of red hide moved from right to left between two trees. I focused on the spot, and in seconds the stag walked between the next two trees. His rack was tall, his crowns fully formed, probably with three points each. A twelve-pointer then, and not a bad one. And that was the last window; now he was in a small patch of very thick trees, and I wouldn’t see him again for a while.

I scrambled back, meeting Cano head-on. He hadn’t seen the stag, but seemed to take my report at face value. Perhaps forty minutes of light remained, so we could stay

JUST ONE ROAR put and wait for the stag to reappear—no guarantees, but he probably would—or we could circle to the left and try to see him. Honestly, had we waited we’d have gotten much better video—but I’m not very good at waiting. And of course the gusty wind gave us cover for movement. My vote was to force the issue and go after him. Cano agreed, I think against his better judgment.

So we met the bull almost head-on at fifty yards. He was feeding and gave us a good look as he moved between two trees. Cano nodded approval, so we shifted right while a thick screen hid us from the bull, then waited for him to step out. When he did he was too close to mess around. I put the Trijicon post on his shoulder and waited as long as I dared, hoping Kao was on him with the videocamera. Then I squeezed the trigger.

We found him piled just a little way downhill, then field-dressed him and set him up for photo session the following day. It was very late when we got off the mountain that night, and we’d have to bring the horses right back the following morning, early while it was still cool, to recover our stag. That didn’t seem to matter much at all.

Cano St. Antonin and I riding the ridges on sturdy Patagonian horses. These sure-footed animals helped us cover ground, and were wonderful when it came time to pack out a stag.

The weather was warm and the moon was bright, a tough combination that limited daylight movement. The plan was to be on the ridges early and late, glassing for stags and listening for their roaring.

17

Cano St. Antonin and I with a beautiful stag taken on Estancia Baguales on the Huemul Peninsula. This is a really fine free-range red stag.

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Baguales had a decided Old World flavor. It wasn’t just the candle-lit house, which would have been perfectly home in Austria or Switzerland—or, for that matter, the Black Forest. There was also the lenga forest of tall trees, the rocky ridges and pinnacles, and, across the shimmering blue lake, the sawtooth crest of the Andes, so reminiscent of the Alps. When we moved to Four Seasons’ next camp we seemed to have changed hemispheres, countries, and mountain ranges.

The Nirihuau River flows into Lake Nahuel Huapi just south of Bariloche. From headwaters to lake most of its length lies within the national park—but up in the high country there is a Mapuche Indian Reserve, large inholding primarily used as summer pasture for cattle. As a youngster Cane St. Antonin assisted with the fall roundup—and always saw big stags. Just recently Four Seasons acquired the reserve as a hunting concession, and Donna and I would be the second group to hunt this area.

The area is actually quite close to Bariloche, but the gravel road climbs steadily and the landscape changes quickly. By the time we entered the locked gate into the Reserve we were in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado or perhaps western Wyoming! This feeling was reinforced—in spades—when we crossed the Nirihuau (now just a gurgling brook) for the last time, rounded a bend, and beheld the whitewalls of a typical high country elk camp.

With limited permits and a short season, the St. Antonin brothers decided a tent camp would be the most effective way to utilize the area. While in the States during the convention season they acquired good old American whitewall outfitter tents, combined with smaller camping tents for staff and supplies. The camp was in the Andes, not the Rockies, and the game was red stag, not elk—but the snug little cluster of tents with horses grazing nearby was definitely a departure for Argentinian hunting. In fact, to my knowledge it is the only tented big game opportunity in Argentina, and perhaps in South America.

FROM ALPS TO ROCKIES

19

I had taken that fine stag at Baguales, so Donna and I were switching roles, she now the hunter and I now the observer. This would not be her first red stag; she took a fine free-range stag in New Zealand a couple of years earlier. However, it would be her first South American big game animal—if our guides could find one, if she could get up the hill to it, and if she could see it and hit it. The guides were confident they had a couple of stags located, but I gathered there was a bit of skepticism about a woman’s abilities to carry out her part of the mission.

I wasn’t worried about any of that, but I was a bit concerned about the time. We only had a few days available, and we knew the stags’ roaring season was running slow because of unusually warm, dry conditions. Just to make sure things happened as they should the local guides had been scouting for a couple of days. The first and most likely candidate was deemed to be a very old, gnarly stag that was roaring every morning and evening on a timbered knob just up the valley from camp. It was well into the afternoon when we arrived in camp but, not having the days we might need, we stowed our gear in our tent and changed into hunting clothes while chief guide Lucio and his friends saddled up the horses.

The forested knob lay on the top of a forbidding ridge. Fortunately it wasn’t nearly as bad a climb as it looked—but is certainly wasn’t Donna doing the most huffing and puffing! The front face of the ridge was fairly bare, but the knob and the backside were heavily forested. We entered the trees along a well-used game trail, fresh tracks of at least one big stag clear in the dust.

A single deep roar sounded from a hollow below us, not too far, but the slope was a mess of thick timber and deadfall. I gathered from Lucio that this was the bull he was looking for, and that he expected him to come up to our level. Except, right now, the wind was awful, blowing across the top from right to left, and thus in the direction the roar had come from. I’m not exactly sure what I would have done; the luxury of having a guide is that you don’t have to make such decisions—but you can certainly second-guess the ones your guide makes. Which is exactly what I was doing.

We couldn’t move toward the bull, and in any case it would be a noisy mess down there. Me, I probably would have backed off and let things develop. The bull was close, over an hour of good light remained, and perhaps the wind would shift. Instead Lucio did an extremely intelligent thing. He moved forward, crossing the wind, believing that if he moved quickly enough the currents, typically rising in the afternoon, wouldn’t carry our scent down into that hollow. Staying high on the trail, we moved just a couple hundred yards and stood still, listening. Now I understood his tactic. The bull was now behind us, and the wind was fine—provided he hadn’t scented us. Apparently he had not, because in a few minutes he roared again, farther up the slope.

We reversed direction, moving back down the trail, now going very slowly. Another bull was roaring far to the left, on the thick ridge above camp, but our guy was quiet. So we moved slowly, looking and listening. He roared once more, close. Lucio took us off the trail just a few yards, slowly, and we set up behind a big log, Donna sitting behind her tripod shooting sticks. The forest was dense here, but without too much underbrush, a gentle saddle leading up to a rounded knob. Depending on where the bull appeared, she had sixty or seventy yards of clear shooting, and from the last roar he was already within a hundred yards.

BULL ON THE KNOB

At the tent camp horses were absolutely essential. The ridges are extremely steep, and we needed to cover quite a bit of rugged ground to get to where our guides had scouted out stags.

The tops of the ridges were heavily forested, but toward sundown the stags began roaring, giving away their locations.

20

I had expected things to happen very quickly, so I’d dropped down Indian-style, cameraman Kao beside me, Donna and Lucio in front of us. Long, quiet minutes passed, then more minutes. My legs began to ache, then went numb. Everyone else was starting to shift uncomfortably as well. Fully thirty minutes of deadly silence, then Lucio slowly rose to his feet. I tried, but my legs were wooden from lack of circulation and it took a little while.

My assumption, I suppose the same for all of us, was that the bull had either spooked or moved on . . . but perhaps he had just gone quiet. So we moved very slowly along the trail, no longer with the luxury of plenty of daylight. I doubt we’d gone thirty yards

before the bull roared once again. The sound came from the same place as before, but now much closer, apparently up on that wooded knob above the saddle.

Five more slow steps and I saw him, just a hint of red on top of that knob. I suppose Lucio saw him in the same instant, because as I reached forward to stop Kao I saw he and Donna sinking to their knees, Lucio spreading the tripod. Slowly, probably not gently, I took Kao’s head and pointed his eyes at that hint of red hide on the knob. He stiffened slightly, nodded, and began to raise his camera. My part was done; the only thing I could do to help was remain perfectly still. So I lowered my head, and was completely surprised when Donna’s .270 roared.

I looked up, but the bull was long gone. Donna looked at me as if to ask, “What happened?” I didn’t know. I don’t think Lucio knew, either. The shot had been close, sixty yards, but it was thick in there and getting dim. She was certain the shoulder was clear, and she felt steady on the sticks. Okay, let’s go look.He had been feeding precisely on top of that timbered knob, and his tracks were deeply gouged down the back side, the tracks of an animal in trouble, not in full control. But, man, it was getting dark fast. Lucio started down the tracks, Donna right behind him. I stopped and glassed ahead. Was that an antler? Yes! And a tawny form below, lying still in leaves and fallen timber. I called down, “Good job, Donna, he’s down.” To Lucio, in my terrible Spanish, “Esta muerto.”

Donna Boddington drew a very difficult shot at a stag in heavy timber, but she was sure of the shot and was ready when she got the go-ahead.

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Suddenly our short time in the Nirihuau River tent camp was all the time in the world! Donna’s stag was old and heavy antlered, missing some points but with tall beams. In body he was the most massive red stag I have ever seen, bigger than any stags I’ve taken in New Zealand or the European continent. We set him up nicely for photos and rode back in the dark, those whitewall tents and a cheery fire as welcome in the Andes as they always are in the Rockies.

So far on the trip we’d dealt with mostly unseasonable warmth, but up here at elevation the evening temperature dropped like a rock. A big fire was welcome, as was the wood stove in the dining tent. These are normal features in any tent camp, but this camp had some welcome additions. Cane had brought in and hooked up a genuine toilet, complete with running water and a wood-burning hot water heater. Nice! Our tent had real beds, sort of African style rather than the cots and sleeping bags common in the American West. As the season progresses and temperatures continue to drop a stove in that tent would be nice—but we managed fine with lots of blankets piled on!

We spent the next couple of days recovering Donna’s stag and exploring the country, including gaucho-style barbecue, streamside. With temperatures cooling the stags became extremely active, with heavy roaring morning and evening—and on all sides of camp. This is not an area that has a heavy concentration of deer, and apparently there are relatively few hinds; Cane described it as a retirement home for older bulls. We did see a few hinds, but most of the bulls we saw were quite mature. Four Seasons’ intent is to hunt it very gently, keeping it as an option for fit hunters who don’t mind hunting hard in hopes of a big, old stag. The camp sits in a dramatically beautiful valley, and offers an entirely unique aspect to hunting big game in Argentina.

A-TENTING WE WILL GO...

The whitewall tents would be familiar to any North American elk hunter.

At noon we pulled into a patch of cool shade and barbecued a brisket, gaucho-style.

As the sun warmed the hillsides the roaring died away - and it was pleasant to just kick back and enjoy the view.

In my experience very few tent camps have showers with flush toilets!

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Bookings

Estancia Poitahue Hunting Ranch

Santiago Diaz Mathé+54 (11) 4700-0291

Fax: +54 (11) 4766-8678info@poitahue-hunting.comwww.poitahue-hunting.com

Reserva La Colorada

Dr. Patricio Geijo +54 (221) 482-8931

+1 (404) 478-6388 ext.10+1 (404) 910-4470

argentinabighunting@gmail.comwww.argentinabighunting.com

TGB Outfitters

Alejandro Trigo+54 9 (11) 5452-5625info@tgboutfitters.comwww.tgboutfitters.com

Argentina Sportsman

Sebastián Casado Sastre +54 9 (11) 5886-6148

sebastian@argentinasportsman.comwww.argentinasportsman.com

Polo Clinics & School | October to Aprilwww.alejandropolo.com

Four Seasons Adventures

Cano Saint Antonin+54 9 (11) 6444-2380

Gabi Rossi+54 9 (11) 6444-2379mail@4seasons.com.arwww.4seasons.com.ar

Estancia Alicura

Charles H. Snider+1 (214) 393-7201

Fax: +1 (214) 239-2838charles@ealicura.com

www.ealicura.com

Estancia San Pedro

Fermín Srur+54 (2922) 46-5122

fermin@estanciasanpedro.comwww.estanciasanpedro.com

Golden Stag Safaris

Peter Koeck | José Calbelo+54 9 (2954) 59-4624

greywolf2@gmx.net calbelo8@hotmail.com

www.goldenstagsafaris.com

Estancia La Peregrina

Paco Riestra+54 9 (351) 654-2232 +54 (351) 482-3156info@pacoriestra.com

www.laperegrinalodge.com

South American Adventure Safaris

Marcelo Sodiro+54 (3492) 50-4710

hunter@saadventuresafaris.comwww.saadventuresafaris.com

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Special Thanks to:

This book is the result of four fantastic months, spread over two years, spent with a wonderful group of great Argentinean outfitters, whose English, thank goodness, was consistently far superior to my horrible Spanish, so I think it’s appropriate up front to thank them for their hospitality, generosity, and patience. I would also like to thank Guillermo Zorraquin, whose great photography really makes this book—along with the fantastic illustrations by Esteban Diaz Mathé. While I was hunting and Guillermo, also known as Zorro, was snapping stills, Kao Deyurka or Gonzalo Galeano were with us every step of the way with their video cameras. All four are extremely talented young Argentinean outdoorsmen, without whom this book could not have happened—but this is especially true of my publishers, producers, and partners in Big Game Argentina, Juan Pablo (“JP”) Reynal, and his altogether different cousin, John John (“JJ”) Reynal, who conceived this project, mercilessly insisted on unreasonable deadlines, and carried it through to fruition. And, finally, a thanks to our friends at Remington and Trijicon, without whom this project would have been impossible.

Craig Boddington

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Tel.: +1 (786) 207-4532 | www.patagoniapublishing.com | info@patagoniapublishing.com

The Dove Shooting Guide to Argentina

This is the first comprehensive guide ever written for the serious Hunter planning a trip to this world class destination. The guide has superb photographs and text written by Tony Townsend. Argentina is the Dove Shooting Mecca and this guide is a must have tool to get to know the best lodges, outfitters and all the classified information required for a successful trip.

Wingshooting around the World

The finest and only photographic book exclusive depicting the best Wingshooting locations and lodges around the World. An amazing journey chasing doves, pigeons, ducks, quails, red grouse, partidges, pheasants, francolin, guinea fowl, snipe and geese, captured and narrated by the world renowned hunting writer and photographer Gary Kramer.

Wingshooting Argentina

The finest and only photographic book exclusive depicting the best Wingshooting locations and lodges in Argentina. An amazing journey chasing doves, pigeons, ducks, quails, partidges, pheasants, and geese, captured and narrated by the world renowned hunting writer and photographer Stuart Willams.

Wingshooting Mexico

The finest and only photographic book exclusive depicting the best Wingshooting locations and lodges in Mexico. An amazing journey chasing doves, pigeons, ducks, quails and pheasants, captured and narrated by the world renowned hunting writer and photographer Stuart Willams.

Wingshooting Argentina & Uruguay

This is the second volume of the bestselling and only photographic books exclusive depicting the best Wingshooting locations and lodges in Argentina & Uruguay. An amazing journey chasing doves, pigeons, ducks, partidges, pheasants, and geese, captured and narrated by the world renowned hunting writer and photographer Stuart Willams.

Mel Krieger’s - Patagonia

Join world renowned Fly Fisherman Mel Krieger as he travels to his favorite angling spots in Argentina’s Patagonia. A must have book depicting the world’s Fly Fishing Mecca, as seen through the eyes of one the best to ever fish these waters.

Other Titles from Patagonia Publishing Company

RELEASE JANUARY 2011

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