Because now the ammo costs the same-$ 10.75 per box- you really ought to use a 28. No sane person would shoot anything bigger than a 20 on Argentine doves.
If the señor showed up with a 12-gauge, he deserves pain. Is the señor troubled by recoil? Would he like to borrow one of the estancia’s soft-shooting semi-autos? At Los Chanares, in Córdoba Province, if you haven’t fired least 20 boxes-a case of shells, 500 rounds-before lunch, Alex, the manager, will discreetly inquire if everything is OK. Pay the price for a really big day on a Spanish or British estate and you might go through as many as eight or 10 boxes. At one of the primo lodges west of the Mississippi, a wingshooter can burn up to three boxes of cartridges per day. He wrote, somewhat disingenuously, “We need a little help from someone who understands how uncomfortable high-volume shooting can be.”Ī New Englander might fire an entire box of 25 rounds on an unforgettably rare and providential day in the uplands. Think this is fun, huh? I was tasked by Steve Lamboy, head of Antonio Zoli North America, to take one of the company’s new travel guns to Argentina.
When a sadistic deep-tissue massage at the end of the day actually feels good… When a lively gun begins to handle like a concrete block. When you can’t swing fast enough any more to catch up with a bird closer than 30 yards. When you’re too jaded to move and find you’ve screwed your feet into the dirt. (No mas!) When you decide to wait for the next shot to reload, so you don’t have to open the shotgun one more time.
When you cringe as your loader empties yet another box of cartouchos into your shell bag.
You know you’re shooting doves in Argentina when your left arm hurts too. Welcome to Argentina, southern land of tango dancing, beefsteak, leather-trimmed everything and wingshooting that can reduce even a Republican to sniveling tears. If I’m going crazy, at least I’ll have company when I get there. It was a relief one morning to hear Dick Kennerknecht, from Global Sporting Safaris, say at breakfast that when he’d closed his eyes the night before, all he could see were doves flying at him.
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