This is a description about my very successful hunting trip in Argentina.  This hunt was serendipitous concerning my participation, as it was initiated without my knowledge or my intended presence.  At the 2002 Houston Safari Club Convention, John Hollinshead put in an auction bid on a hunting trip at a hunting ranch south of Santiago Del Estero, Argentina.  The ranch was named  Anuritay  (pronounced an-uri-tie).  I did not know John at that time, and he had expected an old friend of his to go on this trip with him.  His friend had problems which prevented his making this trip, so John mentioned it to me at a neighborhood function. We made plans to go in April 2003, but because of scheduling problems, it had to be postponed.  Unfortunately, the only time he could fit the trip into his busy work and hunting schedule was in our fall, which was early spring south of the equator.  This limited our hunt to animals which had not shed their antlers.  The auction included one Wild Asian Buffalo, one Wild Boar, one Feral Sheep each, and bird hunting.  The bird hunting, as we found out when we arrived was not so good in the spring.  We could also add other animals, such as Brockett Deer, South American Cougar, and White Lipped Peccary.  I was actually more interested in the Cougar than anything else.  I had not heard of Wild Asian Buffalo prior to this hunt, so some investigation was necessary.  I found out there were several varieties of these buffalo.  Some were released hundreds of years ago in Brazil and Argentina, where they run wild.

John did a magnificent job making all of the travel arrangements, changing tickets as necessary and changing dates for the hunt.  I really had little to do other than ready myself and get my gear together.  The departure date was to be Oct. 2, 2003 and return on the 11th.  As it turned out, we returned a day earlier in order for John to make another hunting trip.  Our tickets to and from Buenos Aires were for flights on American Airlines.  On the day of departure, Clara brought me to Bush International Airport where John was waiting, as promised.  We went through the heightened security checks, which were even more stringent due to our taking a rifle and a handgun with us.   Without Incident, we were seated on AA waiting to depart when we had to deplane due to mechanical problems.  This was no small problem, as we had connecting flight arrangements in Miami to Buenos Aires that night.   We were lucky in making other arrangements, although unfortunately, we had to go on Continental to Miami.  Continental proved to be a major pain in the ass.   After we had gone through all of the security checks with AA, the sour faced woman at the Continental ticket station felt it was necessary to have all of our luggage x-rayed, unpacked, and checked.   This placed us under some stress, wondering if we were going to make our connection, have baggage lost, etc.  After that unpleasantness I was then singled out for a thorough check at the security check point.   According to the security check personnel it was because I happened to be a random check.  According to John, it was because I looked like a terrorist.   Thankfully, John had gotten through sooner than I did, and was able to alert the boarding personnel of my imminent arrival.  This left me with a sour experience concerning Continental Airlines.

The rest of the trip to B.A. was uneventful.  The trip was comfortable, thanks to John getting us bulkhead seats.  We were also fortunate to have an empty seat between us.  The bulkhead seats gave us more than ample leg room.  We arrived at about 9 A.M. Arg. time, one hour earlier than Eastern Time.  When it was discovered we were customers of Francisco Pizarro, we were quickly whisked through customs, had our guns checked, and sent to Victoro, Francisco's agent, to a waiting van.  We were taken in a prompt manner to the national airport.  On the way we picked up Carlos Coto, professional hunter, hunting magazine writer, and professional photographer.  Carlos was also a most delightful, humorous, and competent companion.  Once we arrived at the local airport, we went through their security check.  My carry on brief case, which Carlos was so kind to carry for me, was x-rayed, and I was told I had cartridges in it.  I was baffled.  Had I not gone through the mill with two different airlines?  This was a curious event, to say the least.  I quickly looked through the brief case and came up with eight .22 cal cartridges.  I told the security crew to keep the ammo, and we went on our way.  Carlos, the sneaky devil, had hidden a small mace spray in his glove and passed it over the machine, as if the glove was empty!  Luckily, he wasn't caught!

We arrived in Santiago Del Estero after a 2 1/2 hour flight.  There we were met by more of Francisco's (Paco's) agents who loaded our luggage and drove us the final 2 1/2 hours to Anuritay (pronounced an-uri-tie).  Anuritay I was told is an Indian word for "a small piece of land, which is close to my heart."  The Ranch house was quite comfortable.  The accommodations were very good.  I had two twin beds in a private room, and John, whom I offered his choice, wisely chose the double bed.  I pretended to be gypped, but the extra twin bed left room for me to spread my gear in my typically disorganized fashion.   We shared a bathroom which was equipped with lavatory, toilet, bath tub/shower combination, and bidet!  There were numerous animal mounts throughout the house.   A capacious living room with a nicely appointed natural woodburning fireplace was lit during the cooler parts of the day and night.  Paco was an excellent host, greeting us outside the hacienda with the customary Argentinean bear hug and hand shake.   His english is excellent, as is Carlos'.

I can't say enough about the hospitality given to us throughout our stay at Anuritay.  Paco and Carlos were always there to offer their company, humor, explanations, and general information concerning the hunt.   The food was very good.  It was ethnic, as expected, and I may also add gladly anticipated.  We feasted upon wild boar, capybara, cougar, water buffalo, and range raised chicken.  Excellent Argentinean wine, beer, soft drinks, coffee, and different teas were always at hand.  It was difficult to find an opportunity to serve oneself, as Carlos was usually offering something to us if he suspected we were thirsty or in need of anything.  Snacks consisting of cheese, chips, peanuts and other morsels were also available.  The ever present bottle of wine was always within arms length.  Uninterrupted sleeping opportunities during the warmer mid day were greatly appreciated by both John and I, although John preferred to read.

It was evening when we arrived, and after a feast upon Wild Boar, wine, dessert, and an evening chat, we went to bed.

The next day we were awakened by a fairly heavy rain, which had come during the night.  Of course, I had predicted this untimely inconvenience to Paco, to his annoyance no doubt.  Actually, once I found out what annoyed Paco, I took great pleasure in innocently repeating the provocation whenever possible.  Little did Paco realize that I am a student of human behavior, and take great pains to discover subtle points of aggravation within the psyches of my unfortunate companions.  Once these areas are defined, I obtain great pleasure in exploiting them.  Of course, it is all in good fun, and within a week, I believe Paco came to understand, or did he?  On the other hand, Carlos the intuitive one was on to me from the first.  I believe he caught that slight twinkle in my eye, as I prodded into the minds around me.  I must say, it was amusing in every aspect.  Let me be clear, my companions had fun at my expense as well.  After all, most laughter is at someone's expense.  We must all take a turn as the goat, or else some of us will be disappointed.

That afternoon, the rain became a slow, albeit aggravating drizzle.  We were able to sight in our weapons.  I had only brought my .454 Cassull pistol which was custom made by Kerry O'Day, owner and master gunsmith of Match Grade Arms, in Spring Texas.  John brought his .300 Winnie Mag rifle, with muzzle break.   Both firearms had maintained their zero, and we were ready.  I was, as was everyone else, a little skeptical concerning the knockdown power of the pistol on the 2000 pound plus buffalo.  These animals were known to take several .375 H&H magnums in the chest before coming down.  Of course, I was told the same thing about the Bison I had downed with a single shot with that same pistol this past January. We climbed into the back of a 4X4 open backed vehicle which was designed to seat two with one hunter standing in between. Coming along with us were Paco, Carlos, Rollo, Raul, Cinco, and a younger man whose name I did not get.  Some were in the cab of the truck, some on horseback.   We headed for the area where the Buffalo normally congregated.  It wasn't long before we encountered a herd of water buffalo.  They were very wary, and stampeded away from us. Paco noted a couple of very good bulls in the herd, and the hunt was on.  The brush was thick, and high enough for the buffalo to hide.   I was surprised to see some white buffalo in the herd. Paco informed us that these were the most prized, and he was encouraging their multiplication, avoiding taking the white cows or bulls with white characteristics.   We cavorted over rough roads, very rough fields, and through brush.  My neck, upon which I had surgery about 5 weeksprior to this trip was killing me, but it did no good to complain.   The only attention my complaints attained was good natured ridicule.  The hunt was on, and I could take something for pain that night.  We stopped briefly to examine the herd which had split up, and I asked John if he wished to take the first shot.  He said he would rather wait.   Being the gentleman I am, I acceded to his wish, understanding that a larger bull than we had seen may come up.  We chased, the horsemen chased, we lost, and rediscovered the herd.   Finally one of the bulls which had separated from the herd was spotted, but when we attempted to maneuver for a shot, he disappeared.   We continued to see and lose the herd.  The bulls which we thought were good trophies had split off from the main herd of about twenty or so.   As we were meandering through the thick brush, John spotted a very fine bull.  At first it was not ina good position for a good shot, but as luck would have it, he began to walk broadside to us at a fast pace.   He was only about 30 yards away, and I had a hard time acquiring an adequate sight picture in my 4X EFR Leupold pistol scope.   Then I briefly obtained sight of his front shoulder, shooting free hand, since the bull was behind the truck, I quickly pulled the cross hairs just behind the right shoulder and squeezed a round off.   I had both eyes open, and could see the effect the 260 gr. Nosler partition had upon impact.  The behemoth was rocked back just a bit, and quickly made his way to a thicket about 15 yards away before I could get another sight picture.   Obviously, I quickly lamented I did not have one of my red dot scopes, which would have allowed me to pump a couple more shots into his chest.   The thicket was impenetrable by truck.  We circled the buffalo; then Paco and I went afoot.  Paco had his .458Winchester with open sights, ready in case of a very possible charge by this huge wounded animal.   Carlos followed holding a video camera only, trusting his capable friend Paco to protect him in case of danger.  As we came into the darkened wooded thicket, trying to adjust our eyes from the previous brightness, we heard a blood curdling groan.   I half expected to see a charge, but my eyes then caught sight of the buffalo on his right side.  The bellow was a death knell.  Paco requested I put a shot into the neck which I did, assuring immobility of this dangerous animal.   We then left the thicket, circling around to his belly side where I performed the coup de grace, with a shot into his heart.  Amazingly, though, I had downed this animal with one shot from my .454 Cassull.   If we had left him a while longer he would have expired without further intervention.  The area was cleared for pictures, which were taken by all.   The large amount of buffalo meat was brought back to the camp where it would be given to those in need.   Truly, a great protein source for many in this poor part of the world, where adequate protein is so necessary for normal physical and mental development.   Anuritay provides a great amount of such nutrition for the needy from its 20,000 acre spread, and year around hunting exploits.

Paco was amazed at the size of this buffalo's horns.   He thought they would make the record book.  As it turned out, this bull would be in the top ten taken with handgun.   We immediately cracked open beers, and celebrated by taking the usual and obligatory pictures.  All was well.  On this, the first day, I made a kill of the animal for which I had come.  Everyone seemed satisfied, and if I may say, impressed by the stopping power of the .454 Cassull pistol.  I know I was.  This pistol has proven itself on two occasions, one on a bull bison and another on this wild water buffalo.  With proper shot placement, its stopping power is awesome.

It was too late to go after another buffalo that day.  This was our first day hunting on an 8 day hunt, so we still had plenty hunting ahead.   It was decided that we go back to the ranch house to clean up and enjoy a glass or two of those terrific Argentinean wines.  Once back at the house, clean and happy, we thought we would wait until after the evening meal to see if we could spot a Wild Boar, one of the other animals on our ticket.   There are two types of Wild Boars.  One is the pure Russian Wild Boar.  This is a naturally vicious animal, quite dangerous, especially when cornered.   It has razor sharp tusks, and has killed many dogs, and cut up more than a few unfortunate hunters.  It has a longer snout than the wild Feral Boar, and is pure black.   The other Wild boar is the Wild Feral Boar.  These are wild pigs which have had perhaps hundreds of years to evolve into lean, mean slashing machines themselves.   Not as aggressive as their Russian relatives, but not an animal to be taken lightly either.  They are generally larger and have longer tusks than their Russian cousins.   There are of course feral pigs which resemble the domesticated pigs crossed with Russian boars.

We left well after full darkness had enveloped this thick tree and brush covered environ, in the back of a specially configured pick up truck.   The truck was 4X4; it had an expanded metal portion which covered the entire cab, which was well braced by compression clamps secured to the drip channel.   There was a step up from the bottom of the bed which allowed easy visibility over the cab, with a 2 X 10 frame around the sides and front of the bed, affording good stability within the enclosure.   Two comfortable, although well used foam cushioned chairs with backs were a nice addition.   This provided an excellent shooting rest to the front and sides.  Rear shots would require free hand shooting.  Riding through some of the rough off road terrain did require, as I discovered, a seating position.   However, standing was usually comfortable and safe.  Paco stood between John and me, giving instructions in Spanish to the driver through the open driver's window.   We had gone a couple of miles when we crossed a perpendicular area to the road which was similar to a right of way in the U.S..   About 60 yards down this cleared area was a fairly large feral Argentinean Ram.  The horns were spiral in configuration, and resembled a longitudinal helix, coming to a point laterally.   As this was one of the animals on our ticket, John decided to take him, and made a perfect chest shot, dropping the ram in his tracks.  We took pictures, loaded the ram on the front rack, and proceeded.

The rest of the evening was non productive, but as we were on our way back, we passed a perpendicular road and Paco excitedly told the driver to stop and back up, all the while holding the spotlight so far down the small road, that I could not see what he was seeing.   He explained there was a Brockett Deer some 100 yards down the road, in low brush, and probably lying down.  I looked, but could not see anything with my 4X pistol scope.   Someone handed me a rifle, and then I could make out a small brown object with his head sticking straight up, but not looking into the light.   This deer was about the size of a standard poodle!  John did not want the shot which was on my side.  I thought, as everyone else did, this was a long shot at night for anything, especially for a pistol.   After confirming that I would not receive a charge for a missed or lost animal, I peered through the scope.  Honestly, I thought the crosshairs covered the entire kill area, I had to judge the location of the chest area since the deer was lying down in medium height grass.   I gripped the .454 revolver with two hands.  My right hand is weak from nerve damage to my neck, requiring a two handed grip, which would even be advisable in normal conditions.   I pulled the hammer back, and upon acquiring a sight picture of the area I thought to bee its chest, I squeezed the trigger.   The quiet evening was shattered by the thunderous report of this very powerful pistol.  I nearly lost my grip, even with both hands holding on.   Naturally, no one could see a thing with the smoke coming out of the muzzle of the 9 inch barrel.  We waited a few moments, glassing the spot.   Although my sight picture at the time of trigger pull was good, I was doubtful that I had hit anything at that distance.  We climbed out of the truck and went to where Paco thought the Brockett was lying at the time of the shot.   A large splotch of blood, with a trickle of blood trail went into a very thorny thicket.  It was too thick for us to penetrate in the darkness.  Paco made a fruitless attempt to shine his flash light into the thicket.  We decided to have a tracker with dog look for the deer in the morning.  Paco and Carlos were confident the tracker would find the deer in the morning.  I was in hopeful anticipation of such a find, trusting Paco's judgement.

Once again we retired to the ranch house.  We had one day of hunting under our belts, and had bagged a trophy Wild Water Buffalo, a wild Feral Ram, and 1/2 of a Brockett deer.   I was told by Paco that the Brockett was the number one sought after indigenous trophy at his ranch.  Hunters have come from all over the world to seek this diminutive and reclusive trophy.  If recovered the next morning, this delicious fare would be enjoyed by us or his crew.

After a restful night, sleeping with the windows open, and covering comfortably in a very pleasant breeze, we awakened the next morning at the respectable time of 8:00 AM.   I can't say enough about the relaxed conditions, unencumbered by stressful hurry-up anxiety sometimes experienced on some hunting expeditions.   This was truly an enjoyable event, the relaxation allowed stress to be left where it belonged, in the States.  That's how it should be.   Our request for coffee and toast only had been prepared.  We enjoyed our small repast, got back into the truck, and went to look for John's buffalo.   We were on the way to the buffalo area when Cinco, one of the gauchos spotted puma tracks.  I have long desired to go on a cougar hunt, but so far have not found what I considered to be a reliable outfitter.   Not that I have not come across one, but I just did not have adequate references for me to make that substantial commitment required for such a hunt in North America.   As luck would have it, we stumbled upon a fine opportunity.  Fortunately, we had two Rhodesian Ridgebacks, and Killer, a 20 pound chunk of tracking, running, barking, and fearless cur.   Killer was very friendly to all of us, as were all of the dogs at Anuritay.  After brief consultation and with my understanding that this was not a huge cougar, the chase was on.   The gauchos, dogs, and we took chase.  We would hear the dogs barking, the gauchos egging them on, sometimes catching brief glimpses of the gauchos going through clearings.   All the while, we were on a wild ride ourselves, hanging on for dear life in the back of the truck.  We stood when possible, but were forced to sit speeding through the thick brush.   The brush rake took down small trees at times, and avoided huge treacherous ant colonies which can act as sink holes.   After quite a chase, one of the gauchos rode up to us and excitedly explained in Spanish that the cougar, a medium sized female had decided to make a stand of it in an island of brush.   When we arrived, the dogs were happily doing their job, with Killer venturing a bit too close for comfort.  I admit, this was not a shooting challenge, and actually, I could not make out the cat in my scope.   I was close enough for an instinct, point and shoot, shot.  I was comfortable with my accuracy and made the shot.  I hit the cat in the chest and right shoulder.   It jumped four feet in the air and took off for a low tree, the dogs right behind.

The cougar was only able to climb up to a low level, and was just about to fall down from its fatal wound, when Paco requested I place another shot into it.   I used his .357 revolver with open sights, dropping the cat immediately, ending its suffering.  Again we took pictures.   Although I did not get the cougar I had hoped I would, this one would make a fine mount.  As I had heard, but not experienced, it also made a delicious dish.   On other occasions, I heard Cougar was excellent table fare, but this was to be my first experience.

Off we went again looking for John's buffalo.  They were mighty spooky that day, especially after being hunted the day before.   It took no small amount of hunting to find a bull which filled John's expectations.  After locating him, it would be necessary to get into position for a good shot.   Unfortunately, the bull spotted us before we could get into a position for an optimum shot, and started to run.  John had no choice but to take it on the run.   At about sixty yards, he pumped three .300 Winchester magnums into the beast, but it ran for another mile of so before stopping long enough for us to stop the truck, giving John a broadside about 125 yards away.   He hit him again in the chest, dropping him, and again to keep him down.  After we approached him on foot, Paco handed John his .458WinchesterMag. for the coup de grace into the heart.  It was a fine trophy also, and one which anyone would be proud.  Again with the pictures, and back to the ranch house for a lunch and siesta.

After a good nap we awakened to freshly brewed coffee.  We were just on our second day of hunting.  We were in no hurry.  We decided we would go looking for wild boars in the truck.   About 5 PM, we started going down the many dirt roads.  We spotted some huge swine, but most of them were sows.  We thought we saw a very large feral boar, but he was about 1000 yards away, across an open field.   We were assured we could not get within shooting range.  On the way in, we were in a jovial mood.  I mentioned to Paco we had only seen one feral sheep.   It was always amusing to John and I when Paco talked about sheep, he would pronounce it "ship."  At any rate, Paco immediately, as if on cue, began to chant in a Tibetan monk type of meditation chant, "ummmmmm --- shiippp."  He did this several times, when we crossed one of those right-of-ways.  To our right was a feral ram, what a hoot.  It wanted to avoid the thick brush, and ran parallel to the truck, toward us.  As it came closer to us, I could not get it into that 4X sight again!  I was forced to shoot instinctively again, hitting it in the foot, causing it to stop about 50 yards away.  I was then able to place the cross hairs on its chest, free hand, and dropped it with a perfect shot right behind the shoulder.  We had been here only two full days.  We had two trophy buffalos, two feral rams, and a cougar.  We had yet to get close enough to one of those elusive wild boars.  Tomorrow was another day.  We would just have to wait to see what it would bring.

Oct. 6, our third day, was another pleasant awakening.  The morning light and slight rustling sounds by cooks slowly and gently eased me from my dream state to consciousness.   Blue skies, with which I jokingly predicted previously, were visible through the large windows.  This occurrence annoyed the skeptical Paco, but in an amusing way.   I was always quick to remind him of the long range forecast I had seen prior to our trip.  Paco, one must understand, is a marvelous companion, especially for someone like me, who likes to find someone's annoyance buttons, and push them ad nauseum.   I don't mean this in a negative way.  Paco can also dish it out, making him a fun person.  When I arrived, I queried whether anyone had watched the weather forecast, in order to have a general idea concerning the prospects for fair weather hunting.  Paco then gave an opinionated diatribe concerning the inaccuracy of weather reports.  I naturally took note of his evidently strong feelings on this subject.  Later, after a couple of glasses of wine, I made an astounding prediction that the rain would end that night, and the weather would remain clear to partly cloudy for another week.  Paco, always ready to push other's buttons had only to wait for rain, anticipating good natured teasing of the one who made the faulty forecast.  Luckily, the weather remained clear for the rest of the trip, giving me ample opportunity to remind Paco of the accuracy of my forecast several times a day.  Ahhh, those buttons, how I love to push them.

After I reminded Paco of the predicted fair weather, he asked whether we would like to embark on an unusual hunt for the wild boars.  He suggested we could hunt them with horses, dogs, and spears.  I'd heard about hunting wild boars with spears.  This seemed like a decent challenge.  It did not seem demanding physically as it was of one's courage.  The spears had points which resembled African hunting spears, and varied in length from 6 feet to about 7 feet.  The blades went from a very sharp point, widening from 2 1/2 to about 3 1/2 inches, long leaf in shape.  I was recovering from a cervical laminectomy, and had still quite a bit of weakness in my right hand.  I also realized that I would never again get such another chance.  Ego won over descretion, and I as well as John (who was 9 years younger than me) agreed to this type of hunt.  I trusted Paco to see us through.

Outside, the gauchos had the horses saddled.  Once again, old crip, me, could not ride a horse because of his neck.  John, who used to show horses was a competent rider, and chose to ride a horse for the hunt.   The old men, both of us sixty three years old, Carlos Coto and I, would ride in the back of the truck.  In the manner in which the choice of spear was given to John, I assumed I may not get a chance at a boar.   So we all took off, the horsemen in front followed by dogs, then the old men in the truck.  I did note Paco had put one spear in the truck rack.  Lacking information otherwise, I would use it if given the chance.   We went to a very thick area which had few clearings, the dogs leading.  The horses spread out, attempting to follow the dogs, which were on their own at that time.   Soon we heard the loud falsetto pitched yells coming from the gauchos.  Experience led me to believe a boar was being chased by the growling and barking dogs.  I caught a glimpse of a black boar being chased by the dogs, only to disappear into a very heavily treed and brush area.   As soon as the truck stopped, I noted none of the horsemen dismounted.  Carlos, as always, video camera in hand, prompted me to get out of the truck.  I did so, grabbing the spear out of the rack, and ran for the barking and boar's vicious grunts, Carlos circled to a different vantage point.   I made my way into the thick brush until I could see the boar.  He appeared to be a pure Russian boar.  He was keeping the dogs at bay with quick charges at them.   I was searching for a path to get into the fray when he took off, straight at me.  My inexperience made itself known immediately.   My arms were completely extended, disallowing a shoulder and elbow power thrust.  I was able to aim the spear at his head, and the point dug into the boar's forehead, causing him to make a 90 degree turn and break into a clearing.   The next scene had everyone but me and Carlos laughing.  Visualize the boar running through a clearing, the dogs close behind barking and growling, followed by the two old men, Carlos and me.   I didn't know what I would do if I caught up with the boar, I just assumed I'd do whatever came to me naturally.  The boar ran over a small spoil bank, which had been bulldozed into a brush and dirt levee.   Directly over the spoil bank was another thicket.  I ran up this embankment, not really paying close attention to the footing.  I was more concerned about the boar which was 15 feet in front of me.   I stepped into a hole, falling upon my back, face up.  I could not have been down more than a second, as I was not exactly in a defensible position.  I got up, and Carlos did the same thing with video camera rolling.   This caused no small amount of loud laughter by all of the chickens still safely mounted upon their horses.  I came up to the boar and dogs fighting, but before I could get a good thrusting target, the boar ran for the far side of the thicket, dogs close behind.   Paco by this time had dismounted, and the boar ran toward him.  I then heard the dogs and grunting coming straight back for me.  I did not have time to do much before they were on me again.   The boar was going to run to within about one foot from my position, as I estimated it.  Hopefully, my immobility would hide me from his hurried route.   Just as he passed me, a scant 18 inches from my legs, I thrust my spear, correctly this time, through his chest.  Only his momentum allowed the boar to skid forward a bit, but he was mortally wounded.   The spear had gone through both sides of his chest, and the point was now a danger to the snarling and snapping dogs.  I could not extract the spear, because my thrust had also rotated the spear.  I left the spear there, and went to the other side of the boar, and used Paco's spear for a second and finalizing blow to the boar's heart.  The previous laughter erupted into cheers and those now familiar falsettos by the gauchos.  Hand shakes and back slapping iced the cake.  The old man was satisfied, knowing he had not shown fear, not even when charged by the boar.  The head gaucho came up to me after the kill and told me in Argentina there was a name for a man such as I.  I wondered if he was going to say "loco", but with sincerity he told me it was "macho."  That was surely a compliment to be savored.  It was not made in reference to my braggadocio; it was made in reference to my behavior.  He said he made the comment because I showed no fear, chasing the boar on foot, especially this being my first time.  I accepted his compliment with gratitude and pride.

The usual pictures were made, and we headed off to hunt a boar for John.  In a short time, John was able to spear a boar of his own.  The dogs were able to get on a hot trail.   When John saw the boar stopped for its final battle, he quickly moved in and speared it.  Here again, atavistic courage was summoned in order to make a kill, with technique going back thousands of years.   We took more pictures, and started back for the ranch house.  On the way back, Cinco rode up excitedly to John and Paco who were in front of the truck.  According to Carlos, a large Cougar had been spotted.  John declined to take it.  John had been to Africa twice, and was acquiring enough trophies.  When we arrived at the house, Paco and I discussed the cougar.  I told him if this was truly a huge cougar, I would like to take it with a spear.  We came to an understanding that I would not take it if it was another medium sized cougar.  With this iron clad understanding, Paco said he would put out some live piglet baits.  If the cougar made a kill that night, we would track him with the dogs the next day.  I was pleased we did not hunt over bait.  These were exciting hunts, designed for men or women who were able to conquer inner fears.  Spear hunting is not physically demanding, other than some running.  Since it does not require throwing of the spear, even a decrepit specimen such as I, can accomplish this heart pounding feat.  Although it does not challenge one physically, it does challenge one's courage.  There is no fear of losing one's life but, a nasty slash or two certainly did occur to me.

The next morning, the men who were checking the live baits reported none of them had been taken.  However, they did discover a large capybara kill.  Also seen were large cougar tracks in the vicinity.   Paco felt this was the "big boy" for which we were looking.  Once again the horses were mounted, the dogs called, and Paco, Carlos, John, and I in the truck followed.   We stopped in a wooded area as directed by our able trackers.  Large cougar tracks were seen going across the road and into the woods.   The tracks meandered to a six foot deep hole, with a shallow water pool at the bottom.  I could not make out what made the hole.  It was about ten or so feet in diameter, with steep banks.   At the bottom, was a disemboweled capybara.  It was a fresh kill.  The large rodent was retrieved and examined.  There was no apparent attempt to devour anything but its viscera.   Paco indicated the usual modus operandi of the cougar was to make the kill, lick up all of the blood it could get, take favorite portions from the abdominal cavity.   He would come back later for a more formidable meal.  Except for man, who hunts these magnificent carnivores occasionally, the cougars have no natural enemies.   They spend most of their time maintaining their territory, mating, and eating; much like humans I believe.  One of the dogs which appeared part Labrador Retriever was on the scent immediately.   Amazingly, the cougar being concerned about his kill, had only gone a few hundred yards from the capybara's carcass.  Naturally, the horsemen were behind the dogs much faster than the "over the hill gang."   Soon we were at the site of a scene of excitement, distinguished by the gauchos high pitched yells, dogs viciously growling and barking, Killer's yapping, and the characteristic snarling and hissing of a cougar.   We all scrambled out of the truck.  I could hear the dogs on the opposite side of a thicket confronting an angry and cornered cougar.   I initially went into the thicket the wrong way, but the ever present Paco guided me to an easier approach.  We came upon the cougar which was at bay with the dogs.   The dogs and we were opposite each other in reference to the cougar.  The cougar seemed much more concerned with the dogs than with us.   I queried whether this was the large cougar which we were hunting, not wanting to take the wrong one.  Paco incredulously smirked at me, asking me if I was in my right mind.   This was a huge cougar, he exclaimed.  We were no farther than seven feet from the cougar at this time.  I did not want to do anything to alarm it any more, which would cause it to flee, possibly losing it, or having one of the dogs killed.   I had never been in this position before, and all I had to rely on was my basic hunter's instinct.  The cougar would look at the dogs, and then turn its attention to us.  I was too far for a definitive thrust.   I would have to make my way to within three feet of the animal in order to make my move.  I looked at Paco who was sweating, and not from the heat.  Since I was the closest, he was more concerned about his client than himself.   Each time the cougar would look toward me, I froze, inching into position as he turned his attention to the threatening pack of dogs.  When I was in position I made my thrust.   I made what I thought would be a double lung penetration.  The cougar had just turned to me and crouched, I also hit a limb in the thick brush.  I missed my aim at his heart and lungs, skewering a large amount of skin across his back.  I thought I had a pretty good purchase on him, although he was trying to get up the spear toward me.  I handed the spear to Paco, and grabbed the spear which Paco was holding, this time making a fatal heart and lung penetration.  It must have been a perfect impalement, because the cougar succumbed almost immediately.  Just like that, it was over.  A whirlwind of emotions, which were not appreciated due to the extreme activity of the moment, suddenly were realized.  I cannot relate this feeling satisfactorily.  I was in a daze, an emotional high, amazement of myself for this feat which I had never in my wildest dreams thought I would ever attempt, much less accomplish.  I had not time to be afraid.  I was embroiled in the extreme excitement of the moment, and honestly, could not remember any fear.  I was so focused upon this daunting task that everything except the completion of my purpose evaporated.  My primal sub consciousness had been satisfied.  As I slowly reverted back to reality, I realized I had just consummated the hunt of my lifetime.  I am sure many have done more, but for me, at my age, one month shy of sixty three, moderately encumbered by a painful malady of the cervical spine, I had done all I would probably do as far as challenging my physical abilities and intrepidity was concerned.  My macho had been maxed out.  Naturally, I still dream of having an episode which will top this one, however, realistically I doubt the occasion will arise.

That afternoon, Rollo took John and I on a partridge hunt.  What we lacked in bounty was made up in exercise.  Simply put, we walked our butts off.  We killed about five partridges, and a pigeon.  It was not a good time of the year for bird hunting, the fall and winter being best.

Later, after returning from the bird hunt, we decided we had enough hunting, and asked Paco if he could make arrangements for us to depart a day earlier than planned.  Paco called his wife in Buenos Aires who made the appropriate contacts for our early departure.  The next day, Paco drove us to Santiago Del Estero, put us up in a hotel, fed us, and had us on a plane to B.A. the next morning.  The flight home and connections were flawless, except for an atrocious price to pay for the change of tickets on the local airline.  However, such annoyances must be compartmentalized into a deep hiding place of our brain, or else we will allow such aggravations to negatively influence an otherwise wonderful experience.

I can't say enough about how much I appreciate the competency of John as a traveling companion.  He was flawless in making arrangements, and guiding me through a maze of confusion at the airports.  I travel by air only when absolutely necessary, and my lack of familiarity was evident.  I also must mention Paco and Carlos for their individual expertise.  Paco has been hunting these animals on this ranch for 15 years, and his experience helped make a difficult hunting experience seem easy.  Making the difficult seem easy after all is the mark of a professional.  Carlos had more courage than I.  He was right there with me, armed only with a video camera during every episode.  His presence added at many levels to the enjoyment of the trip.  Rollo was also excellent company.  His English, though lacking, was far superior to my Spanish.  He always knew what he was doing, and kept the rest of his crew performing in an excellent manner.  The rest of the men accomplished their jobs also very well.  Their sharp eyes and experience enhanced the hunts in ways which I will never appreciate.  I grade their competence, which was hidden from me by distance most of the time, by the results of the hunt, and for that they get an A+.

Upon arriving at the pick up area, with all of our baggage I might add, Clara picked us up in a timely fashion.  I gave her a well deserved kiss, which I had forgotten to give her in my excited departure.  Now, all is well in Butch's world.
October 15, 2003