Study Abroad

STUDY ABROAD An Argentina waterfowl trip packs a full season’s worth of lessons into a week of lights-out hunting 

- Will Brantley

IN ARGENTINA, there’s plenty of time for duck empanadas before lunch, a siesta afterward, and one more cerveza before bed. There’s just never enough time to reload. I know ducks are coming, and I frantically fish 23⁄4-inch lead shells out of my wader pocket.

“Rosybills,” says Terry Denmon, owner of Mojo Outdoors, from a few yards down the line. I don’t want to look over the shoulder-high grass and be “that guy” caught pie-facing the ducks—but I can’t stand it. I peek, and there’s a whole flock of backpedaling rosy-billed pochards 20 yards away. If not for the lead shot, unplugged shotguns, and our guide Diego Munoz’s heavy accent, you could mistake the scene for a Louisiana duck marsh.

The familiarity of it all may be the most surprising thing about duck hunting here. After an overnight flight, clearing customs in Buenos Aires, and making do with whatever broken Spanish I could remember from high school, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got to camp. But I was pleased to find waders drying by a fire, hunters chewing tobacco, a plate full of fried and grilled duck appetizers, and a whiff of Break Free in the air.