Gar sh

Continued from page 18 bogs, witnessed the rise and fall of the dinosaurs. It survived the apocalyptic Chicxulub asteroid, which killed three quarters of all the animal and plant species on earth, including the dinosaurs. In an unforgiving system of survival through adaptation and change, the gar sh, along with the honeybee and golden orb spider, remained the same through 1,500 millennia. Built right the rst time, its kind will be around with the cockroaches and spiders long after homo sapiens, the new kids on the block, have polluted the planet beyond human habitation. She looks at us as though she knows all this, the corners of her mouth permanently curled into a sardonic smile. With a blood memory of countless centuries, how could this relic not be wise? What creature in the food chain could prey on her? Bull alligator? e girls scream. I do too. I wrap both arms around my daughters and try to kick the monster back into the bilge. Needle like teeth snag my tennis shoe. I kick loose with the other foot, tearing o the toe. e unmanned tiller of the Evinrude spins sideways, smacking against the transom, turning the boat in a quick circle. e puppy yips. e motor coughs and dies. e girls burst into tears. “Moo!” cries Mary Catherine. “Moo!” e hair on the back of my neck bristles all the way up to my cowlick. We drift downstream for a while, catching our breath. e gar sh, longer than the width of the boat, lies quietly in a silver crescent between the gunnels, toothy beak agape. Have I killed her with the double kick of a tennis shoe?

Diving Pterodactyl?

My spirits, spiked with adrenaline, become ebullient now that we are safe from those ugly teeth. I start feeling pretty good about myself. I decide to take this missing link to a taxidermist to have it mounted as a memento to the girls’ adventure at Little Dent. e mount will serve as a conversation piece to hang a story on. I’ll never let the girls forget the day their daddy grappled barehanded with a living fossil. I’ll tell them bedtime stories of epic heroes who also battled monsters: of Beowulf, of St. George, of eseus, Perseus and Ahab. I’ll be a hero to my children, the best thing a daddy can be.

Or a clown, it suddenly occurs to me. What if I’d su ered a fatal heart attack while catching a sh? Would friends repeat the story and laugh at my demise? I’m more concerned about being ridiculed than of dying. Dying’s not so bad once you get used to it, but how you die constitutes an essential part of your legacy. Comedy and tragedy are next of kin. I’m determined to have a more distinguished departure when the time comes again, as if I’ll have a choice in the matter.

Pink lined thunderheads gather on the horizon. By the time we get to the boat ramp it’s drizzling rain. When we arrive at our home upriver, it’s raining steadily. It doesn’t take the girls’ mother long to decide she doesn’t want a vefoot gar sh going through her house. I drag my dead trophy by its beak around to the backyard, high above the riverbank. e girls, studded with mosquito bites and exposed to poison ivy, are bathing together, leaving a dirty ring in the bathtub, having cobwebs combed out of their hair.

It rains all night. e next morning when I go out to fetch the gar sh for the taxidermist, she has disappeared. I look for her over the backyard and down to the edge of the river, but she has vanished. She sure seemed dead when I left her, her limp, hard body having lost the turgidity of living tissue. I can’t believe her capable of reviving and squirming her way across a wet lawn to the waters’ edge, but she has. I feel empty, confounded and a little frightened, like a man puzzled by an interrupted dream. Gone is the absolute proof of yesterday’s adventure. I feel robbed and saddened, foolish for being outsmarted by a sh. I know it’s crazy, but that’s how I’m thinking. Most thinking doesn’t make much sense.

For a while I tell the story of the great gar sh to the girls, hoping to keep the memory alive. Without the mount, the sh grows in the telling, and the battle intensi es in ferocity—absence of hard evidence being an incentive to hyperbole. Over time the girls tire of the story with all its exaggerated variations, eventually outgrowing bedtime stories altogether. e puppy develops into a dog and that dog grows old and gray around the muzzle. My daughters marry and beget children who will believe, at least for a while, the tale of the giant gar sh of Little Dent, the one that got away. S

Retired English professor O. Vic Miller spends his hours on the banks of the Flint River, contemplating his nal chapter. Miller recently published Buzzard Luck, a collection of creative non- ction available on Amazon.

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Continued from page 67 into his 80s. He claimed to have preferred the old days, except for the way women were treated back then. He paid attention to his life and tried to better the world around him, in other words, and did so with a wink and a smile. Interviewed at 82, he noted that “I like scotch at lunch. At dinner time I prefer gin.” at marriage of ebullience and empathy emerged in Uncle Eb, the novel’s hero. Plot-wise, Eben Holden: A Tale of the North Country begins with a Vermont boy whose parents die and is whisked o by a hired man (Uncle Eb) before the youngster can be remanded to the care of a “dissolute uncle.” After a harrowing trek across Lake Champlain into northern New York, the pair and their faithful dog, Fred, are taken in by a loving farm family, the Browers.

From that point, the novel loosely tracks Bacheller’s own life, with some predictable Victorian dramas added in for good measure—a love lost and regained; a scam perpetrated on the father; a lost family member reappearing at the novel’s end. Readers of Twain will recognize other characters and situations. In this chapter, for example, Uncle Eb nds it necessary to pull out the old “ ll the sh with lead shot” trick, with its nod to “ e Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.”

By any measure, Bacheller found an eager audience. His book ranked in the top 10 for sales in the rst two years of its publication, with more than 1,000,000 copies selling over its lifetime. Uncle Eb’s rural adventures applied the literary brakes to the pace of industrialism and the exploding cities and immigration and resulting modern culture; his innate kindness marked him as the sort of moral compass the modern community needed more than ever. Readers enjoyed the nostalgia of small-town familiar, when everyone knew all there was to know about everyone else, or at least everything that mattered. e slow pace meant that each hamlet could still claim a distinctiveness. Tip Taylor, for example, comes from “Sucker Brook Country,” a reference to a particular inlet to Cranberry Lake 35 miles away, where the folks had some “distinct” attitudes, at least about suckers. e world might be small, but the homespun dialect held truth beneath the glitter of the Gilded Age. Mose Tupper, he of the unlovely face, causes Uncle

Eb (elsewhere in the novel) to observe, “[Mose] had a large red nose, and a mouth vastly too big for any proper use. If Mose Tupper uv had the makin’ uv himself, he’d oughter done it more careful.” ou re going to fish it from above I ignore the concern in osh s voice. ut by the time I near the water, gusts of wind have shattered my viewing window. In a rare act of caution, I hold fire.

Few “he men” gallop through this narrative. ose romantic characters had fallen out of favor, given their hand in the carnage of Civil War. Heroes of the Local Color Movement, as the literary genre was called, tended to be women, children, old men and animals—in this case, the narrator, Uncle Eb, and “the ol settler,” respectively. Uncle Eb works the controls, even if he remains in the background. In subsequent chapters, he makes sure the narrator gets the girl, recti es the father’s nancial situation and reunites the Brower family with their lost son. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but wrinkled old Uncle Eb is one clever dude.

Always a step ahead, Uncle Eb realizes in this excerpt that Mose’s biggest problem is really himself. He can’t see that destroying the town’s legend will amount to throwing out the proverbial baby with the bath. Destroy the great unknown beneath the surface of the water, and you lose the shared wonder and liveliness that folds people into a community. And with that, there goes the fun of shing, the very element that carries Uncle Eb away from his mundane life and lets him be a child again.

Fortunately for Eb’s plan, Mose has a big mouth and vows to “punish” the alleged sh, campaign shouting that if he doesn’t, anglers might be led to sin. As much as he loves shing, Uncle Eb knows enough not to get positioned as pro-sin. No, the way to get Mose is to encourage him; he’ll start to believe his own bloviating and keep going too fast and trip over his own feet, if you give him half a chance.

Really, Mose should know better: You can’t go around threatening to reveal the truth about the piscatorial lies we depend on. Do that, and a real sherman just might come along and do what he must do to maintain the integrity of the sport.

Will Ryan grew up in the 1000 Islands region of New York and spent many spring days shing the rivers and streams of Bacheller’s North Country. Like the characters in this story, he has felt the tug of “ e Ol’ Settler”—or so he thinks.

The thrill of a new place, like the onset of love itself, might never manage to enchant one the way it can at first blush. When we arrived at Cedar Lodge and asked about fish, gesturing toward the Makarora River, somewhere beyond the heli ad mowed as a circle into asture ri ling with wind, Scottie Little, the lodge manager, said they re there all right. ut these ones get fished. They can be tough. I ll buy anyone a beer who gets one.

Rivers big and small beg for dry ies and delicate casts throughout the lush mountains common to New Zealand’s South Island.

We put up rods and wade through the billowing grass. The wind whistles through our guides, strums lines and taut leaders. Downriver on the bank, built up out of rip-rap to protect the pasture from highwater, our other lodge mate for a cou le of days, osh Mills from ellow Dog Flyfishing, waves at us, hands overhead, and then gestures emphatically toward the water below.

We creep to the edge of the stacked boulders and get a look. Fish? Hardly. Where I come from, a trout like this is called a blankety-blank trophy. I start down the rocks.

I m going to climb down and swing a y over it and see what ha ens.

Middle of the current, calls osh.

Kevin Jurgens, one of two hotshot angler/photographers I’ve arrived with, approaches downstream of the lie. He nds a casting platform, a at rock splashed by brusque wavelets pushed by the snorting wind. He eases himself into position.

“ ree meters upstream,” says Josh.

A fresh blast hurls Kevin’s cast back at him. He gets about half the distance he needs. But before he can pick up and try again, Josh tells him to wait.

“Don’t move it,” he adds, his voice now taut, excited—just the tone you want to hear from your guide with your y on the water.

When Kevin’s rod comes up, the tip remains anchored to the water; the wind-whipped waves do nothing to hide the commotion that follows, a thrashing I normally associate with swimming dogs or small, frightened children.

First cast. It takes me a few moments to settle down. Of course, maybe this was just the odd sh, a bit of lucky happenstance. I climb down the riprap and wade through the head of the channel and cross a wide sweep of freestone cobble, the main river spreading out before me. Between the wind and the current, chattering unrelieved through a broad arc of shallow ri e, I can’t see much but a narrow band of quiet water right alongside my path. en something catches my eye. Immediately it vanishes. I back o , stare, try to re-imagine what I may or may not have seen in the rst place. en…nothing. Not even a touch. Still. is time it reveals itself as the y slides its way. It rises toward the surface, only to let the rocking sails pass. en, miraculously, with a sweep of its tail, it turns downstream and pivots abruptly and lifts its gaze again. I can hardly believe it; another beast of a trout. I watch it tilt, the nose rise, the critical distance shrink toward nothing until nally, at the very last moment, the trout says no, giving up on the o er the instant before it could have balanced the y, seal like, atop its nose.

It doesn’t hurt to cast. e y, a big Humpy-like thing with tall white wings you could see in a gale, a Blow y Scottie called it when I plucked it from his box, lands more or less where I want it and rides my way, a brave little sailing dinghy cresting the treacherous waves. When the y’s almost to me, threatening to drag, the surface of the river suddenly explodes.

I back o , move downstream, start up again. It occurs to me I should consider returning to the lodge, make sure I’m not late for our rst dinner. I pause, spot Kevin, far upriver, creeping along the bank. e next moment I glimpse something in the shallows, the ghost of an image I suspect, without conviction, is another sh.

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It’s almost too good for words, beer or no beer.

Later, I’d like to blame the calamari, the loin of lamb, the mango parfait, maybe even a wee bit too much local Pinot Noir. But I’ve seen this movie before, felt the twinges of worry and selfdoubt, as familiar as my own breathing, haunting me throughout the short, closeto-solstice, southern hemisphere night.

Show up at a fabled place like New Zealand’s South Island and, frankly, I’m concerned I might not meet the challenge, that my game may lack what it takes to fool big, sighted trout and bring them to hand.

I’m sure I’m the only one who ever feels this way.

At one point my fragile sleep is shattered by a loud crash. More wind? Before dawn I nd the rack of soap and shampoo lying on the oor of the shower. When I stumble at rst light into the lounge, searching for co ee, Scottie informs me of a nearby earthquake, a common enough feature of South Island life, and no doubt cause of the shower racket, if not echoes in my tedious dreams.

I’m convinced, anyway, that the rest of my party doesn’t su er these grave notions, that they never lose sleep over their capacity to step up and deliver the goods. Brian O’Keefe, for example. You may have heard stories. My take? Believe them.

At risk of narrative discontinuity, I’ll just mention a moment during our one day together on the water, after Kevin and Brian had spent several days on their own, collecting digital imagery of sh and scenery that would make any angler’s heart ache—and some of us reach for our phones and possibly even wallets. Nick, our guide that day, spotted a sh moving up the far side of the Okuru River, where Brian and Kevin, on the opposite bank, were bushwhacking upstream. Nick hollered, said the sh was just about “out of range.” Brian hopped up onto a dry boulder, yanked his entire y line, and then some, o his reel, and let y. I think Nick gave out a little gasp. Brian had lined the target, his cast landing 20 or 30 feet too far upstream, the trout vanishing who knows where. Nick and I looked at each other. “Next time maybe give him a distance,” I suggested. “I think he was making a point about out of range.”

Now where was I?

Over Eggs Benedict and all the extras, enough calories, I imagine, for one of the World Cup soccer squads preparing to play this morning in Qatar, Scottie lays out the day’s schedule: Josh and I to the Young; Kevin and Brian to the Wilkin. Cedar Lodge, it turns out, has access to some 20 di erent rivers and streams— or burns, as smaller tributaries are often called, evidence of the Scottish in uence on Kiwi culture, especially here on the South Island.

Helicopters, I should add, make that access, weather pending, quick and easy. Josh and I, and our guide Hen, are put down on a patch of lawn-like grass amidst bunches of tussocks, a seemingly manicured setting overlooking an elegant blue river bend in the middle of...paradise? Sheer walls, cushioned by beech forest, o er the feel of a canyon as much as a narrow river valley, the oor itself a wide ramp falling, gently here, fartherdown through a boulderriddled gorge, toward the Makarora and its eventual mouth at the top of Lake Wanaka. ere’s more to it. Almost every sighted sh is alone, all by itself in ri e, run or pool. And, truth be known, there are very few of them—at least in comparison to the numbers we associate with, say, a healthy Western trout stream. e sport, then, is simple enough, a distillation of the fundamental elements of y shing into the drama that most of us like best: sighting a sh, casting to it, watching it move to and eat the y. en: How are you going to pull this o ? e persistent beech forest gives way to pockets of tree ferns and a fresh mix of broadleaf evergreens, a temperate maritime blend reminiscent of Southern Chile, even portions of the Paci c Northwest. Rainfall gets measured in meters. Some of the trout move to and from the sea.

Slender waterfalls cascade all but overhead through rock creases carved into the curtained walls. e gray sky, spotted with blue, trembles above us, ringing, perhaps, if only our senses were keen enough to capture the sound.

By the time Josh and I have nished putting up rods and tied on tippets and ies, Hen has waded the tailout, crept up the far bank and spotted a sh.

Come the end of the day, the loud thrum of our helicopter approaching, I’m no longer worried—not too much at least—about getting sh to agree with the point of the y.

Itis, in fact, a di erent kind of trout shing—di erent, that is, from the hatch-driven sport that occupies so much of the literature, the recognized milieu so often described. In a week I see but a handful of trout actually rise before I cast to them, not one sh eating any identi able fare, never a rise that seems more than a single pluck at a randomly passing speck of invisible manna.

Plus, I never see any such thing as a small sh.

Simple, of course, doesn’t necessarily mean easy. You walk, and you walk, and you walk, until someone, either your guide or you or your shing partner, spots a sh. A conference, of sorts, often follows: First of all, are you sure it is a sh?

Fortunately, your support o ers a second or even third pair of eyes, especially helpful when you creep into casting position and suddenly the kaleidoscope of moving water obscures your view. Only once will you ever forget to triangulate some landmarks—a current seam, underwater rock, maybe a shifting foam line—reference points to help choose your target. For a brief moment I often try to ignore the sh, eyes lifted, instead, on where I want the y to land. I also nd it helpful to remind myself to breathe, while often recalling, as well, those 900 million indi erent Chinese who used to accompany McGuane when he backed his horse into the box, prepared to do a leetle jackpot roping.

Does it really matter—I mean, really—if I blow the cast?

But now, here’s the best of it: I’ve never seen so many big, visible, solitary trout willing to move to and eat a big dry y.

Iwon’t say we grow cocky. en again, we’ve got the helicopters, remote drainages, willing browns and rainbows both, the entire country just now reopening even as the long pandemic continues to send ripples around the rest of the world.

And Messi and company recover, making it out of the group stage and into the nal knockout rounds.

Good weather allows us, late in the week, to cross the divide and drop into our rst look at a west side watershed, emptying directly into the Tasman Sea.

“Browns only,” says Nick. He glances my way. “Make your rst cast count.” en Nick tells me to put a cast into a patch of juicy water alongside a swift chute pouring into the top of an emerald pool, one of the rare times any of the guides directs a blind cast over a likely lie. e rise, like all of them, seems both ridiculous and sublime. What have I ever done to deserve this? I ask myself—while six pounds in the net prove, once again, that a little luck can go a long way. at evening the lodge crew joins us for dinner: seafood chowder, roast pork loin, sweet potatoes, broccoli, Yorkshire pudding and gravy. Passionfruit Crème Brûlée. Spirits owing, Brian interrupts his nightly chronicles and o ers a generous toast. “It’s not the shing, it’s the shing experience.” Scottie adds his own spin: It’s not just the sh and shing, the scenery, the rivers, the food or the wine.

Sure enough, this is the rst morning we nd ourselves covering tetchy sh. Body language speaks for itself: Our casts approach sh that look tense, or restless, or hugging the bottom—or gone before the y drifts their way. It happens several times, not so often that anybody feels we’ve missed any genuine opportunities, but enough that we can see sh today will have to be earned.

“It’s the Kiwis,” he says. Under the table, I pinch myself. Whatever the it is, there’s an inch or two more of me now to enjoy it. S

It took Gray’s Angling Editor Scott Sadil nearly a quarter of a century to return to New Zealand following his rst visit to Tūrangi, on the North Island, a visit he veiled lightly as ction in his novel, Cast From the Edge, from that same distant era. He doesn’t intend to wait that long before he visits again.

IfYou Go

Cedar Lodge is owned and operated by Eleven Angling (www.elevenexperience.

Helicopters, huge sh, and big dry ies? Sounds pretty good to most anglers who like shing for trout the way it was always meant to be done.

com), whose services worldwide cater to anglers looking for the best in sport, accommodations and all of the extras travelers have come to expect from a gold-star lodge. Visitors to New Zealand’s South Island generally y into Auckland, take a connecting domestic ight to Queenstown, then enjoy scenic ground transport to the lodge, easily arranged by contacting lodge manager Scottie Little directly (slittle@ elevenexperience.com).

One of the unusual pleasures of Cedar Lodge is that you can show up without gear of any sort and expect to be out tted with every piece of equipment you need: rods, reels, lines, ies, wading boots— the works. (Wet wading complements the need to hunt sh on foot.) New Zealand has a long history of battling invasive species; you’re encouraged, in fact, not to show up with equipment from out of the country. e best news about arriving light is that you get to sh one of Carl McNeil’s Epic y rods, built in nearby Wanaka. Epic rods, for those who don’t know about them, have captured attention worldwide, proving once again that anglers everywhere are looking for that sweet feel that answers every need they might encounter in a full day’s shing, rather than a rod that behaves more like a one-trick pony.

Trout season on the South Island means you will want to be prepared for all types of weather, especially wind and rain. at said, I was comfortable during the lodge’s opening week shing in a pair of tights under quickdry pants, a base-layer and eece vest on top, with a lightweight shell in my day pack. And a sun hat. Debates may rage about our changing climate, but everybody in New Zealand (and Australia) agrees that whatever is going on in the atmosphere, the sun Down Under has grown increasingly harmful to human skin. Sunshine or not, you can ruin a trip in a hurry if you neglect or forget to protect yourself.

e lodge operates on a smooth, well-ordered routine. Co ee and tea early, followed by a robust breakfast and daily shing assignments and heli lift-o times. Scottie’s aim, of course, is to get guests into sh, while at the same time o ering opportunities to view the spectacular scenery and experience the rich variety of water available to the lodge.

Hearty appetites are met with après fare as soon as you return by helicopter to the lodge. Don’t overdo it. Gordon Sutherland, lodge chef, is going to try to knock your Crocs or dry socks o with dinner, served inside the main lounge or out on the deck, depending on the weather. Local wines enjoy a well-deserved reputation. If you think you can handle it, ask one night for the Kiwi version of Pavlova, the remarkable dessert made famous following an early 20th-century visit by the Russian ballerina Anna Pavlova, created rst in New Zealand or Australia, depending on who you ask—or maybe what side of the Tasman Sea you’re on.

I did leave Cedar Lodge with one question, however. Why did Scottie o er to buy us beers if we caught sh that rst night? It seemed every time I turned around, there was a fresh pilsner in front of me.

Alaska

Alaska Sportsman’s Lodge

PO Box 231985, Anchorage, AK 99523 (888)826-7376

E-Mail: bkraft@alaskasportsmanslodge.com

Strategically located on the Kvichak River in the heart of the Bristol Bay fishing paradise. This river is the only connection between Lake Iliamna and the ocean. Each year, millions of salmon use the Kvichak to travel to their spawning grounds. This provides an enormous food source for the native rainbow trout, which grow in excess of 20 lbs. Because of our location, we don’t need to spend countless hours flying to the fishing spots. www.fishasl. com

Alaska Wilderness Outfitting Company PO Box 1516, Soldotna, AK 99574 (907)424-5552

Experience incredible fishing, remote wilderness, and some of Alaska’s most spectacular beauty. Guided and self-guided trips to the pristine waters of Prince William Sound, the wild lakes and rivers of the Wrangell Mountains and the untamed wilderness of the North Gulf Coast. All trips are remote fly-in destinations that include fully outfitted self-guided trips in our one-of-akind outpost cabins and floating cabins as well as a full-service lodge on the Tsiu River. We accommodate groups of any size and offer discounts for large groups. www.alaskawilderness.com

Angler’s Paradise Lodge

4125 Aircraft Drive, Anchorage, AK 99502 (907)243-5448

E-mail: pete@katmailand.com

Since 1950, we have offered the world’s finest freshwater sport fishing. All lodges have superb fishing within walking distance and are in close proximity to the finest salmon, rainbow, char, and grayling rivers in Alaska. www.katmailand.com

EPIC Angling & Adventure

(512)656-2736

We offer two different fly fishing adventure trips located in remote areas of the Alaska Peninsula. On the Pacific side is a sophisticated camp that offers extreme isolation, a unique coastal fishery, breathtaking scenery, day hike options, and helicopter fly-outs. On the Bristol Bay side is a no-frills camp offering an affordable option for die-hard fishermen after BIG fish in a small stream. www.epicaaa.com

Stoney River Lodge

PO Box 62, Sleetmute, AK 99668 (907)526-5211

E-mail: Stoneyriverlodge22@gmail.com

Owned and operated by Curly and Betty Warren, Alaska Master Guide License #111. Built in 1984 as a prime base of operation for guided top quality hunting adventures. Grizzly, moose, sheep, caribou and black bear, as well as daily fly-out sport fishing adventures. Lodge offers custom designed trips. We cater to people that wish to enjoy rugged Alaska outdoor activities incorporated with a well-appointed full service lodge operated by 30 year plus Master Guide and experienced staff. www.stoneyriverlodge.com

Tikchik Narrows Lodge

(907)243-8450

E-mail: info@tikchik.com

World-class fly-in/fly-out sport fishing lodge hidden amid spectacular 1.5 millionacre wilderness park in pristine western Bristol Bay. Daily fly-out fishing for salmon, trout, char, grayling, and pike. Extraordinary service, accommodations, gourmet meals, and experienced guides. Owned and operated for nearly 30 years by Bud Hodson. www.tikchiklodge.com

Unalakleet River Lodge

(800)995-1978

E-mail: steve@unalakleet.com

Unalakleet River Lodge is a remote luxury fishing destination in the northwestern bush of Alaska. We have been sharing the natural beauty of the Unalakleet River and the surrounding Nulato Hills with our guests since 1998. We offer our clients Salmon fishing in the wilderness of Alaska with all the amenities and comforts of a full resort.The Unalakleet is recognized as a National Wild and Scenic River and is home to large runs of King Salmon, Chum Salmon, Pink Salmon, Silver or Coho Salmon, Dolly Varden, Arctic Char, and a native population of Arctic Grayling. The Unalakleet River offers 140 miles of prime Salmon fishing isolated from the pressures of road systems and fly out operations. www.unalakleet.com

Argentina

Argentina’s Best Hunting

(225)754-4368

E-mail: contact@argentinasbesthunting.com

The perfect blend between hunting, fishing, gourmet dining, and luxury accom- modations. Look no further if your goal is to experience the best that Argentina has to offer, as we have a wide variety of species, lodges, and regions at our fingertips. To learn more, visit www.argentinasbesthunting.com

South Parana Outfitters

(804)693-3774

E-mail: wingsargentina@gmail.com

World class wingshooting in a classic Argentine setting! Argentina, in comparison to other countries, has the advantage of having no restrictions when it comes to the hunting of doves, due to the threat that they represent to agriculture. However, Entre Rios is known for its prolific fauna, its great care for the environment, and its deep respect for the law. We can proudly say that conservation is at the foundation of our company. All of our guides are bilingual and it is their job to accompany you during the hunt and they will take into account your personalized tastes and interests. Duck hunting season goes from May through August. Dove is available for hunting all year long. Combination shoots and customized package shoots are available. www.southparanaoutfitters.com

Belize

Belize River Lodge

(888)275-4843

E-mail: info@belizeriverlodge.com

Belize River Lodge rests quietly on the lush, green banks of the Belize Olde River, only 3.5 miles from the mouth of the river—the entrance into the Caribbean Sea and classic Flats fishing, where anglers will pursue bonefish, tarpon, permit, and snook. This beautiful historic mahogany lodge is situated amidst an abundant tropical setting. Balmy breezes rich with the sound of bird song drift among the private cottages creating a naturalist’s paradise. Relax and delight in our Belizean hospitality and our delicious combination of fine Belizean-Creole cuisine. www.belizeriverlodge.com

British Columbia

Legacy Lodge

(877)347-4534

E-mail: info@legacylodge.com

Wonderfully remote yet easily accessible, Legacy Lodge offers a premier sport fishing experience found nowhere else in the world. In harmony with the natural environment and in a world all its own, here on the protected waters of Rivers Inlet, surrounded by the panoramic beauty of British Columbia, all the elements converge for epic battles with world class salmon and halibut. For couples and families, parties of friends to corporate groups, Legacy Lodge was made for those who yearn for the perfect fishing vacation. www.legacylodge.com

California

Wing & Barrel Ranch

(707)721-8845

E-mail: info@wingandbarrelranch.com.

Escape to Sonoma, CA and enjoy a private hunting club just minutes from the Golden Gate Bridge. Wing & Barrel Ranch brings together the best of the shooting, food, wine, and wine country lifestyle in an elegant setting. Here, legendary memories are made with menus inspired by the surrounding countryside, world-class wines, exceptional shooting opportunities, and incomparable hospitality. www.wingandbarrelranch.com.

Colorado

GR Bar Ranch

(800)523-6832

E-mail: info@grbarranch.com

Nestled along the Grand Mesas, just nine miles outside the town of Paonia, CO, this working cattle ranch has thousands of back- country acres, trout lakes, miles of trails, and endless fishing and hunting opportunities on our private paradise. A vacation at our ranch is the trip of a lifetime. www.grbarranch.com

Georgia

Pine Ridge Plantation is offering annual memberships for 12 members. Exclusive use with a full staff, equipment & amenities. Accommodation for 8 hunters & guests in the Plantation Cottage. Open during the season for quail, trophy deer, duck, turkey & trophy fishing. A rare opportunity to have a private plantation just for the member. For more information, 404-869-7149, PineRidgePlantation.com, Info@PineRidgePlantation.com

Pine Hill Plantation

2537 Spring Creek Road

Donalsonville, GA 39845 (229)758-2464

E-mail: dougcoe@pinehillplantation.com

An Orvis-endorsed wingshooting lodge, we provide private plantation amenities and hunt quality to discriminating upland bird hunters who appreciate finer traditions of plantation-style quail hunting. Experience the best Georgia has to offer from horseback and mule-drawn wagon. Pine Hill’s lodges are arguably as nice as any private quail hunting plantation…you can trust Orvis on that! www.pinehillplantation.com

Berretta Shooting Grounds by High Adventure Company at Barnsley Resort

597 Barnsley Gardens Road, Adairsville, GA 30103

(770)773-7480

Beretta Shooring Grounds keeps alive a long Southern tradition of managing and preserving our game and lands. We o er upland game hunting and one of the Southeast’s most extensive shooting clays facilities— over water, in open eld and in the woods. Shooting guides ensure that all hunters— beginners and experts—fully enjoy their outing. Ladies and teens are particularly invited to experience our Southern shoot tradition at our luxury North Georgia quail hunting plantation, just an hour north of Atlanta. www.springbankplantation.com

Wynfield Plantation

5030 Leary Road, Albany, GA, 31721 (229)889-0193

E-Mail: lee@wynfieldplantation.com

Orvis Wing Shooting Lodge of the Year in 2005 and has also been named among Garden & Gun magazine’s “Top Fifty People, Places, and Things in the South.” With private cabins, southern cuisine, and a sporting clays course, Wynfield’s accommodations have a unique charm. Located in the heart of quail country, Wynfield represents bobwhite hunting at its finest. Few things in life are more exciting than your dog locked down on a covey that flushes high and fast when the time is right! Book your quail hunting experience of a lifetime at Wynfield Plantation. www.wynfieldplantation.com.

Idaho

Flying B Ranch

2900 Lawyer Creek Road, Kamiah, ID 83536 (800)472-1945

E-mail: info@flyingbranch.com

Located in beautiful north-central Idaho, we are an Orvis-endorsed wing shooting and fly fishing destination with a complete big-game program. Flying B Ranch offers adventures that bring back guests again and again. Open year-round with a full-time staff, the Flying B Ranch delivers consistent quality. Enjoy no-limit wingshooting from our spacious western log lodge, pack into the backcountry for a big-game hunt, or fish for everything from wild westslope cutthroat trout to giant B-run steelhead. It’s all here for you, your family, and friends. www.flyingbranch.com

Kansas

Ravenwood Lodge

(800)656-2454

E-mail: ravenhpsc@aol.com

Contact Kenneth Corbet for reservations. Ravenwood is a place where hunters can have it all. Located on the eastern edge of Kansas Flint Hills, Ravenwood o ers great hunting grounds and a spectacular mix of hard- ying European driven pheasants, private guided eld hunts, or plantation hunts for wily bobwhites, big cock roosters, prairie chicken, turkey, deer, or sporting clays. Open year-round, reservations required, established 1985. www.ravenwoodlodge.com

Maine

Massachusetts

RMJ Ranch

Monroe, MA (305)773-4333

Unique property developed by pheasant hunters. Open year-round. One party, maximum two hunters. 220 acres of New England cover with over one mile of old stone walls, woodlands and elds. A beautiful walking property. Ranch location is quiet and remote, but only 15 minutes from upscale restaurants and unique hotels. Normal summer weather conditions in the Berkshire are very pleasant. Dogs required and available, or bring your own. About 2 hours from Boston, 3 hours from New York City. Reserve Your Hunt Today! Private Tower Shoots. Proof of COVID-19 vaccination required. www.rmjranch.com

Montana

Al Gadoury’s 6X Outfitters

Bozeman and Lewiston, MT (406)600-1835

E-Mail: al@6xoutfitters.com

Since 1979, guided walk trips on private spring creeks, Yellowstone River floats, and private lakes. Upland bird hunts are based in Lewiston. All wild birds—sage and sharptail grouse, Hungarian partridge, pheasant, and turkey. www.6xoutfitters.com

Gallatin River Lodge

9105 orpe Rd, Bozeman, MT 59718 (406)388-0148

Our resort is located on a quiet ranch on the Gallatin River west of Bozeman. We o er y shing guide service on the Madison, Yellowstone, and Missouri Rivers, plus many famous spring creeks nearby. Superb accommodations, exceptional dining, and conference facilities are available year-round. www.grlodge.com

New Mexico

Land of Enchantment Guides discerning clientele seeking that rare combination of fine trophy, authentic stalk, and a personal approach. Set among the central South Island’s Southern Alps, the Guild family takes pride in hosting their clients individually on their private station in pursuit of famous Red Stag, Thar, Chamois, and Fallow Buck. www.highpeak.co.nz

North Dakota

Dakota Hills Hunting Lodge

HC56, Box 90, Oral, SD 57766

(605)424-2500 or (800)622-3603

E-mail: dakhills@gwtc.net www.dakhills.gwtc.net

Contact Tom Lauing. We o er some of the nest world-class wingshooting available, with an abundance of pheasant, Hungarian partridge, chukar partridge, sharptail grouse, snipe, dove, and bobwhite quail. Allinclusive package includes rst-class lodging along the Cheyenne River, all beverages, three Western-cuisine meals per day, open bar, ammunition, clays, license, 21-bird limit, processing, and airport pickup.

Spain

Hunt Trip Spain

011-34-931162001

E-mail: contact@hunttripspain.com

A professional hunting company established by Francisco Rosich in 1986. Its exclusive purpose is hunting game trophies throughout Spain. Hunt Trip Spain has hunting concessions all over the country for the broad range of magni cent game animals available in Spain: 4 subspecies of Spanish Ibex (Beceite, Gredos, Southeastern & Ronda), Spanish Red Stag, Mou on Sheep, Fallow Deer, Pyrenean and Cantabrian Chamois, Feral Goat, Wild Boar, Roe Deer and Barbary Sheep. Outstanding hunts for RedLegged Partridges, driven or upland hunts are also available. HUNT TRIP SPAIN has served International hunters for more than 20 years. Come, let us transform your visit to Spain into an unforgettable adventure. www.hunttripspain.com

Libby Camps

PO Box 810, Ashland, ME 04732

(207)435-8274

E-mail: matt@libbycamps.com

Orvis-endorsed wing shooting and fishing lodge. Lakeside log cabins, home cooked meals, master guides, and sea planes to access the four million acre private timberlands of the North Maine Woods. Daily fly-outs for trophy native brook trout and land-locked salmon (May-Sept) and for wingshooting in October. Hunting for grouse, woodcock, moose, deer, and bear in the “big woods.” Fifth-generation owners, since 1890. Orvis Fishing Lodge of the Year 2006-07. www.libbycamps.com

(505)629-5688 or (505)927-5356

E-mail: trout@loeflyfishing.com www.loeflyfishing.com

Offering single-day guided fly fishing trips and all inclusive, multi-day packages on the best rivers, streams, lakes, and private ranches in northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. Excellent year-round fishing. Experienced guides welcome beginners and experts alike. Orvis-endorsed.

New Zealand

High Peak

(643)318-6575

E-Mail: Simon@highpeak.co.nz

Where great hunting stories begin. Exclusive New Zealand hunting experiences for

Utah

Falcon’s Ledge

(435)454-3737

E-mail: info@falconsledge.com

One of the great western y- shing and wingshooting lodges. Cast to trophy trout on clear tail-waters, mountain freestone streams, private stillwaters, and enjoy a day oating the famous Green or Provo Rivers. Secure, pristine, and unpressured. Non- shing spouses stay free! Honored as the 2012 Orvis Endorsed Fly Fishing Lodge of the Year! www.falconsledge.com

Virginia

Chincoteague Hunting & Fishing Center (888)231-4868

Virginia’s Eastern Shore has one of the largest, most diverse populations of waterfowl in North America. Hunt puddlers, divers, sea ducks, mergansers, Atlantic brant, Canada, and snow geese all in the same day with over a 30bird limit. We also o er rail hunting in September and October. www.duckguide.com

Murray’s Fly Shop

PO Box 156, 121 Main Streeet Edinburg, VA 22824 (540)984-4212

E-mail: info@murrayflyship.com

Located in the Shenandoah Valley, 90 miles west of Washington, DC. Over 300 rods by Scott, Winston, Orvis, and St. Croix. More than 50,000 flies in stock. Harry Murray conducts 20 fly fishing schools for trout and bass. Complete guide services. Free mailorder catalog. www.murraysflyshop.com

Primland

2000 Busted Rock Road

Meadows of Dan, VA 24120 (866)960-7746

Join us for a rare opportunity to visit Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains and experi- ence driven pheasant shoots comparable to the best in the U.K. From pegs in a deep valley you’ll aim your double gun at the wild urry of game birds as they appear from the towering ridges above. Upland birds is also a signature activity with spacious grounds and hard- ushing birds. Primland is the ultimate retreat for world-class golf, re ned dining and outdoor activities in an environment of rare natural beauty. www.primland.com

Yukon Territory

Tincup Wilderness Lodge

(604)484- 4418 or +41 43 455 0101

E-Mail: info@tincup-lodge.com www.tincup-lodge.com

Situated on the shores of Tincup Lake close to the Kluane National Park in Canada’s Yukon Territory, surrounded by mile up upon mile of unspoiled natural landscape, Tincup Wilderness Lodge enjoys a truly unique location. The surrounding Ruby Range provides views of breathtaking beauty from dawn to dusk. The Lodge can be reached only by floatplane. In order to ensure our undisturbed privacy in a family environment, we limit bookings to a maximum of 8-10 guests per week. This level of occupancy also enables us to welcome groups, giving all members plenty of scope to pursue their various interests and activities.