I was privileged long ago with making the acquaintance of “Victor”, the fine gentleman and unlucky hunter who was the hero of another post in this Forum. As a collateral, a certain “Cuadro del Francés” was quoted. Between those infected with the La Pampa virus, there are many strange tales, like you´ll soon see, because I can throw some light over the facts which almost made a seasoned pro lose his mind and gave birth to that block´s weird name.

The man had been there, done that. In the early Seventies La Pampa was an amateur field and still quite romantic. Even so, already some outfitters were in the first steps of advertising hunting adventures, the target being Europe. The wife of a certain fellow saw one of these and promptly the couple came to Argentine for their first red stag rut.
The European´s knowledge of the chase made the task of getting a good “colorado” an easy one. The summer of that year brought heavy rains and the usually brown landscape was all green and beautiful, thus they got in love with the place and asked if the “estancia” (the ranch) was for sale. A sum was discussed with the owner and the deal concluded successfully.
So a new landowner, an “estanciero” was born, the “Francés de Naico” (the Frenchman from Naico). His certainly impressive resume included the managing of several European hunting properties, ten years working in the Scottish highlands and, best of all, fourteen years as a PH in Africa.

In his new estate he began to improve the habitat of deer and wild boar, seeding some isolated fields with the proper plants for them. But his main task was to fight poachers. He made a sort of Border Patrol of only one man and many intruders saw the business end of his Colt 44 Magnum, from simple farm workers up to judges and policemen. Others who played hide-and-seek heard the whistling of a bullet from his semi auto Remington in 300 Winchester Magnum. The word quickly spread into the poachers´ circles: that ranch was not healthy.
For 23 years he did many things, including learning to hunt with Dogos and knife, pioneering the culling of the deer herds and introducing the Indian blackbuck to La Pampa. He also tried unsuccessfully to bring African antelopes, but his main and remembered deed was cleaning his area of poachers.

Afterwards he sold all his properties and retired to a nice “quinta” (a rural house with a garden) near Santa Rosa (the Province´s capital), full with trophies, arms and memories.
There I visited with him many times and at last persuaded the old pro to join my activities and get some free hunts. He graciously accepted and I learned everything I could con him to teach me, because the Frenchman was an encyclopaedia of hunting lore and from then on my mentor and guru.
Thus in one of my first works as an outfitter together we scouted a new hunting location, and since the beggining of February we stayed there for studying the herds movements and favorite areas.
The rut began as scheduled by middle March and the first hunters arrived, whilst the Frenchman looked for animals and sign in the unused fields or “cuadros”. Every night the guides received a detailed report from him.

One of these afternoons I found him seated in a chair at the main building, smoking his eternal pipe and, something absolutely strange, drinking a generous dose of scotch. He looked pale and shocked and I asked about his health. He told me that he was still recovering, because he had seen the biggest deer of his entire career. For three long hours he pursued the animal and at last could look at its fantastic antlers when the beast stopped for a rest, also he added that the rut cry of the lordly stag was just a short one.
Of course my first question was why he hadn´t shoot, because he had hunting rights there. He answered with a good alibi: the deeer had got down out of the border of the “coto”. Afterwards, not giving credit to his eyes, he rested his gun against a fence and returned to have a better look at this monarch of all stags.

It was a short lunch and not many words were crossed between us, even so I offered to join him in the afternoon and return to the place because I had some serious doubts. When we arrived to the “cuadro” (the hunting block) my fears were confirmed: the deer had been inside our location all the time and could have been legally shot. The North fence was a net of a height of 3 meters, but from East to West ran 2 lines of regular wire fences, used for moving cows and known in La Pampa as a “mangon”. The Frenchman had lost his chance, because he thought that one of these formed the boundary with the neighbor´s property.
Since that moment his quest had no pause. During one of these vagaries, at dawn he saw it from far away and two guides also saw the fabulous deer, but nothing could be done.

During the previous scouting of the next year, we found a tree where the stag had shed the last of his velvet. The size and shape of his hoofs were impressed in the soil, for sure unmistakable and showed a true “monster”. For two complete seasons the Frenchman followed these tracks, but never could shoot and nobody dared to use the deer´s territory because it was reserved to the Frenchman. In the third year the sign disappeared, the stag vanished as in thin air, to never be seen again. Only the legend remained.
The Frenchman never hunted other deer. His flame languished and died with the biggest trophy of his lifetime and the horn of the hunter never called to him again.

My colleague Eugenio Lutz, who I understand now operates that ranch and knows the tale and the hunter, renamed the block, previously known as the “Cuadro de Los Toros”, to “Cuadro del Francés” , with the purpose of honoring him.

Such is the luck of the hunt, which sometimes smiles and others growl. During my last trip I was guiding a customer for a trophy hog and, after six hours of heavy rain which we suffered in an open blind, at last it ended and the almost full moon offered a clear view of the surrounding fields. I decided to abandon our humid place and walk to a nearby "cuadro" of short rye, which was not an easy task, because there were many animals eating there, including some red and fallow deer. After a few minutes I saw a hog, an obscure shape some 300 meters away and we went after him, but that was his lucky night: in the middle of our careful march I saw another which I rated bigger and was much nearer. My customer, quite tired, made an astonishing offhand shot and ended the business from 120 meters with his 300 Winchester, putting a hole under the beast´s ear.
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As per my request, Carlos Alberto Macias has asked me to post in his name this story, which I duly accomplished, because he is now out of reach.
Very interesting, I may add.

Nainital:

You write very well. With 60 or so such short stories you would have a book I would stand in line to buy.

Bill Quimby

Thanks Ricardo !!

I will ask Eugenio about the "Frenchman Block".

Have you ever saw him shooting his revolvers ??
I never had but many people who knows him continously tell me to ask him for a demostration, it seems he is quite a legend with them, some kind of Jesse James

L

Just check the reference to the firearms.

A Colt 44 Magnum at the time the action took place...A semi auto Remington in 300 Winchester Magnum.....

Bill Quimby: thanks for your kind opinion. That, coming from you, of all the AR friends, ia an undeserved honor. Perhaps I should notice other members the racounteur extraordinare you are, but I presume that most know your prowess.

Edmond: you are right, I just put into written words what I heard, perhaps it was a Colt 45 or a Smith 44 and the Remington a Browning BAR. But the main theme is the same: some trophies mesmerized some of us hunters.

Thanks again to both

Lorenzo: I´ve never met the man, just phoned him a couple of times. But of course is very well known here.

,,,,,,That, coming from you, of all the AR friends, ia an undeserved honor.>>>>>>

Nainital:

It is a deserved honor. I do not pass out compliments without reason. You have a great way with words and should consider assembling a collection of such stories and submitting them to a publisher. You already have a good start. The tale above is 1,200 words and could be "fleshed-out" to 2,000 without much problem. A typical book is 75,000 to 80,000 words. Any time you want help or advice, please feel free to PM me.

Bill Quimby

Indeed you have a gift with words, Ricardo!!! Thanks for posting this story

Thanks Bill Q. and Martin. It´s a good idea for my incoming retirement timespan ¿there is in Argentina such a beast?.

I enjoyed the story very much. A beautiful tale of hunting for the pleasure of the quest. Now, my advice. We must influence Bill Quimby to come with me to Argentina and work with Ricardo to fashion him into an outdoor writer.

Surely there is a market for such stories even in Argentina. Guillermo was kind enough to send me a copy of the Magnum magazine with the article Juan Pozzi wrote about hunting with the cuchillo. A place for you as well, Ricardo.

Now I am thinking of how to entice Bill Q. The best enticements are the wonderful group of amigos on this thread. Then, costillas, chorizos, bife chorizo, and good wine. And maybe a of Locro.

(I am still waiting for a recipe)