THE ULTIMATE QUAIL HUNTER

Desert Hawking by horse takes quail hunting to a new level. I came to visit the Zen Master, Harry McElroy, a Hemingway lookish male who at 82 has the energy and drive of a 40 year old. He is from a cast of Tucson character I've known from Margaret Sanger, to Joe "The Godfather" Bonano, and Norm Borlaug, father of the Green Revolution. I knew Harry as an apprentice astringer in the incredible 60's. He is renown sportsman, an author on Hawking, earned a Ph.D. in behavioral psychology, a Texas bred democrat, and above all a gentleman of the "Old School," with a slight drawl that makes you instinctively listen. Harry was a Kellogg Fellow trained as an educational Psychologist but left to peruse his dreams that he practices each day. He discovered, it was the teacher not students that required intervention with behavioral issues.

And so Harry is my oldest living teacher who took the route of an obsessed human, a life without hesitation, inventing desert quail hunting with with Gos Hawks, Coopers, Sharp Shinned the Harris Hawk ,a parabuteos and aplomado longwings. His summary: Coopers can get the quail, Gos fly faster and Harris's are hunting machines. Harry always loved speed in flight. Harry added horses to his team and moved his attack methods up a notch. He refined hooding, compelling techniques in daily eight control and modern telemetry. Harry, the professor, changes the wild raptors fundamental hunting instinct of simple killing to eat. Instead he modifies them into a quasi-domestic predator, akin to walking the T.Rex on leash through downtown Manhattan.

Harry is as agile and fit as a man in his late 40's. I feel young and hopeful watching him saddle the horse, weigh the hawks and plan the attack. He is slow, a deliberate man much like a desert tortoise until the hunt begins; He morphs to a Mr. Hyde. I learned under Harry back in then 1960's and early 1970's but had too choose grad school over hawking life thanks to the glorious 60's and Woodstock generation. I often wonder where I'd be if I choose the falconers life. I made the good choice but I long for the splendor and happiness that hawking gave me.

I enjoy my visits with Harry and his wife Beth a well traveled patient educator. Today's hunting group was, two Peruvian Paso horses, two pointers who can barely walk due to their cactus impaled paws and of course the stars; an imprinted male Northern Goshawk and a passage Harris Hawk. Each species is fined tuned to this high energy quail hunting. The Goshawk an accipiter, from old English, gōshafoc, meaning goose hawk, is Harry's secret love although he craves the para buteo wolf pack social hunting skills of the Harris Hawks.

I hadn't seen Harry for awhile. And after three weeks in the Sonoran desert camping, hunting riding dual sport KLR 650 and pass shooting, I promised myself to reconnect with this legendary man and his hunting style. Being with Harry floods my memory banks with warmth and joyous times before the crush of adult survival. As a teen housed in a Catholic minor-seminary, Harry gave me advice on bonding skills learned with with raptors. Catholic minor-seminaries were designed to preclude human bonding, women in particular, which I soon discovered was the best route toward recovery and 1960's enlightenment. I was fortunate to get exposure to highly educated men like Harry, learned but demanding priests and teachers who imparted an obsession for knowledge. But, it was not enough for curing the hormone rage. I was homesick for the passions of my father; The hunting dogs, fine guns, camping, fishing, skiing, horses, music and family and on. I had no bonding skill until I meant Harry and learned the essence of life bonding thru falconry.

My father was a persuasive man who gave the seminary priests many perks from golf course passes to hunting trips. He convinced them to let me train hawks while attending seminary school located in the desert. I think he knew where that might led. I learned the bliss on bonding that quickly reveal those forbidden items like 60's music secret radio we heard on a handmade made with copper wire and a crystal set that we listened to in the Hawk Mew with a Coopers Hawks inside. Then best bonding experience of all- girls, a candy stripper to be exact. I my confessions on Friday before mass were legendary. I LEFT THE SEMINARY SOON AFTER. I thank Harry and my hawks for what I am today.

At 2:30, Harry handed me his portable cadge that housed the hooded Harris Hawk.

"Keep him on your lap, tight."

"Sure Harry." I mumbled concerned such a killing machine perched over my jewels

I was amazed how light the bird weighed and grinned how heavy my 20 bore Holland and Holland was. We gathered the dogs and drove down the steep hill to the stable. The horse were at the gate ready to be saddled A fellow falconer, Jamaica and her young daughter joined us flying their aplomado peregrine. Within 15 minuted we had the horses cinched, stirrups adjusted, we mounted and were ready to ride. Quxiote, Harry's name for the Gos, the first to fly was at 590 grams,

" A little lite but within the margin of error," according to Harry.

Just over a pound, I calculated.

"How do you like my happy hunting grounds? Its my heaven and there are many quail," Harry said with sublime certainty. He was right..

We were off in a quick trot. Harry led the way. My horse 14 hands had a smooth trot. He followed the dogs . I didn't have chaps on and he came too close to the cholla cactus and so I would give him a ear twist after removing two cacti from my thigh. He nodded he was going to listen. Straight ahead I saw a thrasher flush to a cactus. Seconds later a pile of dickey birds. Harry had his Goshawk on fist and that sight of a raptor in the field scattered everything in complete terror. Within seconds, the Goshawk exploded from the fist. His horse didn't move at the comporting and dogs gave chase after hawk. Harry shouted, "Whoa, whoa." The accipiter beat its wings several times and was to the horizon. The hawk was onto to something. At a three hundred yards I couldn't tell. Harry knew from the flight pattern he was into quail and the hoot shouts alerted the dogs. Suddenly the Goshawk veered sharp right lifted up and crashed to the ground. Harry said he wanted the dogs alerted to stay with the Gos to prevent other raptor from killing his bird. He had lost several hawks to Red Tails and Golden Eagles.

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