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Shotgun Aerobics in Mearns Country

By E. Donnall Thomas Jr.

Thus far that January morning, our success had been measured not in birds but in exercise and scenery, not that I didn’t welcome both. Several years prior, Lori and I had become snowbirds, leaving our Montana home to winter in Arizona. We knew what the Montana scenery was like now, and the Arizona mountains looked better than snow drifts, tire chains, and blown in roads. I used to stay in shape over the winter by hunting mountain lions on foot, but when our kennel needed more room for bird dogs I had to find good homes for my hounds. I still enjoyed staying in shape by hunting the mountains, but now the quarry was quail rather than cougars.

After two hours of what I refer to as “shotgun aerobics,” we finally heard the steady beep of locator collars announcing dogs on point. Following the contour line around a tall rock outcropping, we came upon an unusual but welcome sight. It wasn’t just that the two wirehairs—our Maggie and our friend Mike’s Buzz—were solidly on point. They were locked up in an open grassy area free of obstructing brush, which almost never happens on Mearns quail hunts.

Still recovering from shoulder surgery, I had been relegated to camera duty, so I hung back while Mike and Lori walked up to the point. I wasn’t surprised when nothing had happened by the time they reached the dogs, for no gamebirds hold tighter than a Mearns quail covey. The dogs’ body language—Buzz was in the lead with Maggie honoring—couldn’t have been clearer. Two good noses were certain that the birds were right there!

Their conviction proved justified when Mike began kicking the ground in front of his dog and an eruption of wingbeats shattered the mountain air.

Unlike most quail species, Mearns coveys break up chaotically when flushed. Now singles and pairs were buzzing off in all directions across the little meadow as if they were trying to get as far apart from each other as possible.

I heard four staggered shots, but with the camera planted against my face I couldn’t confirm the results. The first thing I saw when I finally looked up was Maggie delivering a bird to Lori’s outstretched hand. “Two doubles!” Lori called back over her shoulder.

“When you get an opportunity like this, you’d better take advantage of it,” Mike observed. They had.

As I thought back to all the Mearns quail I had shot—or shot at—while balanced precariously on steep hillsides trying to lock onto a bird zipping through the live oak canopy, I regretted the seemingly endless wait for my shoulder to heal.

Since the range of the Mearns quail north of the Mexican border is limited to fragments of Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, they must be the least known of the quail species. Confusion about the bird’s name doesn’t help its outlier status.

The proper common name is Montezuma quail, an appropriate tip of the hat to Mexico, where most of the population lives today. Harlequin quail is one alternative, inspired by a resemblance to a commedia dell’arte character’s costume.

They are also sometimes called fool quail, presumably because they will let predators approach to remarkably close range while relying on their excellent camouflage. Since it works, that behavior doesn’t strike me as particularly foolish. Dr. Edward Alexander Mearns, a military surgeon and naturalist who served in our desert Southwest and helped found the American Ornithologist’s Union, was the source of the eponym by which the birds are known today.

While I’d rather tell hunting stories than recite facts, Mearns quail are unfamiliar to so many hunters that I’ll ignore that preference and discuss some important biology. (Full disclosure: I am not a professional biologist, but I have spent a lot of time in the field.)

I like to look at any new gamebird quarry from three perspectives: food sources, habits, and habitat. Mearns quail have highly specific requirements for the first. While they will eat various seeds and insects, the bulk of their diet consists of oxalis bulbs dug from below ground, a function to which their long toes are particularly well adapted. Usually found at the bottom of sandy washes, these diggings are easy to recognize and reliably indicate the presence of quail in the area.

Mearns quail roost on the ground at night, often on steep south-facing slopes, and travel downhill to feed during the day. I started shooting more quail when I learned that these movement patterns—and the scent trails they leave—usually don’t start until late morning. Since their rugged habitat doesn’t allow much all-day hunting (at least not at my age), sleeping in and enjoying a leisurely breakfast can paradoxically produce more birds than early starts. A covey’s home range is small, perhaps no more than 20 acres. They also tend to feed near where they fed the previous day, which makes recognition of those characteristic diggings helpful.

Mearns quail are almost never solitary unless a covey has been broken up, and unlike some other quail they rarely form flocks. Expect encounters with family groups of 8-12 birds.

Like their food preferences, Mearns quail habitat is highly specific, requiring at least some grass beneath a live oak canopy, usually in steep terrain. While most birds spend some time on canyon floors, most hunting requires a lot of climbing on difficult rocky footing.

Mearns quail breed and nest later in the year than desert quail and depend on summer monsoons rather than winter rains to produce optimal habitat conditions. Consequently, population peaks and valleys—which fluctuate substantially—do not correlate well with those of desert quail in the same area. If you’re consulting game departments for pre-season quail reports, ask specifically about Mearns if you plan to hunt them.

Hunting Mearns quail is, well… different. So different from hunting other quail that even veteran bobwhite and desert quail hunters are advised to approach it as novices.

I’ll start with the single most important word about the hunting: dogs!

Without an aggressive but well-trained dog with a good nose, one could walk for miles through good Mearns habitat without seeing much less shooting one. The first day I walked in behind Maggie pointing a Mearns covey, I literally had to kick the ground in front of her nose to flush the birds.

Choice of breeds is a matter of personal preference, but the dog must be fit, capable of covering lots of ground in rugged terrain, and staunch on point. Retrieving ability is certainly useful but not as crucial as it is with gamebirds like pheasants.

Several experienced friends have shared my observation that Mearns don’t seem to leave much scent. Perhaps their scent signature is so different from other gamebirds’ that dogs don’t recognize it as such at first. I’ve seen good dogs run right over coveys on their initial outing. Gaining experience by hunting with other dogs that know the game is likely the best solution to the problem.

Southwestern quail habitat offers numerous ways for dogs to get in trouble. Carrying adequate water is the first rule of desert travel. Unless I know otherwise, I never rely on finding surface water. It’s impossible to carry too much for a dog.

The Sonoran Desert is home to more species of venomous snakes than any other part of the country and are always a concern even during the winter quail seasons (which usually take place during December and January). The complex subject of bird dogs and snakes is beyond the scope of this discussion, but all my dogs go through a snake avoidance clinic before I let them out of the truck. While I have never personally encountered a dangerous snake at that time of year, I do have friends whose dogs have been bitten. ​

Javelina are abundant in Mearns habitat, and they can seriously wound or kill a dog if they feel threatened. I think noise from a locator collar helps make them keep their distance.

While thorns are a common annoyance for dogs (and people), the sand burrs that can bring a dog to a screeching halt elsewhere in the desert are uncommon in the mountains. “Jumping” cholla is nasty stuff, and I carry a hemostat or needle nose pliers so I can remove it from a dog’s coat without getting tangled up in it myself.

I have already mentioned the rugged nature of most Mearns habitat, but that factor can’t be over-emphasized. Boots need thick soles that provide good traction, ankle support, and protection against thorns. The footing is much trickier than it appears at first glance, with lots of loose rock beneath the grass. Since slipping, sliding, and minor falls are common, I leave my favorite shotguns at home. I’ve seen too many guns take a beating on Mearns quail hunts.

Since a lot of good cover lies near the border, expect lots of Border Patrol presence. All of my encounters with BP agents have been pleasant, and some have given me information about where they have seen quail. They know the terrain better than anyone.

After we lucked into that large covey on open ground, I knew better than to expect two such miracles in the same morning. Over the next hour the dogs pointed one covey that earned a futile Hail Mary from Lori as the birds flushed through oaks so dense they were almost impossible to track. Since we didn’t want to overwork the dogs, we decided to walk downhill and work the easy cover back to the truck.

In Mearns habitat, the term “easy cover” is usually an oxymoron. We had to climb around numerous rock outcroppings on the canyon floor, but the dogs did find a pool of water down in the talus where they could lie down and cool off. We made it all the way back to the vehicle without firing another shot.

With the dogs looking well-hydrated and happy, we decided to make one last swing up a side draw. We hadn’t gone a hundred yards before both dogs went on point. The rise produced three downed birds, all of them males. While there is no legal prohibition against shooting females, we try to avoid it, which the cock birds’ strikingly patterned plumage usually makes possible.

Granted, that was a lot of tough walking for one quail dinner, but hunting these birds is always about more. During the Roaring Twenties transition from silent films to “talkies,” Hollywood tabloids named Clara Bow the “It” girl in honor of her intangible, mysterious appeal. I think of the Mearns quail as the “It” gamebird for much the same reason. The combination of rugged but beautiful habitat, challenging wing-shooting, and remarkable opportunities for bird dogs adds up to a mystique that is almost impossible to describe.

At least I’ve tried.

Don and Lori Thomas live in rural Montana with their German wirehair pointers, Labrador retrievers, and one Jack Russell terrier that rules them all. They acquired their Mearns quail experience while escaping blizzards in their Arizona winter home. Usually accompanied by Lori’s photography, Don’s writing about wing-shooting, fly-fishing, and other outdoor activities appears in numerous national publications.