REVIVING ANCIENT SPORT OF FALCONRY : USING BIRDS TO HUNT TAKES DEDICATION.

Byline: Marni McEntee Daily News Staff Writer

While a Harris hawk named Juan waits patiently in a sycamore tree, biologist Mike Wallace plunges noisily through dense scrub in the Tujunga Wash, swinging a stick to shake the bushes.

As creatures skitter over the pebbles, Juan takes it all in, bobbing and weaving his head in anticipation of the hunt. Suddenly, the raptor gracefully plunges, disappearing into the brush as bells on his ankles faintly chime.

Seconds later, a high-pitched peal of fear pierces the air. Juan has caught a rabbit, and waits with his prey for Wallace, his owner.

Caught between Juan's talons is a cottontail, which would be illegal for Wallace to keep because it is out of season - unlike the jack rabbits they're after.

``We'll let Peter Cottontail go,'' Wallace says, supplanting the live prey with a hunk of rabbit caught by Juan on an earlier hunt and kept frozen.

The 46-year-old Kagel Canyon resident is among a small group of San Fernando Valley residents who practice the ancient art of falconry: using birds of prey in place of weapons to hunt game.

It is a highly demanding and unusual sport, not to be undertaken lightly, experts say. And it allows two species at the pinnacle of the food chain - human and raptor - to collaborate on the kill.

For Wallace, who runs the California condor recovery program at the Los Angeles Zoo, the sport seems a natural extension of his work.

It provides insight into bird behavior that can translate into his work with the hulking condors, which Wallace has helped release in Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo counties.

``It's a trust building. You're working with the mind of the bird. Before you let the bird go, you have to have a reasonable idea of what it's going to do,'' Wallace said.

Falconry was practiced by man even before he learned to write, with evidence of the sport dating back to 721 BC. Merchants, adventurers and crusaders from Europe became familiar with falconry in the Orient and on their return home brought falcons and falconers with them.

It didn't really catch on in the United States until this century, said Lynn Straight, President of the California Hawking Club.

Only about 3,000 people are involved nationwide.

``It's always been a small, hardy band of people,'' Straight said.

California is home to just 700 licensed falconers, according to the state Department of Fish and Game.

Part of the reason for the relatively small number is that the sport requires time and much effort, Straight said.

Falconers must fly their birds several times a week or more. Feeding a bird can cost up to $350 a year, and the birds themselves cost from $800 to $2,000, Straight said.

Despite the intrigue of the sport, some animal rights activists decry the pastime as an unnatural harnessing of an innate behavior - even if the bird is bred in captivity.

``Falcon hunters take naturally wild animals and train them to perform. The type of hunting they do isn't natural. Falcons should be left undisturbed in their natural habitat, not exploited for our entertainment,'' said Michael McGraw, spokesman for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.

Wallace and other falconers counter that strict licensing laws for falconry, which is regulated by the Department of Fish and Game, as well as lengthy apprenticeships, keep those who would abuse the relationship between man and bird out of falconry.

``It's not all bad for the bird. If you're doing it right,'' Wallace said.

``It's a nice relationship and I believe that my bird has fun. I have fun when he's having fun. And if it's a chore out there for him, then I'm not having fun.''

According to state law, the falconer's first bird can only be a red-tailed hawk or an American kestrel, which are caught in the wild and usually released later in favor of another type of bird.

A beginning falconer must undergo a two-year apprenticeship during which he is sponsored by a master falconer. Handlers also have to pass a written test issued by the Fish and Game Department on diseases, medications, field markings and other information.

It takes a full seven years to be eligible for status as a master falconer, making the handler able to fly a variety of birds, including peregrines, gyrfalcons and great horned owls.

``It's so demanding that it's hard to imagine that the sport will ever grow very large,'' Straight said.

And falconers also must undergo regular inspections of the bird's enclosure, called a mew, by state officials.

Special equipment also is needed. Hoods keep an edgy bird calm. Ankle bells let the owner know the bird's whereabouts.

Some falconers use electronic transmitters to keep track of their birds. Although birds are carefully trained to respond to the food provided by their owners - either during the hunt or in the mew, raptors have been known to fly away.

Straight said she has actually rented an airplane to search for missing birds, who sometimes are driven away by territorial birds in the hunting grounds.

``If you've been in the sport for any length of time you've lost a bird,'' she said.

Wallace said falconry allows him to see more natural bird behavior in a few hours of hunting with Juan than he would in hours of field observations.

In Juan, Wallace can get involved with what comes naturally to a bird of prey.

``It's just like watching a basketball game. You want to see some all out effort. You want to see some moves,'' Wallace said.

On a hot, dry day last week, Juan obliged. A stunning, sooty brown bird with brown eyes and chestnut shoulders and thighs, Juan made pass after deft pass through the scrubby wash, sometimes angling his body between vegetation with astonishing agility.

He caught one more errant cottontail before the day was done.

``That rabbit will be better the next time,'' Wallace said, letting the cottontail go to escape another day.

Wallace manages Juan by a series of calls and whistles, sometimes coaxing the bird onto his gloved fist with a meaty morsel. But Juan doesn't stay long before flying to a better vantage point.

``It's not that he's looking at me for food,'' Wallace said. ``He's out here to hunt. He's doing what a hawk should be doing.''

Although the Tujunga Wash is within sight of the Foothill Freeway, Wallace said it is an ideal place to hunt game. And when Juan is working, the roar of the traffic may as well be a thundering waterfall. The bird is intent, flying from yucca to sycamore to sage.

That's what makes falconry so fascinating for the few who partake of the sport, said Straight.

``You don't really teach a bird of prey how to hunt, anymore than you teach your cat to hunt. It's patterned in their genes,'' Straight said. ``They just seem to know.''

``Without any weapon at all, you're really taking yourself back to the most primitive of times,'' she said.

For Wallace, who flew his first falcon at age 12, the sport allows him to take in the delicate dance between predator and prey that took a million years of evolution to perfect.

``To see them both at their best is to see one trying to escape at its best and one trying to chase at its best,'' Wallace said.

CAPTION(S):

PHOTO (1) Juan, a Harris hawk, returns to handler Mike Wallace's arm during a recent outing. Wallace says falconing complements his work with California condors at the zoo.

(2) Wallace holds a cottontail caught by Juan. The rabbit was released unharmed.

(3) Wallace tries to flush out jack rabbits for his hawk at the Tujunga Wash.

Tom Mendoza/Daily News