The term "Grand Slam" to most big-game hunters who have been around for a while will remind them of the names Grancel Fitz and Jack O'Connor and the four varieties of wild sheep in North America. To an avid turkey hunter the term means the taking of the four subspecies of gobblers found in the United States. There is a Grand Slam for quail too, and just as it is with sheep and turkeys, only those who are seriously devoted to the sport have made it into the club.

The scaled quail was compliments of Murph Murphy and his two friends; cactus-proof running shoes are recommended.

To qualify, you must have taken all six of the quails residing in the U.S. and they must be wild birds (pen-raised bobwhites taken on a hunting preserve are fun but they don't count). Since no one state holds all six species, quite a few miles of traveling, lots of walking and a bit of luck are necessary.

I have bagged all the turkeys and am a quarter-slammer on sheep, and while those hunts hold many unforgettable memories, not a single one was more fun than my quest for the Grand Slam of quail. I have often said that if I could hunt only one bird for the rest of my life it would be quail and I would not complain a bit if I were limited to bobwhite.

My father was an avid quail hunter so he is to blame for my addiction. And since the first shotgun he bought for me was a .410, I decided that little shell was what I would use in my search of the Magnificent Six. I did, however, use a different gun.

Back when I was younger and more foolish, I traded away that first single-shot Iver Johnson and you would not believe how many times I have since kicked myself for doing so. So I used a .410-bore Weatherby Athena over-under with two three-inch loads, Federal with No. 71⁄2 shot and Remington with No. 8 shot.

Here, then, are a few of my field notes on each member of the coveted Grand Slam.

  Bobwhite Quail
The wildest wild bobwhites I have hunted were in Old Mexico. I lost count of how many coveys we put up each day but there were so many we went from one covey to the next and seldom bothered with searching out singles after the initial flush. Their smaller size is probably why they fly faster than those I have hunted for many years in the southeastern region of the United States.

In addition to being unnerving to some hunters, the flush of a bobwhite is deceiving because the bird sounds like it is moving a lot faster than it actually is. This causes many hunters to miss simply because they shoot while a bird is too close, before the shot charge has had time to disperse into a wide enough pattern. Accustomed to shooting slower birds, I had to speed up my gun handling a bit when hunting south of the border.

The bobs I hunted on the Stasney Cook ranch in Texas were also quite challenging, but more due to their habitat than the speed of their flight. Everything in that part of the world either sticks, stings or bites and I was absolutely amazed as the English pointers ran full speed through ground absolutely carpeted with that invention of the devil called prickly pear. And not a single dog was booted.