SANTA BARBARA — Here at the Tajiguas Landfill, where 650 tons of fresh garbage are dumped each day, a sport of kings is meeting the needs of the common man.
A pair of falcons rides the air currents above the 80-acre site, keeping thousands of sea gulls at bay. Where once the sky was white with birds and the land was white with guano, a scant dozen of the more daring gulls circle the site from a wary distance.
Since the county turned to falconry to control the gulls last spring, heavy-equipment operators can work all day without stopping to scrub away bird droppings so thick that they obscured their windshields and so noxious that they ate through paint and metal. Visitors to Tajiguas no longer have to wear hats.
Most surprising, however, is the sudden rise in water quality at nearby Arroyo Quemado beach. It was once the filthiest beach in Santa Barbara--and last year in all of Southern California--but gull-free Arroyo Quemado's waters have logged 15 weeks of passing grades. Local residents welcome the cleaner water, and county officials plan to use the turnabout to make a case for extending the life of the controversial landfill by 15 years.
"The falcons were an experiment, really, and the results have been truly amazing," said Mark Schleich, director of the county's solid waste division. "That beach was a mess, and for the first time in five years, since the falcons came, the water is testing clean."
Falconry, a 4,000-year-old sport defined as the pursuit of quarry with a trained raptor, was once practiced only by the rich and titled. Over the millenniums it has become a passion for some of the less well-heeled. Of the estimated 4,400 licensed falconers in the United States, about 600 live in California. Most use their birds for sport, but a growing number are putting them to work.
Tom Stephan founded his Ramona, Calif.-based company, Air Superiority Falconry Services, seven years ago. His 15 birds have flown missions as varied as stopping starlings from eating grapes at Central Coast vineyards and helping the Air Force protect the sensitive skin of $2-billion Stealth bombers from pigeon droppings.
"We would ride a crane to a motorized catwalk near the ceiling of the Stealth hangar and let the falcons go," said Stephan, now 42, who became a falconer when he was 14. The pigeons soon sought a safer place to roost.
