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Dober

Revenge of the Coyote

Hunting is always an enjoyable time for me, more so when I can share it with friends and great hunting buddies. One of those buddies is our very own Silver Bullet. Sharing a camp with him is an adventure in wilderness camping, and I mean adventure in a good way. A nice camp spot is always guaranteed, the tent is huge and comfortable, and the food is better than I eat at home most of the time. He even has the nicest outhouse set up I�ve ever had the pleasure to use in the woods.
There is always the gorgeous Oregon mountain scenery and forest that seem to be teeming with wildlife at every turn. This week alone we saw Turkeys, Elk, Mule Deer, White tail deer, yellow bellied marmots, Moose sign (but no moose), coyotes, grouse, and other birds too numerous to mention. About the only thing we didn�t see was the one thing we were hunting- bears. They seemed to be hiding in all the right places because we sure couldn�t find one within range of our feet or rifles. The only one spotted was by SB at the short range of about 1 � miles or more high in a meadow across a raging, snow-melt swollen river and up and down a couple of very large mountains.
In conditions like this you have to find adventure where you can. Well, at least I call it adventure- my son thinks I�m trying to get an honorable mention in the Darwin awards. I hate to admit he just might be right!

Here�s my story- no details were left out to protect the innocent.

Saturday, we had been hiking all day in snow drifts and down old logging roads choked with blowdowns and overgrown willows. By time we got back early in the afternoon we were beat and needed an easy hunt for the afternoon to rest our legs a bit.
My son and I decided to try a large meadow that SB had told us about. It was his �secret, guaranteed spot� that he had seen bears on a regular basis. However, 2 visits to this spot hadn�t produced a bear yet. The meadow looked perfect- a long, grassy field tucked away between strips of pines, spruce, and firs that was out of sight of the road but a very short walk from our parking spot. As the grassy field wrapped around in a semi circle to the South, the view to the North over the edge of the field was of a huge canyon called the �Big Hole� for obvious reasons. If you wished you could simply sit for hours glassing the surrounding canyons from the edge of the meadow.
The meadow is loaded with new grown grasses and several large areas of skunk cabbage growing amazingly fast and green. The perfect lunch table for a hungry Yogi out looking to fatten up after a long winter. These were the places we had intended on concentrating our efforts by spreading out a bit and sitting in a shaded place of concealment to wait for the bears to come to dinner.

We were half way to our hiding places and sneaking as quietly as we could, glassing ahead as we went so as not to disturb any bears already in place. As we approached the first of our stands, my son was checking ahead and asked, �dad, what is that over in the meadow?�
Since he had forgotten his binos in the truck, I lifted my Leupolds from my chest and looked across the field. Right out in the open was a coyote doing some mousing and hadn�t seen us at all. In fact, we had time to sit down on the edge of the trees right out in the open, open the bipod on the Winchester Model 70 338, and turn the ring on the Bausch & Lomb Elite scope up to the max range of 10 power. After checking out the coyote for a minute or two my son says �take the shot anytime you want, Dad, I�ll back you up�.

While I never pass up a chance to take the first shot at a coyote, the �I�ll back you up� was in the back of my mind. I didn�t know how accurate that statement would turn out to be.

Now, sitting with a bipod isn�t always my steadiest shooting position. And at a relatively small target at somewhere over 225 yards and tired and winded from my walk to this position only seemed to reduce my usually steady shot picture. Trying to steady myself the best I could, I start to squeeze the trigger. At the trigger break, I am disappointed to see that my crosshairs are about 3-4 inches back of the point I wanted the 225 grain Nosler to take the coyote in the chest.

At the shot, the coyote immediately started to spin around in circles. Blood was evident everywhere on both sides of the varmint as he was spinning. With all the blood evident, I assumed the coyote would be dead within a few moments so I held off shooting again. My son, however, doesn�t like to see any animal suffer so he let go with his 300 H&H AI trying to stop the coyote from dieing from dizziness. The first shot at the spinning coyote was off a bit as the coyote was bouncing around like something in a pin ball machine. The second shot from his Pre 64 Model 70 was on target, however, and the coyote obliged by falling down.

We walked over to see what damage had been done just as SB called on the radio to see what all the ruckus had been about. I had forgotten he was just up the road with his varmint caller set up and was in easy ear shot of our shooting. A short report that the world was a safer place for coyote-hating people everywhere and we were at the coyote�s side and checking him (?) out.

My son, always wanting to do some more shooting, says �dad, I think we should put him out of his misery, it looks like he�s still breathing�.

I, in all the adult wisdom I can muster at the moment, reply �no, Joe, that is just the coyote dying. Those are just involuntary muscle reactions as he is dying�. Well, it sounded good at the moment.

After a few moments, Joe still pointing out how the chest was slowly going up and down, I wanted to check out the unbelievable damage the 225 Nosler partitions had done to this varmint. I had used varmint rounds that hadn�t done anywhere near the damage this bullet had done to this animal. It was beyond my comprehension that this coyote was still breathing with his entrails laying everywhere on the ground, let out by the huge hole in both sides where the bullet had hit him just in the rear of the rib cage. Later, we found that my son�s second shot had hit him perfectly in the shoulder and out through the other side in front of the other shoulder, pushing out a 4� length of the critter�s esophagus. With all this evidence, I had to assume this coyote was dead or very near it at the least. Boy, did that turn out to be wrong!

Standing next to the coyote and using my foot, I lifted the coyote�s front leg, hoping to see how far the damage extended from the bullet strike. My son said something about the coyote giving my foot some resistance with his foot. I guess my aged brain just didn�t resolve this �new� information in a timely fashion for some reason.
In the half second it took to register in my brain that maybe my son�s admonishments might have some merit the coyote decided he was getting tired of this crap and decided to do something about it. In a blink, the coyote�s head, which had been twisted around in an awkward position about 180 degrees from where it seemed it should have been- snapped around, teeth bared and looking for something to sink into. Revenge was in his eyes and I was the closest target.

In that instant I realized I had made a couple big mistakes and what I did in the next millisecond was going to determine if I was going to be injured severely by a very pissed off coyote, or just simply walk away with stained shorts with my son watching. In some weird way in that few milliseconds I had I remember wondering which would be worse?

The only thing I could think was to stick my size 10 Danner in the coyote�s face to keep him away long enough for me to make a semi-graceful exit and get a little distance. The coyote�s teeth immediately grabbed the first thing he could, my boot, and the tug of war was on! I�m sure the surprise and terror on my face was evident to my son but at the moment I was slightly occupied and couldn�t be concerned about it. I was just hoping my son woulnd�t try to shoot this animal off my foot- I really liked that foot and wanted to take it home with me. Bullets and mad coyotes seemed to be making that seem likely not to happen.

So, I did the only thing I could do- I hollered in unadulterated surprise and fear and tried to shake the coyote off my foot. Even with all this going on, I kept thinking how comical this must have looked to anyone who was close enough to see. Luckily, my audience was pretty small. I was hopping on my unoccupied left foot and shaking the coyote with all my might trying to get it to let go of the right foot. I seem to remember some �unkind� words being said but worrying about my 29 year old son learning some new cuss words wasn�t really at the top of my worry list at the moment.

After about 20-30 feet of backpedaling I finally lost my balance, since the coyote didn�t seem to want to cooperate in that regard. I fell heavily backwards, my daypack spreading it�s contents all across the pristine meadow. The first thing that came to mind was that the coyote would have chance to catch me on the ground and make his revenge whole by making a eunuch out of me. The thought of my now useless family jewels being spread out among the new wildflowers caused me some distress. My first instinct was to cover my family jewels, but I didn�t have the time before the coyote suddenly let go of his death grip on my boot and took off �running�. How this coyote could run in his condition was simply amazing to me and a testament to how tough these critters are. I was quickly getting up in case he came back for more body parts when I saw my son aim his Winchester from the hip and fire one shot, hitting the coyote perfectly from the rear from about 30 feet. The bullet went in near his tail and came out at his lower left jaw. Lights out for one coyote, finally.

I looked around, trying like hell to regain my composure in front of my son but realizing it was probably way too late for all that. My son would just have to live with the memory of his father�s stupidity and the picture of him fighting off a half dead coyote. It drives him crazy that I simply see it as another adventure that didn�t cost anyone any body parts of major injury or loss of blood so all is good in my world. He worries almost as bad as his mother!

Looking around some more, there was blood everywhere! I guess my flinging of the coyote was more energetic than I thought as there was blood on Joe, me, our rifle, our clothes, my pack, and all over the ground in the immediate vicinity. Looking at my boot, the rubber sides of my sole had a couple holes at least �� deep that I could see and the sides of the leather had marks where the teeth had tried to go through unsuccessfully. Thank God for good boots. I was also glad I had changed into boots that day instead of the light shoes I was wearing the day before. If I hadn�t I am quite sure I would have spent some time in the emergency room at the hospital 1 � -2 hours away.

Now that things have calmed down a bit I realize how lucky I had been. I keep telling my son this is one of the many stories he can tell my grandkids someday. You know, telling a kid about all the stupid things grand dad did is a good way of teaching what NOT to do, right?

So, how was your weekend?

Bob

Hoping that trip results in a typical SB story!