Always shoot the coyote, from the Oudoor News
By Gary Clancy
During that just-barely-light-enough-to-shoot time, I heard something rustling about under the tree I was perched in. At first, no matter how hard I strained, I could see nothing, but then a gray back materialized. At first I thought the gray back belonged to a small deer, but when the critter turned I realized that I was looking at a mature coyote shuffling through the leaves and weeds looking for something good to eat, which to a coyote means just about anything.
I always shoot coyotes when given a chance, so I started sliding into position to draw my bow, but then I got to thinking. If I shot the coyote right under my stand there was a good chance that it would thrash around and really leave the area around my stand reeking of coyote scent. It has been my experience that deer do not like the aroma of coyote.
So I decided to let the coyote live. The coyote messed around under my stand for a few minutes and then meandered down one of my shooting lanes before disappearing into the brush. I watched him with my binoculars long enough to know that he was a big male with a fine, prime coat. Any coyote I take is always a trophy to me, one taken with the bow extra special. I was already regretting my decision to let the coyote live. But I soon forgot about the coyote and got down to the business of looking and listening for deer.
I saw only a few does and fawns early that morning, but later that morning, I spotted a doe and fawn jump a distance fence. Just about the time I put the binoculars on the pair, another deer jumped the fence. I swung the binoculars over to the third deer and my heart did one of those little dances it always does when I get a look at a really big buck. This was a really big buck.
I recognized the buck. I had seen him back in October. Very heavy, the 10-pointer had long tines that carried mass all of the way out to the tips. I had judged the buck to be 51/2, or maybe even 61/2 years old. I felt sure I would see the buck again when the November rut kicked in, but it did not work out that way.
Now here it was mid December and the big buck had resurfaced, I could tell from the way the buck was acting that he was just following the doe and fawn because they happened to be going where he was headed. Where they were headed would not bring them anywhere near my stand, so I dug out my grunt call and sent a series of grunts drifting across the cold December landscape. The buck heard me.
He stopped and stared in my direction. I watched him through the binoculars as the big boy decided upon his next course of action. His mind made up, he headed in my direction. I reached up and plucked my bow from the hook, clipped the familiar release to the string and got ready. This buck was on a mission. In a matter of seconds he would step out into my shooting lane 25 yards away.
I reminded myself to pick a spot and to bend at the waist, two of the main reasons why I and many other bowhunters miss what should be easy shots. And then, just two steps shy of my shooting lane, with me already at full draw the big boy slammed on the brakes, snorted loudly, threw his tail high into the air and went crashing off.
At first I could not figure out what had gone wrong. The wind was perfect and I knew that the buck had not seen me. And then it hit me. The buck had slammed on the brakes at the exact place where that coyote had crossed my shooting lane hours before. Obviously at some point in his life that buck had had a bad experience with a coyote and he was not taking any chances.
The moral of the story? Always shoot the coyote!
