Coyotes In The North While Prey Being Pushed From The South: Moose Medicine, Details in The Feces & A New Electronic Caller

Posted on April 17, 2011 by

(Caution:  Photo of coyote feces in this post showing selection of cuisine.  All part of the hunt and research, folks…)

Moose Medicine Teaching:

The deer were on the move, herding together.  I looked to the left and saw a small bunch of last year’s fawn crop sticking together, trying to re-unite with the mature deer in the field on our right.

“Something’s after them,” I said.  “Everything is on the move – coming from the south here and heading towards the north.”

Somewhat on my own with the coyote hunting learning process – although Curtis was an experienced hunter of prey animals, he too had never hunted predators before – I turned to nature for guidance, to teach me.  Nature and being close to animals, including wild animals, was my comfort zone.  It gave me a feeling of full acceptance.  A place to receive guidance with no judgments.  A place not to be feared.

When I had been in the mountains almost a decade ago, I hadn’t wanted to return to the “civilized” world.  Yet, had to.  My first night back in my bed, I tossed and turned before finally walking down the stairs with a blanket and pillow to my screened in veranda.  Laying down with the cool night air surrounding me, while listening to the chorus of frogs, I fell fast asleep.

Now, as we drove and turned onto the main grid towards our farm, a large, dark animal appeared out of the woods.  It was heading towards the gravel road, also from the south.  I used the zoom on my lens to get a better look.

Moose on the move.

Moose on the move.

Moose zoom in.

Moose zoom in.

“Even the moose are on the move towards the north,” I noted.  I got out of the truck and followed the moose with my zoom lens.  She trotted closer until she reached the ditch not far from us and crossed the grid road.

Moose on the move in the ditch.

Moose on the move in the ditch.

Moose on the move crossing the road.

Moose on the move crossing the road.

We continued on towards Frank’s place, right before our farm.  Stopping, we got out and I shut my door too hard.  Both Curtis and I squeezed our eyes shut and brought our shoulders up to our ears.  I shook my head at myself.  My brother had told me that even the way you closed your truck door made a difference.  No noise – or at least as little as possible.  Mud and water with remnants of crunchy snow already made for a noisy walk out.

I hadn’t thought about the moose’s symbolism at the time, her message to me.  She was associated with feminine energy and power – as well as concealment – “shapeshifting camouflage”.  Disguise yourself so as not to be detected.

And, the importance of moving silently in nature – as large as a moose is, they can move through the woods very quietly, gracefully and quickly.  I was being clumsy and noisy.  My modern boots felt heavy on my feet.  I needed to find my leather moccasins that laced up my leg, along with the rubber soles I’d place over them when traveling in the mud.

My leather lace up moccasins – two pairs, one made with moose hide and the other with elk – had been my only footwear, aside from barefeet, in the mountains.  They smelled of hide.  They made a softer sound when walking.  They had continued to be my first choice in footwear for a couple of years after that, wearing them around my yard and while I was in nature.  No need for heavy shoes or boots that only weighed the body down.

A hint of sadness internally washed through me as I realized how I had inadvertedly removed myself from my connection to nature, a connection to the Creator, and to a degree, my connection to my spiritual beliefs over the last few years.  I was rusty in many senses, including in the spiritual sense when it came to asking for answers and then acknowledging them through the Creator’s creatures.

This moose had many messages for me.  Including reinforcing “the sense of smell”, of scent.  In trusting my inner voice.  Intuition.  In all instances.  Moose also represents soul retrieval – retrieving those parts of our soul that have been lost to us through various means and life circumstances.

The Details Include Feces – What’s On The Menu This Week?

Now, as we started down the trail, I stopped to look at the tracks in the mud.  Deer tracks alongside a dog type track – a coyote.  Fresh tracks.

Deer and coyote tracks in mud.

Deer and coyote tracks in mud.

We continued walking and I spotted scat (coyote feces).  I looked at it closely and took a picture.

“Look at the hair in it,” I pointed out, noting, “Looks like deer hair.”  Curtis nodded.  “And, now I am examining poop –“ I began to laugh, “but as Shawn says, it lets us know what type of cuisine their eating so we can try with that type of call.”

Coyote feces showing hair.

Coyote feces showing hair.

We decided to use the fawn in distress call to try to lure in coyotes.  They had been hunting the deer all winter up until recently.  Frank had also noted that he hadn’t seen any young mule deer – yearlings – with the mature mule deer.  Yet, there were some yearling white tail deer, as we had just seen.  I asked Curtis about that.

Curtis said, “Mule deer are less flighty and spooky than white tailed deer are.  It makes sense that they’d get the muleys before the white tail.”

The wind was blowing fairly hard in spurts.  We checked our wind direction when we approached the clearing and heard a strong chorus of coyotes in the north and circling.  Not a couple.  Not a couple dozen.  Instead, what sounded like hundreds in the hills.

The deer were being pushed from the south towards the north.

I shook my head in disgust, saying, “These coyotes think their attending a never ending Woodstock!  Breeding like rabbits.  Eating what they please, when they please.  Walking into yards and amongst livestock like they have no respect for anyone or anything else – like they’re intoxicated and high on an unchallenged life, succumbing to a life of crime because no one is opposing or telling them otherwise.  Well, I guess Lil’ Red Riding Hood needs to pack a 30-30 in her basket.”

I snickered.  Curtis chuckled.

New Electronic Caller

I reached for our new electronic caller.  Primos Hunting Calls:  PowerDogg Predator Call, Model No. 3751.  Complete with a remote control.

The first thing that caught my eye about the electronic caller – getting me excited about hunting the coyote predators that had eaten three of my young horses and pets – was the seventeen coyotes surrounding Randy Anderson on the box.  Mr. Anderson must be very important.  I need to do some more research.

New Electronic Caller.

New Electronic Caller.

Having also bought some hand calls – including one that was strictly to imitate coyote sounds including howls and imitating a male challenge.  These calls had somehow scampered off to Curtis’s truck during the week.  I wasn’t impressed, wanting to practice my calls while I did housework and tended to children.

My four year old had also taken my new camouflage gloves and was re-enacting fighting coyotes with his fists, setting up traps and hiding spots to spy on coyotes, and shooting his Nerf Gun.  I drew the line when he asked me to be the coyote in his game.

(Note to self – get a cabinet with a lock so you can protect all your coyote clothes and equipment.  Attach a note to door saying, “These are not toys, people.  These are mama’s hunting supplies.  Keep Out!”)

Back to the PowerDogg Predator Call: it has 12 sounds to choose from:

Coyote Howl

Coyote Serenade

Coyote Challenge (oooh!)

Female Invitation (What a gentlemanly way to put it)

Cottontail Distress

Jackrabbit Distress

Coyote Pup Distress

Fawn Distress

Woodpecker Distress

Rodent Distress

Crow Frenzy

Snow Goose

We set it up and tip toed to cover in a little cluster of trees.  I hit the fawn distress call, as the coyotes were eating deer.  My babysitter, Leah, had just seen a cluster of deer the other morning while driving to a neighboring town, with three coyotes circling them.  I hit the remote button again.  Then again, and again.  Nothing.

Curtis ran out and retrieved the call, placing it closer.  The wind was gusting.  The remote still didn’t work.  I tried to motion to Curtis, who kept moving it up and trying it.  Even ten feet from us, it still didn’t work.

(Sidebar:  Although the remote control didn’t work, we did get the call exchanged for a new PowerDogg.  No bad PR intended, things like this can happen and I am very happy with the call…  I also bought a couple new hand calls, including a coyote call, which I will write about soon.)

Finally, in frustration, I yelled, “Bring the damn thing here!”

“Shhhhh!” he said back, “Quit yelling.”

I rolled my eyes, replying, “Like seeing your big stature of a body in the open is helping.”

“Shhhhh!,” he said annoyed.

“Don’t sh-st me, Big Daddy.  Give me that remote and call, and I’ll work it here.”

It was getting dark.  We looked at each other and started to snicker.  Then, we sat, turning the volume on high on our new electronic call.  I’d soon learn that was another mistake.

“Tonight’s shot.” I shook my head.

“Too windy anyway,” Curtis commented.

“Turn the camera on,” I giggled, “Might as well make this all worth something.”

Laughter is very important to my belief system – also known as Coyote Medicine…  Lesson brought forward when there’s a danger of taking things too seriously with the risk of becoming rigid…

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Coyote Hunting In The Field – A Salute

Posted on April 12, 2011 by

New video taken in the field – A salute to all the “Big Bad Coyote Hunters” out there…

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Coyote Hunting 104 – TIPS: Realizing Paying Close Attention To Details Applies To Coyote Hunting, Too

Posted on April 11, 2011 by

No Scents Makes Sense For No Nonsense Success

Every animal comes to you with a message.  My mind working over time as we drove around scouting for coyotes, I asked the Creator for some guidance on what would enable me to have a more successful coyote hunt.  A couple of miles later, I spotted an animal in the ditch.  I told Curtis to stop and back up.

A skunk.  I got out and took a couple of photos, pondering the skunk’s symbolism – reputation.  Also, the expression, “You’ve been skunked”.  There was no need to see this animal to know what it was, as a person only needed to smell the little cat-like creature to know a skunk was in close proximity.

Symbolic Skunk

Symbolic Skunk

A skunk.  In water.  Water represents knowledge.  His back was to the east, aligning with him in this sense.  In the place of new beginnings.  The east is also the direction that eagle represents along with the element of air…

Scent, or rather lack of, is very important with hunting.  Particularly with coyotes, who work heavily on their sense of smell.  Wind direction is also crucial, but in our area, with so many bushes in every direction, coyotes could be in any one cluster of trees at any given time.

I was raised to pay attention to the smallest details.  That nothing was insignificant.  Often, it is in the little details – when taken into consideration and connected – that provide a great pool of resources that contribute in creating success on many levels.

I knew I wasn’t being as anal as I could be with ensuring I was scent free.  I had continued to wear my clean scented underarm deodorant and professional “candy-smelling” hairspray.  I also continued using my salon shampoo and conditioner.  Nor was I being careful with washing the clothes beneath my new hunting outfit with unscented detergents.  I now scolded myself about that while looking at the skunk.

I said to Curtis, “I need to rub leaves and dirt in my hair.”

He looked at me, saying, “People will think you are crazy for sure.  You can buy shampoo and conditioner, Sheila.”

I shrugged, “It’d be more fun to rub the dirt on my face and hair.”

“Let’s just go to the city tomorrow and get some stuff,” he said.

I smiled.  Not a shopper for clothes, per se, I loved shopping for saddles, horse stuff and now…  more hunting shopping!

I strutted into that hunting store the next day in my four inch spiked high-heeled boots and camo colored hair.  With a fresh French manicure, I grabbed a cart while the men behind the hunting knife counter watched me, curiously.  Curtis snickered at the sight.  On a mission, I found the first thing on my list.

A Scent-A-Way Basic Scent Elimination Kit, priced at $29.99.  It includes:

Scent-A-Way Fresh Earth Dryer Sheets

Scent-Safe Garment Storage Bag

2x Ultra Concentrate Laundry Detergent

100% Odor-Free Anti-Perspirant Deodorant

12 oz. Scent-A-Way Spray Advanced Formula

Antibacterial Deodorizing Bar Soap

The motto:  Hunt Clean – Hunt Scent Free.  I planned to spray my boots with the Advanced Formula, along with other items I wouldn’t be washing.

Some of the women in my area commented that buying such a kit meant the sellers “saw me coming”.  Au contraire, mademoiselles.  I didn’t want the coyotes to smell me as I walked out to set up.  As the Scent-A-Way box said, “Let’s face it, you are going up against the best noses in the business.”  I also reminded Curtis that he had to become as anal about no scents when hunting coyotes as he was with prey animals.  Perhaps, more so.

I also purchased the Scent-A-Way Shampoo and Conditioner, stating it leaves your hair clean and scent free while the conditioner leaves hair “soft and manageable”.  I snickered, thinking about all the men out there with flowing locks.

Yet, my greatest discovery was the Hunter’s Woodland Camo Crème Make-Up – which actually also comes in a compact with a mirror.  How I wanted to be a squirrel in a tree, watching – as a hunter, like Curtis standing 6’ 6” tall, pulled out his compact in the woods and dabbed his make-up on or touched it up.

“Here are those masks,” Curtis offered, “Or do you want the make-up?”

I looked from one to the other, “I’llll taaaaake the compact!  No, wait, this make-up…  No, wait, I really want the mask though…  but the make-up comes in such nice colors: Mud Brown, Flat Black and Leaf Green.  I choooooooose the make-up!”

No glare – from either Curtis or the make-up.  Long lasting under all conditions.

The make-up was also easy to apply and remove.  Move over Maybelline.

“You have to wear the make-up, too, Curtis,” I warned.

“I have a mask,” he quickly said.

I grinned like a wolf, saying, “No, the make-up is better.”

We made a few more selections in the hunting store while Curtis’s eyes kept lighting up brighter and brighter.  “I use to feel guilty about shopping here and spending money.  I’m really liking that you’re hunting now.  You are really serious about this.”

“Hunting coyotes only,” I reminded, “And yes, I want to become very good at this.”  Curtis knew that anything I chose to embark on, I would want to try and perfect it to a fine art.

“Not interested in hunting anything else?” He asked, hopeful.

“Nope.  I’m not interested in hunting prey animals – couldn’t kill one.  But, a predator – a smart one is very mentally stimulating and challenging.  Plus, it’s a predator.  And, I have good reasons to hunt the coyotes.”

“Would you hunt other predators, then?”

I twisted my mouth, thinking.  “Not unless they were posing a serious threat to people or other animals.  Then, I might.”

Walking into the electronic and hand call section, I clapped my hands with excitement.  Oohing and ahing over the selection, I grabbed a few soft calls with my freshly manicured nails. (However, my new calls are reserved for another blog post coming soon…)

Watching Reflective Items

Another realization came to me after seeing the skunk.  We drove a couple miles and stopped the truck again.  Getting out, I looked over the lay of the land and spotted a golden eagle sitting in a tree.  Eagles also represent the spirit, as they fly closest to the sun.

An large eagle with an impressive wing span when he flew away.

An large eagle with an impressive wing span when he flew away.

Upon returning home, I reviewed some photos Curtis had taken of me the other day. In one photo, a bright reflection from the sun was illuminating from my sunglasses. An epiphany occurred.  I connected the eagle’s sun connection with my sunglasses.

That reflection can’t be good when hunting, I noted.  Surely, wild animals would see it and connect that something abnormal was in their domain. It hadn’t occurred to me that the metal on my sunglasses would reflect light and possibly cause a potential problem in the field, until now.

Note reflection from metal on sunglasses.

Note reflection from metal on sunglasses.

I noted to myself – Nothing shiny exposed ever.  Necklaces, rings, metals, or frames on sunglasses that are metal – definitely no bling on them or me.  As my eyes cannot handle bright light, I decided to switch my sun glasses to a very plain plastic framing with no metal exposed…

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Coyote Hunting – Coyotes in Disguise? Clothes, Theory and Frustration Captured On Video

Posted on April 9, 2011 by

Clothes Really Do Make The WoMan

Searching through the hunting clothes section, size small didn’t exist.  Finding a couple of pairs of medium sized men’s pants, I stepped into them and pulled them up at the waist.  Nothing a belt wouldn’t be able to remedy, and I reasoned with myself that I’d be able to layer pants underneath.  Always trying to see another side’s point of view – in this case, with men’s hunting clothes – I also reasoned about the lack of size small pants.  Conclusion: what man would want the word small written on any pair of pants he wore?

I selected a hunting pattern that looked classy and sophisticated, with a dash of green in the convincing branch pattern.  Made by Rocky Outdoor Gear.  The tag said: Prohunter Synergy Uninsulated Pant.  A Prohunter?  Tis not I.  I read further, D-Tec premium waterproof and human scent control system, with inside suspender buttons and moisture wicking lining.  I reached for a jacket – a lovely chocolate with an appealing camouflage pattern – the Prohunter Synergy Camo Fleece Vest/Jacket.  And although that tag said draw cord at waist, it really means to say draw cord at bottom of buttocks.

New Hunting Clothes

New Hunting Clothes

There is something empowering about wearing man pants, particularly when they are hunting pants.  Strutting across the yard, an undeniable energy of sureness was contained in them.  Of being ten feet tall and bullet proof.  A drawing out of an inner balls-iness or cock-iness.  Yes, ballsy and cocky.

Strutting like a buck; like a stallion who’d inflated himself to twice his size as he pranced past a competitor; like a bantam rooster with exaggerated neck action and the animated lifting of his feet – that’s how I felt walking out to the air strip.

“Probably not the best place to start,” I said.  Curtis agreed.

We watched as some deer stood and gazed at us curiously, noble and beautiful, in Sandra’s pasture on the edge of town.  I imagine we confused them – it was spring, not fall hunting season.

Deer in field between our place and town.

Deer in field between our place and town.

We set up, waited.

Setting up and assessing.

Setting up and assessing.

It proved to be uneventful so we moved to the south of our quarter.  Still, nothing.  We packed up and drove a mile to our hayfield situated across from Frank’s place.

The sound of coyotes yipping and communicating came from Frank’s home quarter.  We weren’t about to shoot in the direction of his cattle.

“Give Frank a call about going to hunt on his land,” I whispered.

“He won’t mind,” Curtis replied, “He’s not a fan of the coyotes, either.”

I laid on my stomach, my gun at my side.  Curtis turned on the electronic caller.  Nothing, except the sound of coyotes in Frank’s pasture.

Coyotes in Disguise?

I began thinking and theorizing out loud, “When I have my protective pouch on, we don’t see coyotes.  When I don’t put it on, we see them.  They were also on a killing rampage last week and now this week is quieter.  It always seems that way – they go crazy before a killing rampage then settle down after it for a few days before starting up again.  We need to think about our timing for hunting.”

Curtis agreed.

Norma had called me that morning to tell me that in addition to our area’s coyote aggression problems, recently, something else had to be out there.  Her dogs had begun to squeeze against the door outside when she took them out to do their business, sniffing the air and reluctant to leave the safety of the house.

Sandra also came over at noon, relaying to me that she discovered large paw prints – not those of a coyote or a large dog – imprinted in her pasture.  She said that her horses were also in chaos this past week, when the deer killings were happening.  Kenny had also reported seeing huge canine-like paw prints amongst the coyote’s prints.  Four people, now, in two days had told me the same thing.

I also relayed to them how this winter I had heard a distinct howling amongst the coyotes normal chorus – it sounded like wolves.  I thought about the unique vocal range I had heard when we successfully called in the large coyote by the airstrip. [link]

Two summers ago, Angie was persistent about seeing a wolf.  Some laughed at her.  I believed her, knowing that the year before that near our larger shopping center of Humboldt, in the Muenster area, there were reports of wolves – including both coyote and wolf tracks at kill sites.

Paw Print comparison - Largest on top left, wolf; beside on top right, coyote; below coyote track on right bottom, large dog.

Paw Print comparison - Largest on top left, wolf; beside on top right, coyote; below coyote track on right bottom, large dog.

(reference website:  Internet Center For Wildlife Damage Management.)

I had always had my suspicions:  The size of the coyotes had increased over the years.  The average coyote is said to be 20 – 40 pounds, yet, hunters including my brother had killed coyotes weighing from 60 – 70 pounds.  Wolves are reported to weigh 70 – 115 pounds.  The “coyotes” aggression levels had increased over the last few years.  Their wits.  Their sureness in taking down large game, including horses.  Their hunting techniques had adapted, along with their choice of cuisine.

Wolves are said to attack by “biting on hindquarters, flanks, shoulders, nose and tails.”  Coyotes are said to “bite on the throat and head… hindquarters and flanks”.  (Wolf Song of Alaska) Science needs to add chasing the prey and attacking their legs, playing them out and shredding and ripping at them until the prey were exhausted and no longer mobile.

Coyotes are known to be superior at adapting for survival – a hybrid, with hybrid vigor, would be more so if combining the brilliance and power of both predators.  Coy-wolves.

Talking with long time farmers, and hunters, another interesting observation from such people continued to resurface:  The coyotes that use to enter farm yards and pastures to kill, were sick and mangy.  However, this was no longer the case even with gross over-population, which caused many to scratch their heads.  These coyotes were vibrant and healthy, larger than the norm.

The definition for hybrid vigor is:

The increased vigor or general health, resistance to disease, and other superior qualities that are often manifested in hybrid organisms, especially plants and animals.

Noun 1. (genetics) tendency of a crossbred organism to have qualities superior to those of either parent.

I have my theories, which are merely theories at this point.  I also have the observations of others, along with my own.  My senses and gut instinct had, and continued, to tell me that we were not dealing with the average coyote… or were we?  One who adapted?  Was that the illusion, the trick from the infamous Trickster?

My interest was further peaked.  I needed to do more research, more profiling while taking into account my neighbors, and my, observations.  A mystery to solve, complete with murderous rampages and the pursuit of those guilty of committing the acts.

A Huntress’s Frustration

My desire to hunt the “coyotes” intensified.  I needed to examine a large “coyote”.  I needed to successfully kill at least one of the predators terrorizing the area – and my frustration was increasing.  I vented.

The rabbit call had been affective, but not as affective as hunters in the magazine claimed.

Curtis pointed out, “These coyotes are after big game.  I think we need a different call: a fawn in distress call.”

An epiphany.  I nodded my head with renewed hope, “You are absolutely right!  Good thinking!  We should be switching up our calls.  We also need a new strategy, us rookies.  This hunting thing isn’t easy.”

“Nope.  Hunting prey animals, isn’t either.”

“It’s frustrating as hell, but I am so determined to get these predators,” I said.

Looking at the lay of the land and discussing strategy.

Looking at the lay of the land and discussing strategy.

We packed up and drove home, meeting Frank in our driveway.

“Where are the coyotes?” he said, chuckling as he looked in our truck box.

“No luck,” I smiled.

“They’re on the move right now.  You know,” Frank said in a serious tone, “there are no young mule deer in the herds in my pastures, only adults.  They’re all gone.  I figure the coyotes got them all.  I’m also missing some livestock.  The problem coyotes use to be the mangy ones.  But these look very healthy and they’re big ones now.  They drive a person crazy.”

I nodded, “They’re driving me crazy, too.”

“I wish a person could get rid of a bunch at one time…  You can hunt on any of my land, whenever you want.  Millie said too that the ones by us in the west and the ones here by you, in the east, are the worst ones.”

We agreed.  Coyotes started howling in the distance, I shushed the men, “Listen. Listen to them.”

A few choice words were muttered underneath our breaths.

“People are seeing large tracks with the coyotes,” I said, “bigger than a large dog.”

“Eddie came upon five wolves laying on a grid road last year,” Frank said.

“And, Curt saw wolves west of Pilger, too,” Curtis added.  Pilger was only a few miles away.

“They’ll breed with coyotes,” I added.  Frank shook his head with concern.  I added, “I have no beef with the wolves, it’s these over-populated coyotes.”

We all agreed, also noting the increase of moose and other big game in our area.

“Well, I hope you guys get these coyotes at your place and mine,” Frank encouraged, while I muttered about some people not believing what the coyotes are doing – even though a few locals relayed eye witness accounts.  He moved his hand as if to swat them away, “Never mind the tree huggers, either.  They’ve got no clue.”

I agreed, then dramatically gasped for effect, “I was one Frank!”

He chuckled, nodding and looking at my hunting outfit.  There is always another day…

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AN UP-DATE: Coyote Hunting Schedule – An Aggressive Hunting Strategy For Aggressive Coyote Predators Who Are Pursuing and Maiming Deer On (In) The Edge of Town

Posted on April 3, 2011 by

(My apologies, dear readers, for the lack of up-dates this past week.  My focus and attention was needed in another important area that had been over a decade in the waiting.  Having completed the task, coyote hunting and this blog will soon become a significant part of my focus over the course of the next few weeks – with more frequent up-dates than previously written.)

This past week, Zena – our ½ Great Pyranese dog – stepped up and held her ground on our farm.  She sits on top of the round bales we have by our driveway at all hours of the day and night – an area that the coyotes had claimed, making it their trek to the woods behind the corrals.  On duty around the clock, she ensured – and prevented – the coyotes from crossing there – courageously pursuing any varmint trespassers.

Zena - Guardian on the bale watching over my mares by the driveway where the coyotes trek to their den in the woods by the corrals.

Zena - Guardian on the bale watching over my mares by the driveway where the coyotes trek to their den in the woods by the corrals.

Zena - Guardian and my hero, dedicated to watching over my mares at all hours of the day and night.

Zena - Guardian and my hero, dedicated to watching over my mares at all hours of the day and night.

On Tuesday, I drove down our driveway to see Zena stancing between my herd of mares and the bush line (by the corrals) where one den of coyotes resides.  She stared at the woods then would look back to see my mares, ensuring that she was the barrier between the coyote predators and the potential prey.

Zena also boldly charged into the pasture and I worried she may become surrounded by coyotes and killed.  Yet, her bravery and wisdom is slowly re-structuring the territory at that end of our yard as she holds her ground with keeping the coyotes at a further distance from my house.  Sometimes, she chases them a bit too far, but at this time, she is my hero with that aspect.  Once we kill more coyotes that take refuge in the town, she will have no need to venture so far.

This morning, Angie’s husband, Gary, stopped by to talk about the increasing threat the coyotes are posing and the dangerous coyote over-population problem.  Problem no longer seems an adequate or appropriate word.  Just a little ways from their farm, a pack of coyotes had brought down another deer.  A pair of coyotes, which Angie had videotaped, continue to enter their yard where their young son will play this summer – along with a soon to be precious new baby.  Their farm is only a couple miles from ours.

Gary’s brother, Kenny, also talked with Curtis yesterday.  Their father’s farm is right beside ours on the edge of town.  A group of coyotes – coming from our direction – chased a deer into their yard on the edge of town – into town – and the deer stopped in front of their father’s house.  All four of the deer’s legs were bitten and shredded, bleeding and terribly maimed.  On the main road, right where the school grounds are, Curtis was told that four coyotes stood waiting to finish the kill.

In town.  Right by the school.  Where children play.

“The coyotes are coming right in our yards,” Gary said, as I nodded.

He began telling me about what had happened at his father’s place. Again, I nodded, explaining that Curtis had told me.

“I’m going to start going out every Sunday morning, driving around, and killing the coyotes I see,” Gary said.  “Does Curtis want to come?”

I didn’t want to be left out.  “You’re taking me, too!” I warned, “We’re going to be hunting regularly now, too, Gary.”  I explained our delay this past week with hunting coyotes.  “Shawn will be coming out also – he lent us his electronic caller.  Want to join forces?  We’ll be setting up blinds too.”

Immediately, the hunter in Gary’s eyes twinkled.  He said, “What about Friday?”

I agreed, adding, “And, Sunday… but I’ll warn ya, I’ll be writing about it all and taking pictures and video.”

He appeared a little shy, but said he wouldn’t mind.  After further discussion, Gary went to the shop to talk with Curtis, and they decided we will set up here and at Gary’s place on Friday to ensure both yards have some coyotes killed.

Tonight, I also talked with my brother, Shawn.  We will be hunting coyotes this Tuesday – itching to get out.  With an aggressive hunting schedule and strategy in place for the aggressive coyote packs, this blog will soon be up-dated more frequently during the week with posts, videos and pictures.

Again, my apology for the lapse in posts and up-dates this week.  Now, it shall be back to our regularly scheduled program…  Singing whiskey for my men, beer for my horses…

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Coyote Hunting 103 – Ensure Your Prey Call Tape Isn’t At The End Of The Tape When Coyotes Start Running In

Posted on March 27, 2011 by
Calling in a coyote.

Calling in a coyote.

The days are getting longer.  The coyote sightings are growing more frequent.  Itching to get out on another coyote hunting expedition, Curtis and I decided to take Shawn’s electronic caller – the distressed rabbit tape – with us.

“Which way is the wind blowing?” I asked.

“It’s coming from the east,” he replied.

“Let’s go out on the airstrip by the 20 acres and try calling the coyotes out of that far bush.”

“I don’t know – the wind—“

“–  is coming from the east so our scent will be going west,” I interrupted.  “My gut tells me to go there.”

“The coyotes in the west will know where we are.  That’s not a good spot today.”

“But I want the coyotes in that east bush by the little pasture where they’ve been eating our young horses.”

He looked a little reluctant, “I don’t know about going there today.”

“My gut tells me to,” I asserted, “and I know they are always in that bush.”

“Okay.”

We walked to the shop and retrieved the guns and the electronic caller.  I walked out to scan the lay of the land – our yard layout and the 20 + acre pasture behind the shop.  I scanned the bush lines surrounding our yard, my garden and house area.  I looked north, towards our neighbors, noting out loud about the position we would need to be in order to be careful about our direction and safety with shooting.

Scanning the 20 + acres and bush line beside the airstrip.

Scanning the 20 + acres and bush line beside the airstrip.

Looking out at my farm with thoughts about the coyote predators made me see the landscape from a different perspective.  Even when I drove, I found myself frequently spotting coyotes in broad daylight.  I began noting where the bushes were in our entire area and where a coyote may be – or was – watching from the edge of one.

The material I had read to date profused that coyotes hunted at night and mainly preyed on small game, such as rabbits and rodents – yet everyone in our neck of the woods knew differently.  Coyotes were scouting and hunting at all hours of the day and into the night.  The coyotes here were not so elusive or secretive when it came to boldly entering farm yards in broad day light or taking down deer and livestock, including horses.  They boldly made their statements, defended by the well meaning advocates (and I had been one a few years ago) who considered such actions to be  “abnormal” coyote behavior.

In my opinion, the definition of normal and abnormal behavior depended on many things – on various situations and experiences.  What seems normal for one person or situation can be considered abnormal for others depending on their situations and experiences.

I covered my face with my arm trying to stop the sharp wind from whipping it, as we ventured onto the airstrip.  Approaching a cluster of small trees, we noticed coyote tracks crossing the private airstrip on their way to the east bush at the end of our fenced in 20 + acre  pasture.

Coyote tracks crossing airstrip and going to the bush across 20 + acre pasture.

Coyote tracks crossing airstrip and going to the bush across 20 + acre pasture.

“Go in the trees,” Curtis said.

“You go in the trees.  I’m not getting caught up in them.  I’ll sit here.”  I knelt in the snow on my knees and took off my mitts. Within a minute, my hands turned red.  My fingers became stiff with chill.  My hands started shaking.  I put the butt of my gun in the snow and prepared my camera hanging around my neck.  Curtis turned on the electronic caller Shawn had left for us to use.  The sound of a distressed rabbit screeched out.

Within a minute of starting the electronic caller, Curtis whispered excitedly, “There’s one already.”

“Where?” I whispered.

“In the small clearing… Shhhh.”

It was becoming painful to move my hands and fingers.  “That wind is wicked,” I muttered as I struggled to hit record on my camera.  I scanned the bush lines, unable to see the coyote.

The distressed rabbit tape stopped.  I continued scanning the bush line where the fence line also was, with my camera.  The coyote seemed to manifest suddenly, appearing to be a large one.  I hit the pause button.

“Damn it – the rabbit call tape is at the end,” Curtis said.  “I don’t want to move and spook him.”

Annoyed that I didn’t have more hands – one hand holding a gun and the other working the camera around my neck – I asked, “What should I do?  Flip the tape?”

Curtis sitting and waiting while the electronic caller plays a distressed rabbit tape.

Curtis sitting and waiting while the electronic caller plays a distressed rabbit tape.

I looked at the electronic caller that was out of my reach.  Frustrated, and wanting to make as little movement as possible, I let out a huff of air, asking, “Do you have him in your sites?”

“Yep.”

I noticed the coyote motion his ear to listen behind him.  He turned his head and looked to his left, then behind him.

“There’s more with him. Don’t shoot yet,” I whispered, watching his ears.

“Wait?”

“Yes, wait.  We’ll be able to get more.”

I hit record.  We sat. Watching.  Waiting. Unable to ignore the pain in my hands any longer, I struggled to turn the camera off.  I reached for my gloves.

Curtis held steady, looking through the scope of his gun, swearing, “There’s a lesson – always make sure to start the call at the beginning of the tape.”

The coyote turned to leave.  Curtis tensed, “Do you want me to shoot?” I didn’t respond fast enough.  Too late for a clear shot.  I started swearing.

“Well, we can’t sit here again for a while,” he said, ticked off.  “We’ve tipped them off, now.”

“I need a couple tripods,” I growled, angry that the coyote got away.  “I can’t handle a gun and a camera at the same time.  We need to get to the hunting store.  We also need a blind, among other things.”

“Boy, Shawn was right.  That coyote came in fast and hard until the damn tape ran out.”

“Should have checked it,” I said, “There’s Coyote Hunting 103 for us.  Always check where the tape is at, dummies.  He looked big, too.”

“He is pretty big,” Curtis confirmed.  “He would have kept coming, if the frickin’ tape hadn’t quit.”

I looked at the fence line, the bush line and then towards my farm yard.  “The yard where the kids play and where the horses are is in pretty close proximity with those coyotes, when you look at it from here.”  Curtis nodded.  “And, Mashee loves to come back here, too.”

My great concern for my children, playing in the yard, surfaced.  Thinking about the terror that had happened in those 20 + acres.  Thinking about my Mashkourah – she was my favorite riding mare and I had spent many months over the years finishing her undersaddle as my main riding horse.  We were at the point of riding bridle-less and saddle-less.

“Now I’m really worried about the kids – and Mashee and her little group of girls coming back here.”

“I think she’d be fine.  It’s the kids in the yard and the young horses we have to worry about more.”

My eyebrows drew together, “What if the adult horses get themselves in those trees and are attacked from all sides?  How could they maneuver fast enough to get out?  The trees would block them – plus stumbling over the fallen trees and logs –  from defending themselves properly, Curtis.”

He nodded his head, saying, “Anything is possible.”

“And, a pack of coyotes just took down another deer out by Angie’s – just a couple miles away.”

Coyote conversations began – yipping, barking and howling along with a unique vocal I hadn’t heard to date from coyote communication.  “Hear that?  I’ve never heard them use that vocal range before.”

We stood up, listening through the sharp wind.  I tried to record it on my camera, but the wind was too loud and aggressive.

“We really need to get to a hunting store.” I re-affirmed.  “They’re still winning right now.  We need to get smarter, fast.”

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My Second Coyote Hunt (Part 2): Coyote Insights Teach Lesson To Laymen and Academics Alike

Posted on March 22, 2011 by

(Read Part 1)

(Warning: some images may be disturbing to sensitive viewers.)

Coyote in mid-afternoon trotting in open prairie in Curtis's sites.

Coyote in mid-afternoon trotting in open prairie in Curtis's sites.

Curtis took steady aim at the coyote closest to us on the open plain.  Cool and collected.  His gun fired.

“You dropped him.” Shawn announced.

Distracted with my camera, I now strained to look but couldn’t see it.

“The other one is too far away,” Curtis said, bringing his gun to his side. “Sheila, you’re going to want to see it, right?”

“Yes.”

Curtis knew I wanted to see each coyote we killed in part so that I could get a good look at their structures and also to honor the coyote’s spirit – even though the animal had taunted me out, declaring war on me by threatening everything that I loved.  From the time Curtis met me, he had also promised to honor the big game he hunted.

Shawn wouldn’t think it was strange that I wanted to honor the coyote’s spirit. Having grown up with me, he was use to my spiritual beliefs.

“We’ll get him later,” Shawn said, “Let’s drive a little west by Frank’s, where the coyotes are really yipping.”

As we got closer, Curtis offered, “We could go in here, on this side of the road.”

“Not without land owner’s permission,” Shawn replied, a stickler about that.  We had been raised to always ask permission and be respectful in such regards.  Whether you were trapping, hunting or riding horses on another’s property.

(Sidebar:  Unlike the berry thieves who walked into my pasture and stole my berries alongside the main road – I am planning to fix those thieves this summer, and already have a strategy on how I am going to catch them.  Nobody steals my berries, by god, without having to deal with my inner bear roaring.  If you are reading this, berry thieves, I’ve got my eyes on you!)

“We rent this hay field,” Curtis and I chimed.  Shawn stopped the truck.

“Those snowmobile tracks will make walking easy,” Curtis pointed out.

As we walked, I noticed a porcupine in a tree and pointed him out, warning, “Leave him alone!  He’s not hurting anyone.  Isn’t he sooo cute!”

Cute Porcupine in the tree.

Cute Porcupine in the tree.

“We’re not going to hurt him,” Curtis said, annoyed.

Shawn muttered, “Yeah, cute until your dogs come back with a mouth full of quills.”

Close up of cute porcupine.

Close up of cute porcupine.

I shook my head, took some pictures and kept walking.  We stopped by a large round bale.  As Shawn set up his electronic caller, I looked down and noticed urine and feces – canine in appearance.

Pointing it out, I asked, “Should I take a picture of it?”  I snickered.

Shawn looked at me, shook his head and smiled.  He re-focused his attention to the bush lines.  After ten minutes, he announced we were leaving.

“Shawn, for god’s sake, you are not even giving this a chance today.”

“Sheila,  I already told you – I use to sit for hours, calling and waiting.  When the conditions are right, you don’t have to sit waiting.  They come to you.  Why should I waste my time calling and calling when I can get them with little effort in little time?”

“Because – we made too much noise.  You said to be quiet and not move a muscle.  It takes patience, too.  Am I right?  We’re talking and nattering at each other.”

Shawn was too experienced.  He had his coyote hunting – executioner style – down to a fine art.  Get in and get the job done.  He was the General.  I realized I wasn’t a true General – my approach was much more warrior in style.  Same family.  Same genetics.  Same up-bringing.  And yet, so very different.

Perhaps it had been the role of the genetic dice when it came to our predispositions: Our great-grandfather on our mother’s side had served as a General in the US Cavalier before settling in Saskatchewan, Canada, in 1903.  He was described as strict and rigid, valuing discipline and study.  Our father, however, was very much a warrior spirit and his teachings reflected that – he valued disciplining the mind with problem solving, coupled with his rebellious nature and free thinking, which he highly valued, urged and tried to nurture in his children. Formal education and a list of degrees did not impress him – hands on experience and intelligence did.

Curtis muttered, “Listening to you two, the coyotes are probably thinking, “Oh, just some humans torturing a rabbit, keep moving.’”

I started laughing.

“Seriously, Sheila, we’re wasting our time today,” Shawn re-instated.

I sighed and we started walking back.  Curtis suggested that I might as well take a practice shot at a post with a plain, weathered 8” x 6” board nailed to it.  I lifted the gun and took aim at the center.  Curtis told me to wait a moment and adjusted the butt of the gun pressed against me.  He watched the target while Shawn watched me to see how much kick the gun would give.

“You hit it,” Curtis said.

“Did she?  I was watching Sheila.”

“Did she,” I mocked, handing the gun to Curtis before running up to the target, beaming. “Yep – I did! A little off center.” I looked at Shawn for approval.  He grinned, straightening his back just a hint.

Upon arriving back at our farm, the call of coyotes grew closer as they began moving around our farm, like clock work.  Curtis retrieved the coyote he had shot, with the skidoo and sled.  I hurried towards Curtis.  The look on his face stopped me.  It was the same look he got when he had to deliver bad news, such as the death of a horse.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He looked down at the sled.  I approached slowly, seeing a dead coyote.  I stared at it.

“It’s not very big,”  I said and suddenly the symbolism of the sleigh caused me to panic.  “Get it out of the kid’s sleigh.”  Curtis bent down to lift the coyote.  I added softly, “Gently.”

He laid the animal on the snow and analyzed my reaction, but didn’t say anything.

“This one looks young,” I said quietly.  He nodded.

“Probably a female,” Curtis said, checking the gender, “Yep.”

“A mother,” I said.  I released a long breath.  “Don’t disrespect her body.”

“You know I won’t do that.”

“Does it bother you, too?”

“Not really – I hunt.  I’m just worried about you and if you’ll want to do this anymore,” he said kindly.

I reached into my pocket for tobacco, sprinkling it at her feet and on her while thanking her for sacrificing her life force.  Curtis studied my face, looking empathetic.  I shook my head.

Female coyote Curtis shot and brought back to the yard.

Female coyote Curtis shot and brought back to the yard.

“What am I suppose to do?” I threw my hands up and swallowed my sympathetic coyote emotions. “They’re killing my horses, pets and terrorizing the kids and me.  Looking at a coyote like her, I can understand how people think they are harmless but that is the very nature of coyote – the trickster.”

Even Ted Bundy fooled many – including crime writer Ann Rule who worked alongside him at a crisis center, of all places.  He was charismatic, good looking and likeable, too.  Many never suspected him, and even Ann states that she had a difficult time accepting that he had committed his murderous rampages, knowing the Ted she knew who had worked alongside her at the crisis center.  Helping people.

I also don’t believe that coyotes should be viewed as villains, but too many under-estimate what they are capable of – especially when they are famished due to over-population.  Numerous legends about coyotes abound over thousands of years with regards to their ability and reputation as the trickster, unable to be categorized.

The westernized, civilized world, wanted to classify all things in neat, nice categories.  File them as truth, including with regards to the natural world, with wildlife and animals.  Science needed proof and they needed a systematic system in place, considering themselves the final authority on many matters.  Yet, direct experience and thousands of years of wisdom knew better.  I thought about one story about coyote that summed it up perfectly, while researching legends:

Quote: There is a modern Coyote story about an anthropologist who finds a coyote caught in a trap, and the coyote agrees to tell the anthropologist a long, real true story if he releases him. For the full length of a tape, the coyote tells a fabulous tale, and runs off when the tape runs out. When the anthropologist goes to play the tape for other professors, though, all that’s in the recorder is a few coyote droppings. Kitsune doesn’t want to be tagged, bagged and analyzed any more than Coyote does. This is an apology in advance if you’re looking for definitives: there aren’t any. Unquote – Watts Martin

“Beautiful or not, I can’t let myself be tricked into sympathizing with the coyotes out here.  Trotting past the kids!  Eating horses!  I have to stand my ground and protect my own.  In California, a little girl was being dragged away by a coyote and her nanny had to save her – there is a list of such reported stories.  I’m not waiting for something worse to happen here, especially when it comes to our children.”  I swallowed and clenched my jaw.  My determination over-ruled my moment of weakness with a softened heart for the coyote.

“Where should I put her body?” Curtis asked.

The dogs had been watching us.  Chancy, Zippy and Rexi cautiously approached, sniffing at the coyote.  Unsure and taking no chances, they were leery and backed off.  Zena, my half great Pyranese approached the coyote from behind – directly across from me.  Her wise eyes expressed her inner bounty hunter with intensity.  She lowered her head and sniffed towards the dead coyote, then the air, but did not get as close as the other dogs.  She looked directly into my eyes and I stared back at her, telling her, “Get a good smell, Zena.  We got one and that’s your duty here, too.”

From the airstrip, close yipping and coyote signaling grew louder.  Zena abruptly turned her head and began to bark, leaping into action towards the bush with all the dogs joining the hunt.  Another coyote barked in our north east corner, at the end of the airstrip and beside the 20 + acre pasture two of my horses were taken down and devoured.

“Call for Shawn,” I ordered, running towards the shop.  Zippy appeared and ran beside me, climbing the snow hill with me so I could see the 20 + acres clearly.  Zena was half way down the airstrip in pursuit of a yipping coyote in the bush at the end.  I called to her and she stopped, looking at me.  “Damn, I should have shut up,” I scolded myself.  I heard another coyote answer with a sharp bark towards the south along the east bush line – the same area I had been approached by a large one.

“Damn it, they’re everywhere guys!  It must be after 5:00 pm.”  I glanced towards the airstrip, yelling, “There’s one!  Heading straight for Sandra’s bush where the graveyard is.  Guys, guys!  Do you hear me?”

Shawn began packing up his truck, Curtis stood talking to him but acknowledged me, saying, “There’s nothing we can do right now.” He craned his neck to see the coyote running, and continued, “He’s in between us and the edge of town.  They’re smart bastards and head for cover there because they know no one is going to get them there.”

“I know – and I don’t mean shoot at him.  I mean, what did I tell you?  We should be out in the pasture now,” I said in frustration.  “Let’s go!”

“Typical new hunter,” Shawn said casually, “All excited.  We’ll get them, Sheil.  Don’t worry.  We’ll get them but we have to do it right, make sure of our direction, and we need better hunting weather and conditions.”

“It’s suppose to melt soon, I hope,” I soothed myself.  Shawn nodded.

“You never answered me,” Curtis said, “What do you want me to do with the dead coyote?”

I slid down the hill, Zippy beside me.  I clenched my jaw, walked towards the men and said, “Gently place her body by the 20 acre fence line by the airstrip.  I want to send a message to those coyotes from me.”

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