Outdoors/Adventure

I was outwitted by a wily coyote

Moonlight cast the snow-covered frozen creek bed in a shimmering display of sparkling ice crystals as I snowshoed my way upstream. A brief storm the night before had left a shallow blanket of fresh powdered snow that, even at minus 11, muffled the sound of my labors. Perfect night-hunting conditions.

The first evidence of activity along the stream came 20 minutes later; a cut bank on the north side of the creek had collapsed as the water level dropped over the winter, creating a sliver of an opening into the flowing water below. Emerging from the cleft came land otter tracks, easily defined by the subsequent evidence of short bounds interrupted by 15 foot belly-flop slides as a pair made their way to the next rent in the ice.

After another 20 minutes, the tracks I was looking for, single file impressions in the snow, appeared on the edge of the creek heading east. Following along, the tracks meandered throughout the wide-open snow-covered grass bank on the south side of the creek. A high bank along a curve in the creek appeared, providing the ideal spot to set up.

Setting the electronic caller on the far side of the open creek bed, I retreated to a brush line on the high bank overlooking the area.  Donning the down parka from my pack, I settled just inside the edge of the brush and pivoted until raising the rifle toward the area near the caller was possible with minimal movement.

Gotcha

The silence of the night shattered as I hit the play button on the remote. A screaming wounded rabbit call instantly filled the night air, a promise of a meal penetrating the countryside. Within minutes a great gray owl made a low pass over the offending noise and lit on top of a snag, not convinced but still curious.

Minutes tick away, anxiety builds and I resist attempting to squirm some warmth into my already-frozen butt. Fifteen minutes pass, nothing enters the area and hope begins to wane — until that prickly feeling ran up the back of my scalp. I had company.

Lacking the discipline or patience not to look, I turn my eyes left, straining to see through the moonlit brush. Fearing that whatever was there would hear my heart pounding in my chest as I turned, our eyes met and I realized that I had been had. The coyote met my gaze for just a moment, as if to say "gotcha," before he wheeled and was gone.

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Few things in the hunting world are more polarizing than hunting canine predators. Nevertheless, it has been a part of rural life since we first learned to sharpen sticks and walk upright.  They like to eat and compete for the same things we like to eat.  Whether it is livestock and poultry or game animals or game birds, canine predators do impact those living a rural or subsistence lifestyle.

The U.S. Department of Agriculture has done studies on coyote damage in agricultural areas and estimates tens of millions of dollars are lost annually in the U.S.

One admirable trait of the coyote, their adaptability, has allowed them to expand their range to include urban areas. They have figured out they can eat all sorts of things like dogs, cats and garbage, make a pretty good living and go largely unnoticed until they cause a disturbance.

A few years back when my grandson was 4 years old, he was outside playing in the front yard of the suburban neighborhood where my daughter's family resides.  My daughter was doing yard work as he played and by chance happened to glance his way just as a coyote started a charge from a small hedge along the property. She screamed and ran toward the little prairie wolf, which turned it away, but instead of running off, it went and sat in the hedge.

My daughter called the animal-control people for help.  After she explained the situation, the animal-control staffer told her they weren't going to do anything.  When she asked why, the person said, "Well, coyotes have to eat too."

I don't believe canine predators are the omnipresent threat to the civilized world some would have you believe, although research by Ohio State University found 142 documented coyote attacks on humans from 1960 to 2006 in the United States and Canada.

Competition with humans

Clearly, there are obvious issues when these animals lose their natural fear of man. Incidents such as the one my daughter experienced are becoming more common in urban America.

Coyotes do compete with human hunters for prey species. They prey on duck and goose eggs found in waterfowl breeding areas. They are now believed to be a cause of Dall sheep lamb mortality and may take an occasional moose or caribou calf. Their chief natural prey is the snowshoe hare, evidenced by the up cycle of coyote numbers when hare populations explode, followed by a down cycle when the hare population crashes.

The coyote population of the Kenai, where we are in a down cycle for hares, is significantly diminished. Aside from hares, typical coyote prey includes mice and voles.

So one reason for hunting them is to reduce the competition for what we like to eat, though, in all honesty, I don't believe there would be a marked difference in our hunting if there were no coyotes. Another is to re-instill their fear of humans. Finally, and perhaps the most common reason to hunt them, is the coyotes of the north country have beautiful fur. I hope to have a bedspread made for my granddaughter some day — a day in the distant future, given my typical success.

Growing admiration

Warmed by the interaction with the coyote, I shucked my parka and began backtracking the route he had taken to his close encounter with me. The tracks followed the high bank back some 100 yards where he had come up from the creek bottom.  Its tracks showed it had been heading upstream and must have turned when it heard the call and then, in true coyote fashion, became suspicious as it closed the gap.

I had to chuckle to myself at how soundly it had outwitted me, the modern hunter, equipped with all the latest gear. My admiration for these little fellows grows with every encounter. Some would say the hunt was a bust, but I would say anything but.  Hunting at night for the best hunters is, no matter the outcome, an opportunity of engagement rare in today's world.

Walking back I hoped the coyote would find a hill and announce to the world that it was a winner; it didn't, but I would not want a part of a world where that possibility did not exist.

Steve Meyer of Soldotna is a lifelong Alaskan and an avid shooter. He writes every other week about guns and Alaska hunting. Contact Steve at oldduckhunter@outlook.com

Steve Meyer | Alaska outdoors

Steve Meyer of Kenai is longtime Alaskan and an avid shooter who writes about guns and Alaska hunting. He's the co-author, with Christine Cunningham, of the book "The Land We Share: A love affair told in hunting stories."

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