After watching countless redneck videos on YouTube, I concluded this would be a slam dunk. Set up in a likely coyote-infested area, blow on a call which mimics the sound of a hurt fawn or a rabbit being interrogated in a Turkish prison with a blow torch and pipe wrench, wait a few minutes, shoot a coyote and return home. Simple.
What the YouTube amateur videographers don't show is the countless hours of boredom, changing wind directions, blown set ups and educated (edumacated if you are from East Texas) coyotes who have heard that particular call a time or two.
On my VERY first true predator calling outing where the expressed goal was to call in a coyote close enough to shoot, I blew on a "distressed fawn" call will the zeal and enthusiasm of a sugared-up, hyperactive child with a new trumpet. I honestly think this performance was worthy of an Oscar.
I'd blow a few minutes until I was about to hyperventilate and my face transitioned to a shade of boysenberry, wait 10-15 minutes and then repeat the performance.
Just about the time I was concluding (i) this activity stinks and (ii) there are no longer any coyotes in Brazoria country Texas, I saw it. Slinking along, looking at my high tech game attractant (i.e. small piece of cardboard on a string fluttering in the breeze to pull them into the area AND take any attention off of me), was a real live coyote. It was beautiful in a coyote sort of way. Sleek dog shaped body with a reddish undercoat. This predator calling thing actually works!
I eased off of my little chair, slipped the safety off of my favorite rifle, firmly positioned the bipod legs and my butt on the ground and proceeded to miss an easy 125 yard lay-up shot!!!!!
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH! How can I be so stupid? Why did I rush the shot? Why did I not wait for a better broadside shot? Why did I jerk the trigger instead of gentle squeezing it like I've done 1,000+ times before?
Needless to say, the unhurt coyote put it in high gear (skedaddled for the East Texans) and left the scene. Other calling activities in other locations that day were uneventful.
A week later, I tried my hand again in the same general area, this time with an electronic caller (an OLD electronic caller with tapes, borrowed from a friend who still reads newspapers on actual paper). The only thing I managed to attract this time were mosquitoes and a shockingly stupid black cow with a species identity disorder. The quest continues.
A Coyoteless Man in the Woods