With deer season coming to a close, my pursuits turn to the elusive predator that molded my hunting career. This is the time of year where fond memories of the Panhandle fill my mind, and new memories are made in the Big Country.
I had the opportunity to hunt the historic Half Moon Ranch. This ranch is located in Brazos River country, looked down upon by the Double Mountain. The ranch is made up of 6,400 acres of remarkable, yet unforgiving Texas rangeland.
I pulled up to the cattle guard at 6:45 a.m. and threw the Silverado in park. I stepped out and grabbed the Savage .223 that had accompanied me on every coyote hunt for the last decade. Today was the day to pursue the trickster himself .
As the landscape transformed with the dawn's first light, echoes of my cottontail in distress pierced the morning silence. With my wits on full alert, I scanned the wheat field for movement. Like many times before, but always disappointing, my first stand produced no coyotes.
With a fire still burning for a clean harvest, I knew I had to capitalize on the time I had remaining.
My next stand found me about twenty feet up on a canyon ledge, overlooking a creek carved ravine. The view alone made the stand worth it. I called for 15 minutes and was about to chalk up my second failure: When it happened!!!
Like a flashback from the days of old, I caught movement in the tall grass. The coyote eased ever so carefully to the downwind side and disappeared into the cedar breaks. I waited, trigger finger ready, for him to come out into the clearing. This moment never came. Even with a little coaxing on the rabbit call he stayed hidden. As I admitted defeat yet again, I eased up to my feet: There he stood!!!
His stare turned into a sprint, as I fumbled to get my .223 into position. I had but a few seconds to get a bead on him or he would disappear forever. The moment came well over 200 yards as he quartered away, and a shot split the Texas sky. I felt like I shot high and 10 minutes of searching confirmed my worst fear.
Feeling like an amateur, I had to bring myself together for the last stand of the morning. At this point, I knew it was all or nothing.
Knowing well that the creek bottom was holding coyotes, I just moved a few hundred yards South. I found another nice ledge to overlook the landscape. I started the tell tale sound of a cottontail pierced by canines and waited for my quarry. After three minutes of calling, I stopped to scan the ravine.
Like an instinctive reaction to a unbenounced attacker, my heart began to beat uncontrollably. The coyote had made it within 30 yards of me and I had no time to spare. I swung my Savage as he halted in his tracks, getting ready to bolt. I squeezed the trigger not a second too soon, and watched the Coyote fall on impact.
I re-played the moment in my head time after time as I walked from the ledge to my trophy. I had tricked the trickster, and proved that I still have what it takes to match wits with one of the smartest predators on the planet.
I had the opportunity to hunt the historic Half Moon Ranch. This ranch is located in Brazos River country, looked down upon by the Double Mountain. The ranch is made up of 6,400 acres of remarkable, yet unforgiving Texas rangeland.
I pulled up to the cattle guard at 6:45 a.m. and threw the Silverado in park. I stepped out and grabbed the Savage .223 that had accompanied me on every coyote hunt for the last decade. Today was the day to pursue the trickster himself .
As the landscape transformed with the dawn's first light, echoes of my cottontail in distress pierced the morning silence. With my wits on full alert, I scanned the wheat field for movement. Like many times before, but always disappointing, my first stand produced no coyotes.
With a fire still burning for a clean harvest, I knew I had to capitalize on the time I had remaining.
My next stand found me about twenty feet up on a canyon ledge, overlooking a creek carved ravine. The view alone made the stand worth it. I called for 15 minutes and was about to chalk up my second failure: When it happened!!!
Like a flashback from the days of old, I caught movement in the tall grass. The coyote eased ever so carefully to the downwind side and disappeared into the cedar breaks. I waited, trigger finger ready, for him to come out into the clearing. This moment never came. Even with a little coaxing on the rabbit call he stayed hidden. As I admitted defeat yet again, I eased up to my feet: There he stood!!!
His stare turned into a sprint, as I fumbled to get my .223 into position. I had but a few seconds to get a bead on him or he would disappear forever. The moment came well over 200 yards as he quartered away, and a shot split the Texas sky. I felt like I shot high and 10 minutes of searching confirmed my worst fear.
Feeling like an amateur, I had to bring myself together for the last stand of the morning. At this point, I knew it was all or nothing.
Knowing well that the creek bottom was holding coyotes, I just moved a few hundred yards South. I found another nice ledge to overlook the landscape. I started the tell tale sound of a cottontail pierced by canines and waited for my quarry. After three minutes of calling, I stopped to scan the ravine.
Like an instinctive reaction to a unbenounced attacker, my heart began to beat uncontrollably. The coyote had made it within 30 yards of me and I had no time to spare. I swung my Savage as he halted in his tracks, getting ready to bolt. I squeezed the trigger not a second too soon, and watched the Coyote fall on impact.
I re-played the moment in my head time after time as I walked from the ledge to my trophy. I had tricked the trickster, and proved that I still have what it takes to match wits with one of the smartest predators on the planet.
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