Early Season Coyote
For a number of reasons, we were behind heading into whitetail season. Normally, August would’ve been spent hanging cameras, creating mock scrapes, and shifting stands into the spots that looked promising. We’d have been shooting the crossbows, checking scopes, maybe swapping a string. But this year, most of that never happened.
We had a couple excuses, sure. The biggest was the Cambria County Boys’ hunt in Namibia. I’d have liked that time to get ready for whitetails, but I wouldn’t trade a second of that trip. Watching the boys hunt, seeing their reactions, being part of their experience — that was worth more than any amount of preseason prep.
When we got home, weather, doctor appointments, and a pile of other responsibilities kept us out of the woods. The only exception was the new stand I’d been building in my big garage all summer. It was built to replace the one we’d made for Dad years ago — a real upgrade. Windows, carpet, a proper roof, and stairs with a handrail instead of a ladder. We’re getting older, and climbing like teenagers isn’t in the cards anymore. Built in panels, it took a couple days to set in place, but once it was up, it felt good.
Early archery has never been my favorite. It’s warm, the deer move only at dawn and dusk, and the insects can test your patience. Combine that with our lack of preparation, and we decided the first afternoon would be spent moving a stand, making four mock scrapes, and getting trail cameras out. With Sunday hunting now allowed, the plan was simple: let everything settle overnight and hunt the next day.
Around 3:30 the following afternoon, I climbed into the newly placed ladder stand for the evening sit. The only downside was the lack of cell service. I later learned I could send my brother a text, but I couldn’t call or receive anything from him. Strange, but not surprising — the stand sits deep in the bottom of a hollow.
The first hour was slow. A few squirrels worked the oak tops and forest floor, stuffing themselves with acorns. Then, around 5:15, movement on my right caught my eye. A spike buck, still in velvet, came barreling toward my tree and the rope mock scrape. At fifteen yards he locked onto me, staring hard, but eventually lost interest and drifted toward the scrape. Once he reached it, he grew nervous, smelling the rope and the disturbed ground. After a minute, he bounded off in the direction I’d walked in. Maybe he caught my scent. Hard to say.
As the shadows stretched long, I kept watching squirrels and waiting for deer. Then movement to my left made me scoop up the crossbow. Not a deer — a coyote. It trotted in fast, heading straight toward me. I eased the safety off the Ten Point Venom X and raised it into position. At fifteen yards the coyote stopped dead, looking back over its shoulder as if checking for something behind it.
That pause was all I needed.
I touched the trigger and sent the bolt through its vitals. A sharp yip, a tight spin, and it tore off toward the thicket in front of me. As it entered the brush, I thought I saw it flip, but I wasn’t certain. I re‑cocked the crossbow and tried to text my brother that I’d smoked a coyote — not knowing if he’d receive it.
About fifteen minutes later, I heard a faint whistle. He’d gotten the text and had heard the coyote’s yip, so he made his way toward me. Since it was my first coyote, he wanted to be sure we had enough light to find it and take a few pictures. Good thing he came — the blood trail was practically nonexistent. After some searching, we found it tucked into thick grass.
One less fawn killer in the woods.
EA