by Mark Baudino
Tate Griffith and I were planning to hunt coyotes the following day at the Elk Park Ranch, south of Estes Park, Colorado. I had guided elk hunters on the ranch in the rifle season, and I had seen lots of coyotes and some good bobcat sign, too. Tate and I had hunted the ranch the previous week and saw coyotes, and a bobcat screamed an answer to a bobcat-in-heat call, but we never saw him.
The south hay meadow area we planned to hunt is a mile-and-a-half long and about three-quarters of a mile wide. Typically, the always spooky coyotes were out in the middle of the meadow, too far for a good shot from our usual approach point. This time would be different.
Early the next day, while still dark, we parked the truck about a half mile away from the meadow and walked down the dirt road towards the ranch. It was breaking daylight as we hit the edge of the south hay meadow. We glassed the area before proceeding toward the place we wanted to set up: a little finger of trees protruding in from the timbers on the northwest edge of the meadow. As we approached the finger we noticed a herd of about 200 elk made up of cows, calves and some rag-horn bulls moving at a good pace for the timbers. Glassing the elk I saw 6 coyotes flanking the herd. A pack of 6 coyotes can surely take down a calf or a sick adult elk. The herd was now 800 yards away—-and so were the coyotes.
As the elk went out of sight, with the coyotes fast on there heels, we decided to set up and try a little howling and distress calling. My thought was that the pack might hear the distress calls and decide a rabbit would be an easier meal than an elk.
I started my calling off with a few howls to see if I could get a response and to see if the coyotes had stayed close, but I didn’t get a response. I waited 10 minutes and gave a 30-second call sequence on my Primos KiYi predator call. We watched the meadow intently for any signs of movement. After a 5-minute wait I made another 30-second call sequence.
Tate, who was sitting against the next tree over and facing north as I was facing south, broke the silence, "I got one looking right at me—-and he’s close."
Frozen in place, Tate and the coyote were in a stare down. Luckily, with the wind in our faces and good camouflage, the dog never saw us. I waited to hear the boom of Tate’s .300 Weatherby, but after what seemed like forever without a sound I whispered, "Is it still there?"
He whispered back, "It dropped into the gully. I can’t see it anymore."
From previous coyote hunting experience I knew it would try to circle and catch our scent. To keep it interested I gave a 10-second soft-squeal sequence on the call. A few seconds later I caught the back of the coyote as it was circling downwind of me. I moved into a shooting position and waited for it to fill my scope, but it caught my scent before I could get the shot off and it started to run. I immediately whipped around as the coyote headed for the timbers and took a shot as it was trotting away at 70 yards. I MISSED!
At the shot, the coyote bolted, putting another 150 yards between us, but I never took the scope off of him. A second later it made a fatal mistake: He stopped running and looked back. With a steady rest from a bipod and the flat-shooting 50-grain Nosler ballistic tip bullet flying out of my Savage .22-250 rifle, it was all over in a heartbeat. The coyote dropped right where he stood.
We retrieved the dog and stayed in that spot for a while calling to the remaining coyotes. An hour-and-a-half passed without a response. The sun was getting high in the clear blue sky so we called it a day.
