Almost an exact repeat of this prior incident:
They don't happen very often... | Lone Star Boars
But with a coupla twists...
It's about midnight.
This time I spot him from farther out and begin my stalk, placing a large bush between us - it's about 90 yards from him, with the water in between.
Every few steps I up with the thermal monocular to check his position.
Optimally, I still won't be able to see him, which means he has not moved - unless it is directly away from me.
'Cause I'm pretty sure he won't come toward me through the knee deep water; there's a small hanging feeder in his area and a thicket for cover behind him.
Thirty five yards short of the bush I make my third check and actually see him at my 2:00, and closer to the thicket. Which, of course, means that HE can now see ME.
I dead stop, wondering what not only interrupted his rooting but prompted him to move to cover.
Then I hear it – a pack of coyotes barking and yipping nearby. Even with the audio earmuffs on, I had them tuned out during my stalk.
Pretty poor situational awareness, I must admit.
Now, I have learned in my outings that coyotes almost always seem to be closer and more numerous than they actually are.
But in this case, I've got independent third-party verification of the close proximity, and even he is worried about the possibilities.
Neither of us move for about a minute - me glad that he is focused looking in their direction but also disappointed that I can't move to throw down on him as he stands broadside facing them.
They pass on, and he decides to head back over to the edge of the marsh. Wait until the bush gets between us again, and finish up my stalk.
Step just to the right of the bush with my Triggerstick tripod already spraddled, lay down the .270 (this time in a synergistic partnership with thermal Apex and Barnes TSX), wait about 20 seconds for him to make the last 90° turn of his life.
He's looks about 180, a bit too nasty to backstrap as I don't have a decent way to clean him up. Dragging him through the brush will take off the muck, but not the dried mud caked on his spine.
And I also don't want to burn the the quiet area by driving a truck over to get him.
I'll be hanging around for until morning and I'd like to get a coyote, so I leave him lay. Besides, he's just a few feet from the hanging feeder and I'm interested to see what critters will venture close to him.
(I can conjur no end of reasons to avoid butchering a muddy hog in the middle of the night when my freezer is well-stocked).
No coyotes throughout the night, but a few deer were just a few yards away and a raccoon just about on top of him dinking around for corn.
Hitch him up the next morning and drag him a couple hundred yards away to a small clearing where the coyotes like to drag their carcasses.
I slash his throat on each side to provide enhanced access, and then drive the 1960's German bone handled blade into the abdomen.
Completely forgetting that he's been sitting there for nine hours. And looks to have gained about 30 pounds. Mainly in the belly.
When I pierce the abdomen, it's like an explosion at a brewery that makes beer you would NEVER want to drink.
Fortunately, I'm slightly off to the side and above. But the snake boots are gonna need a blast at the car wash on the way home.
They don't happen very often... | Lone Star Boars
But with a coupla twists...
It's about midnight.
This time I spot him from farther out and begin my stalk, placing a large bush between us - it's about 90 yards from him, with the water in between.
Every few steps I up with the thermal monocular to check his position.
Optimally, I still won't be able to see him, which means he has not moved - unless it is directly away from me.
'Cause I'm pretty sure he won't come toward me through the knee deep water; there's a small hanging feeder in his area and a thicket for cover behind him.
Thirty five yards short of the bush I make my third check and actually see him at my 2:00, and closer to the thicket. Which, of course, means that HE can now see ME.
I dead stop, wondering what not only interrupted his rooting but prompted him to move to cover.
Then I hear it – a pack of coyotes barking and yipping nearby. Even with the audio earmuffs on, I had them tuned out during my stalk.
Pretty poor situational awareness, I must admit.
Now, I have learned in my outings that coyotes almost always seem to be closer and more numerous than they actually are.
But in this case, I've got independent third-party verification of the close proximity, and even he is worried about the possibilities.
Neither of us move for about a minute - me glad that he is focused looking in their direction but also disappointed that I can't move to throw down on him as he stands broadside facing them.
They pass on, and he decides to head back over to the edge of the marsh. Wait until the bush gets between us again, and finish up my stalk.
Step just to the right of the bush with my Triggerstick tripod already spraddled, lay down the .270 (this time in a synergistic partnership with thermal Apex and Barnes TSX), wait about 20 seconds for him to make the last 90° turn of his life.
He's looks about 180, a bit too nasty to backstrap as I don't have a decent way to clean him up. Dragging him through the brush will take off the muck, but not the dried mud caked on his spine.
And I also don't want to burn the the quiet area by driving a truck over to get him.
I'll be hanging around for until morning and I'd like to get a coyote, so I leave him lay. Besides, he's just a few feet from the hanging feeder and I'm interested to see what critters will venture close to him.
(I can conjur no end of reasons to avoid butchering a muddy hog in the middle of the night when my freezer is well-stocked).
No coyotes throughout the night, but a few deer were just a few yards away and a raccoon just about on top of him dinking around for corn.
Hitch him up the next morning and drag him a couple hundred yards away to a small clearing where the coyotes like to drag their carcasses.
I slash his throat on each side to provide enhanced access, and then drive the 1960's German bone handled blade into the abdomen.
Completely forgetting that he's been sitting there for nine hours. And looks to have gained about 30 pounds. Mainly in the belly.
When I pierce the abdomen, it's like an explosion at a brewery that makes beer you would NEVER want to drink.
Fortunately, I'm slightly off to the side and above. But the snake boots are gonna need a blast at the car wash on the way home.
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