Your first time ...

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dave3006

Well-known member
Tell me the story of your first coyote ...

I had been hunting coyotes unsuccessfully in 2006 for about a year. One trip to the Mojave desert finally paid off. I was using my M1 Garand calling a canyon. After about 5 minutes, I saw him running at full speed. I lost him in the creosote bushes for about 15 seconds and then he popped up running full speed right at me at 10 yards away. I was hand calling. It happened so fast, I just point shot my Garand and he went down.

I was by myself, miles from civilization. I screamed at the top of my lungs FINALLY!!!!!

I was hooked.
 
It was in 1953 or 4. My close friend and mentor had a brand new in wrapper Browning 1917 machine gun barrel on hand. He had been trying to figure out a use for as the groove cut just forward of the chamber did not leave enough material to cut/re-thread for 30-06 length case. The army had just adapted the 7.62 NATO cartridge (soon to be known as .308 Winchester). The barrel was a perfect mate for the German 98 action, so he had put the two together, and made me an offer I couldn't refuse. He would let me finish the project, under his watchful eye, and provide necessary parts at cost. I thanked him for the opportunity, but regretfully declined as I could not afford it on my meager paying part-time job. He said, "Pay me as you can, but you have to keep the books!" What kid could refuse a deal like that? What an opportunity, and it was not the first, nor the last of many other wonderful experiences on other projects in his shop over the years! Thanks, Werth, I miss you, my friend.
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Oh, this is about coyotes........I took that rifle out to the salt flats on many occasions hunting jack rabbits, loaded with either 110 gr. Hornady or 97 gr. Speer half jacket bullets. It was on one of the first few trips a coyote jumped up on top of one of the low lomas which were surrounded by wide open sandy flats at about 75 yards. He sped out of the cover onto the open flat at warp speed. I missed the first two shots, but caught up with him at the ironic range of 308 paces.
 
I think I was 12. Figured I wanted to be a coyote hunter. Dad bought me a Model 33 Olt and said I could use his 10/22. After several failed attempts, I finally had someone show me that I was blowing the call all wrong. I would just blow continuously until I lost my breath. One huge blast, followed by another and another. I had been clueless. Renewed hope was in abundance.

He dropped me off one morning at a spot I can no longer call on with ownership changes. A big wooded creek bottom runs for a full mile. I set up along a row of maybe 6-10 round bales on the edge of the trees. I had made my own snow camo from an old bed sheet and used black pencil crayon to colour in some sticks. I was bush league in every sense. I started calling and the tree branches behind me were soon full of cackling magpies. The magpies started bombing at something. I had no idea what was happening. I was centre ice in the bake row. Looking to my offhand side. A watched a nose, then head and neck of a coyote come into view and immediately halt. We locked eyes, both in a terrible state of surprise at 20-30’. It was so close. I swung and stood. The coyote retreated. Were it not for the deep snow slowing its departure, I’d have not got it. I’m not sure how many shots I fired but, it was darn near a 25 round mag dump.

My next outing, I killed a pair with that 10/22 in another mag dump episode. Grandpa showed me how to skin and put up fur. Those three coyote hides brought enough money that I was able to con Dad into paying half for a 223 and gave me the use of our old skidoo. That’s where things really got going for me.

A different time; when a kid could leave town on a snowmobile, with a rifle on his back, call around the neck and a toboggan in tow. Come back hours later with a jag of coyotes and get to skinning. Nobody ever said a word outside of a kind one over it all either.
 
Young teenager, got a new rifle in 7 mag...had an old handcall and started calling near a wildlife refuge...a coyote came hard charging and jumped thru a 4 strand barbed wire fence full speed. I shot him in the chest straight on at maybe 30 yards and then shot another right behind him that came from the same area and peeled off, then one more that was checked up at about 100 yards. A crazy triple that got me hooked on calling. My shoulder hurt afterwards.
 
I've been thinking about this and can't remember my first called coyote. I can remember my first trapped one and my first called fox. But the first called coyote fails me. It wasn't until I moved to WA in 88. My first trapped one was in the 70s in NW MN, fox was still king there, caught that one and never heard a howl the whole time I ran lines from Elbow Lake to Warroad.

Funny I can remember most of the first ones I've help other hunters get, but not my own.
 
My first called coyote was around 1995 or 1996. The thing is, I was actually hunting fall turkeys here in NY. I had busted a flock of birds and setup nearby waiting to hear the first kiki's coming from the birds. When I heard one not far away I kiki'd back and seconds later I heard leaves rustling over a small rise. Thinking it was a turkey coming in I had my shotgun pointed and shouldered towards the sounds. Much to my surprise, a coyote came over the rise about 15 yards away. Not being one to pass up a golden opportunity, I sent a 3" load of copper plated 5 shot into that joker and dropped him on the spot!

I had been calling predators for a couple years at that point and had only called and killed a few foxes. It would be a couple more years before I actually called in my first targeted coyote. I had been hearing them serenade every evening as I was exiting the woods from deer hunting. I brought my hand calls with me on one hunt and with the action being slow I risked screwing up a deer hunt with hopes of calling in a coyote. With about a half hour before twilight I let out a series of dying bunny blues and waited. Nothing showed for what seemed like an eternity. I was about to kick myself in the arse for screwing up a perfectly good deer hunt when again, much to my surprise 3 coyotes appeared from the woods across the field from my lofty perch in my treestand! Here's where it gets a little messy... At the time, southern tier deer here in NY was all shotgun only, using slugs. When they came to within 40 yards I lip squeaked to stop them. I can tell you that a 1 ounce slug through the chest of a coyote drops them on the spot!

Now after that one, my first fully dedicated, nothing but coyote hunt took a couple more years to achieve. It's pretty long winded, but in a nutshell it was the turning point where I discover that thinking outside the box, using different tactics and being aware of a bunch of things I was ignoring made all the difference in the world when it comes to coyotes!
 
For me my first coyote experiences were all a bit of a mess 😂
Growing up my only exposure was old verminator and Randy Anderson videos at my cousin's house in Montana.
When I moved from the ocean to the prairies I wanted to try out coyote hunting. Well. The crowd I fell into it turns out weren't the most law abiding folks and I made the mistake of believing them when they said "it's how it's done out here"
That being said my first shot at a coyote was out the driver's side of my buddies pickup. The catch was I was in the passenger seat! Pretty sure both of us still have hearing damage from that 270 going off!
First kills were actually a double. A pack of 4 stepped out while deer hunting and I managed to score 2 of em.
From here I got serious and started calling. It took half a year of mistakes before one day sitting on a rock pile I looked after a series of wails on my cheap primos handcall to see a mangy coyote not 30 yards away. The cool part is the land I killed that first coyote on is the ranch I now have worked at for over 10 years
 
I took an old savage 22mag out with a fresh 12" snow. I made snow camo out of a grease suit, (white coveralls) paper thin. I sat up in a little holler surrounded by pasture. I was blowing on a knight &hale ultimate predator call. I saw movement across the fence line to my north and was planning my shot when all of a sudden 10' in front of me stood a coyote. All I could see in the scope was hair. I shot he turned and burned out of there, I stood up and 2 were behind me. Called in 4 total. I plugged one behind me, it spun and ran off. Luckily the snow made for easy tracking, tracked the 1st one 100+ yds. 2nd coyote I didn't find , but found his skeleton while shed hunting in spring.
 
My first predator kill was in 1972, a lip-squeaked Red Fox, in Illinois.

My first coyote- it was 1992-93 and I had my new, Ruger M77 Hornet in the trunk, while pheasant hunting in Eastern Colorado. I see 6 coyotes moving across a field, maybe 100yds from the road. I quickly parked around the next bend and started to stalk the group. I was about 150yds away when I saw one, standing broadside. At the shot, she let out a 'yip' and fell.

From then on, as soon as pheasant and waterfowl season ended, I was coyote hunting. When my last bird dog died, in 1998, I started hunting coyotes in October and would quit in mid-April.
 
My first CALLED coyote. I had killed several as targets of opportunity. But my first called one.

My Dad was into coyote hunting. He only took me with every so often, not all the time. But he started taking me with when I was about 8 years old. My job, was to carry his home brew e-caller. A reel to reel tape deck that took like a dozen D cells and weighed a ton. And a metal horn speaker with 50' of speaker wire.

I also got to carry my (not mine, his, but I thought of it as mine) Rossi pump .22LR. Not allowed to shoot at coyotes with it. But free to shoot at all the jackrabbits I could on the walk back to the truck. Got to see a lot of coyotes called in, killed and skinned. But no coyotes for me.

I started complaining about this when I was about 10 years old. Dad had a simple solution. Save my money, by myself a centerfire rifle, and I could shoot the coyotes we called.

I was 12 before I bought myself a Win. Model 70 in .270 Win. Shortly after, Dad gifted me a Leupold 4x, a Pacific press (which I still use for everything to this day) and a set of RCBS .270 dies. I was the only kid in my class that had a reloading setup and a fly tying setup in his bedroom :ROFLMAO: .

Anyway... First time out with my fully kitted .270. Not the first stand, I think it was the second or third stand. Backed up against some chained off juniper piles. I see a coyote pop his head up over a slight rise only about 70 yards out. Just head, chest and shoulders showing. From the sitting position, elbows against knees as I'd been taught, I got a sight picture and started to squeeze. Got jittery. Realized I was hyper ventilating. Came off the scope, took some deep breaths, got back on the sight picture and blasted that coyote into eternity.

Dad said he was dying a thousand deaths waiting for me to take that shot :ROFLMAO:.

When my Dad was dying of cancer, we had a Thanksgiving get together at his house in Caliente, Nevada (which I still own). While the women were busy cooking, me and Dad snuck out for the last couple stands. Ever. I mouth called one in for him and he dumped it. He took what seemed to me like forever to take that shot. We both knew we'd never hunt together again. I died a thousand deaths waiting for Dad to take the shot on his last one.

- DAA
 
We need a mixed emotion like emoji for your post @DAA I was pretty happy reading about your upbringing and first called coyote kill. Outside of my dad never hunting coyotes, there are a lot of similarities to our upbringing!

Then I got to your last hunts with your dad and things got real. I'm in a similar situation with my dad who was my best hunting buddy my whole life. His health no longer allows him to hunt, and I cherish the many years that we shared together in the woods and fields. I know our days are numbered and his mind isn't as sharp as it once was, but he can still ramble on about some of the memorable hunts that are still stuck in his memory banks.
 
Gotta love the time spent hunting (or fishing) with your dad. Dad was a fisherman; not much of a hunter, especially later in years, but he accompanied my son and I on many hunting trips and we shared a lot of fishing as long as he was physically able. He cast a mean lure. Even after his eyesight no longer allowed him to see his lure, once presented, his spoon accounted for his share of trout and reds. Son and I cleared a lot of but "birdsnests" on latter trips, but we both cherish even those memories.

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I actually haven't been hunting for as long as most of you. My first kill happened in 2018 while I was in my mid 20s. However, the first kill wasn't so memorable. In fact, we weren't able to track down the coyote after I had shot it so I hardly count it as my first. It was my second kill that got me hooked.

I had been hunting coyotes for about a year and a half with my Dad and hadn't killed anything over that span. I saw a lot of experiences that taught me what to do but never had killed one myself. My Dad (whose actually on these forums as well: Utahcaller) was a great teacher and even though I had never killed a coyote, I knew exactly what to do.

My Dad, my cousin, and I were perched up high on a steep hillside that uniquely felt like a sniper's tower. In front of us, we were calling into thick sage brush. Hard to see much, and even though we likely wouldn't see coyotes come all the way up to us, I remember wishing I had packed a shotgun. I surveyed the area while my Dad played some rabbit calls and spotted a coyote that was about 600 yds. out. My Dad was situated on the other side of the hill and couldn't see what was going on over on the side where my cousin and I were positioned. As the coyote came charging in, I surveyed the area and noticed two very small bald spots in the vegetation. I remember thinking that if I don't stop him in one of those spots, there's a very little chance that I'll be able to spot him in time to make a shot. As the coyote got closer, he bolted through the first bald spot before I had a chance to stop him. I told myself that I had one last chance to stop him before I lose this coyote. I hoped that he would go through the second bald spot and he did! I yelled "Whoo!" at the top of my lungs to try and stop the coyote and get his attention. The coyote abruptly stopped and I pulled the trigger on my 223 Remington chambered AR-15 a half a second later.

The next day I killed my third coyote as well. Right before it reached the apex of a hill on a dead run away from us. That's a story for another time, but I remember that it was that week of coyote hunting that really hooked me in. 8 years later and I can't get enough.
 
My first coyote i called was in high school with a buddy of mine. We had found an old electronic call of my step dads in the closet and threw some batteries in it to test, and sure enough it worked. It was one you set out, pressed play and let it go through its sounds. No remote. I believe we both 5.56 ars. We went to some land my family owned and found a metal water tank that was empty. We set the call out maybe 50 yards both climbed into the empty tank. The call went through its sounds and we set there fkr another 10 minutes in silent. Just about the second we were going to call it, 3 coyotes came in slow and looking right down the draw to our right. Once the front one stopped I put the crosshairs right on the chest and let one fly. We were both so amped up on adrenaline and surprised we had done it, neither attempted any other shots on the other coyotes. Since that day I've been hooked and spend way to much money on this sport lol.
 
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