Ever have those days that everything just feels so right for a hunt. The wind is perfect, your inner spirit that connects with the outdoor world feels completely engulfed with each other intertwined in harmony. Nothing can go wrong, you set up on stand and throw screams into the airwaves that carry into the realm of the coyotes world. And like a midnight dream the coyote appears as a ghost completely entranced to the song your singing, trotting in like a pure breed racehorse clueless to the impending doom. He stops and takes a seat, swiping the air with his nose looking for the encore. It’s perfect, 140 yds out, the canvas is white, the moon is full, the subject is still as a rock. Then it happens, the click on an empty chamber, the pin drop , the scratch in the record when the music stops, -10 below and the echo across the land sends your failure out there for all to hear, while the subject heads for cover. Murphy’s Law has arrived. Being so pumped to get out on the stand I forgot to rack a round in the chamber, no matter how hard I pleaded with wiley who was lurking in the shadows of the pines he would only talk trash. For 45 min. we sassed each other but to no avail, ol’ Murphy made his mark.
It’s happened to all of us and seems that no matter how hard you try and double check, triple check to make sure all your ducks are in a row, sooner or later Murphy’s law shows up. Why? I don’t know, could be your so entranced or excited to get to the stand or constant repetition that your mind already check listed before your body acted, or just one of those things you can’t control, the unexpected. Either way in both scenarios there seems to be nothing you can do once the deed is done, but sit in awestruck complicated emotion muttering to yourself.
As I did, one morning perched upon a ridge overlooking a river I’ve called and sent many a coyote to never never land. A pair of coyotes trotting in with bad deeds on their mind that was being fed with blood curdling bunny cries. It was perfect harmony, falling together as planned. Dropping the cross hairs on the lead dog, the .243 following it in like a well trained bloodhound. Touching the trigger to light the fire, the dog hit the ice as if you cut the strings on a puppet. Delighted I raise up to take a bead on the fleeing accomplice only to find much yardage had past and brush had grown in the seconds after the homicide.
Then it happens, I realize Murphy’s law had paid me a visit as the corner of my eye catches a glimpse of the deceased scooting to cover. I felt the blood rush from my brain to my stomach. I MISSED????!!! HOW COULD THAT BE???? THAT DOG WAS DOWN!!!
After regaining my composure atleast what could be regained. I went to the spot the dog had fallen. The story in the snow told of my failure. The ice was slick as grease under the snow, and I could see where the coyote attempted to turn in an instant but the feet failed to grab and went out from under her, the bullet at that moment had hit the ice inches behind her last track, which in turn triggered her turning response. Her chin hit the ice as she went down knocking her out. My failure wasn’t realized until it was too late. I did not stop the dog before I shot, which in this case was crucial as she was coming straight on while looking down on her and not leading. I got caught up, too confident in the moment forgetting one crucial piece of the game plan, the “BARK” that stops them for the shot. With my head hung low I headed back to the truck empty handed, taking this lesson in to the fullest and muttering to Murphy.
Where Murphy paid a visit.