Last night at midnight, I was walking along the edge of the field I'm pretty sure the recent coyote called from and saw two white eyes reflecting about 30 yards in front of me. I stopped and watched, while the creature on the other end checked out my headlamp. It became obvious that it was "doglike," as, among other clues, the animal kept sniffing the ground and slowly approaching. "Coyote," I determined. But what to do? I had achieved my goal of sighting a coyote in the field (though a recording would have been preferred), so I backed off. I'm sure the fellow would have yielded if I had approached, and not had me for a late evening snack. Right? RIGHT?!?
Since no one on the forum responded to my inquiry in regard to my wondering if I might be "had for a midnight snack" by one of these coyotes I've been luring up to my microphones (and am willing to offer a large contract to if he or she sings, mind you), I turned to my dear friend (a member of the forum who has asked to remain anonymous) and asked, "Al?" Oops. I just said his name. "Al? If one of these 'yotes I'm stalking out there in them woods during the wee hours of morn' is particularly hungry, might he have me for dinner??"
"Naw," sez Alfie.
"Gnaw?!?" replies I. "What's the difference?"
Thereby intimidated, I still went out the night Hanna blew through (Sat.) and set up the recorder (albeit close to my Silverado, in case I had to quickly retreat from a viscious pack). I recorded for two more hours and, with nary a yip made, I have now reached a total of six consecutive hours of yip-, yowl-, yippe yahoo-less tape. Drat. I keep returning to the place where the close and clear recording was made recently (posted elsewhere on the forum), and I know they're out there.
Case in point; I saw another coyote Saturday night (though Al insists I must have been dreaming, after I gave him the following account). "Naw," I explained. I had fallen asleep during the taping process, in the cab of my truck, safely tucked from hungry woofers, when I heard a plane buzzing low overhead. Awakened from my stupor, I watched the plane approach the field my gear was set up in and saw the single-engined soarer release a parachute from its bay. Scrambling for my binoculars, I saw the box drifting slowly to "an awaiting coyote!," the descending crate inscribed ACME -- or something of the like. It's hard to tell at night. I went back to sleep in the truck, but was constantly disturbed by sounds of hammering. This is where Al thinks I was dreaming, but at one point I came to and stepped out of the truck to stretch when, by golly, who but the 'yote was expelling itself from its hammered-together rocket stand and was atop the rocket and bulleting toward me with a knife and fork in hand! Luckily, I have quick reflexes and ducked just before impact. I won't tell you what then happened to the coyote ... LOL! ... but it sure wasn't pretty!
If all goes as planned, I'll be back out to catch some more yowls this Saturday night. I ain't afraid of no 'yotes.
Bill