By Jacob VanDeman
While wolves, gators, panthers, bears, and sharks seem like a formidable foe to almost any rational adult in North America, something about a coyote seems diminutive and doesn’t garner the same amount of fear and respect. When was the last time you heard of someone carrying a large caliber sidearm or pepper spray in the eastern deer woods?
Coyotes are in the same family as wolves and possess the same carnivorous set of teeth and respectable set of claws, but their prey is usually rabbits, rodents, birds, and house pets, like little fluffy designer dogs owned by suburban housewives. They are also in the same family as dogs and a big coyote might only weigh as much as 50 pounds, not much bigger than a medium sized dog. Attacks and fatalities from coyotes aside from rabies are almost unheard of.
Still, most people aren’t out looking to pick fights with a coyote, let alone a pack. Of course, the adult human male, being the exceptional creature he is, often daydreams about extreme hypothetical situations of danger and adventure he might encounter and how he would heroically respond to such challenges. If you are in the Southeastern U.S., the most dangerous thing lurking in the woods is coyotes or meth heads.
Hypothetical battles with potential danger replays over and over in the minds of many men, sometimes different scenarios and versions playing out, but it always ends the same. While scratched up and bleeding, you come out victorious and applauded by other men and desperately pursued by gorgeous women. Most people are smart enough to keep these thoughts to themselves. I, however, am the exception.
The story begins like most great stories, at a remote deer camp somewhere in the United States of America.
During the 2009 season, I was physically in my prime and a formidable specimen of the male species. I was on a football scholarship and my full-time job was training to battle grown men, some over 300 pounds, in the trenches. I could lift heavy weights, run fast, change directions quickly and jump high. All of these skills are highly valuable to possess if you intend to battle nature.
Most of my battles were rather pedestrian and consisted of walking on manicured paths in the dark to climb a tree and wait for an unsuspecting whitetail. The imaginary battles in my mind were much more intense.
At camp each night, we discussed our sightings over a warm meal and in the comfortable confines of a wood-stove-heated cabin. While coyotes had always been present on the property, that particular year had a higher population than usual accompanied by an increase in aggressive behavior.
More than one member of our camp had witnessed coyotes chasing full grown deer—including mature bucks. One incident involved a sizable buck being chased by two coyotes, with its hide peeled back on its hind leg.
Of course, via my imagination I inserted myself into a similar situation where I was confronted by two coyotes in the dark as I walked to my tree stand. The rest of the scenario involved glowing eyes, gnashing teeth, my arm shoved in the mouth of one up to the hinge of his jaw so he can’t bite me, while thrusting my fixed blade broadhead into the chest of the other. I also incorporated a couple haymakers and a chokehold for good measure. Everything was hypothetical at that point, and I had a real battle on my hands.
Having let this scene play out in my head, I confidently spoke up: “If I had to, I think I could take on one coyote pretty easily and probably as many as two. Any more than that, and I don’t think I could take’em.” Everyone laughed, we continued telling stories, and we turned in for the night.
The next evening was much the same. We sat in the dim, lantern lit cabin telling stories over a warm meal and drinks. The cabin is in a floodplain and is elevated on stilts. Below the cabin is storage and a makeshift bathroom with plywood walls/tarps for a wind-block.
In the normal course of an evening, I have to get up to use the restroom. My brother, anticipating this, said, “The weather is perfect. You know what’s nice? Bringing a hunting magazine down to the toilet and reading while taking a dump.”
Hmmm. That did sound nice. Without hesitation, I grabbed a headlamp and magazine and made my way down the stairs. When I turned the corner, and direct my headlamp to the bathroom entry, I found myself face to face with a large, snarling coyote. He was bigger than I imagined. His eyes were glowing and locked on mine, exactly like my fantasy battle. His teeth were even bigger than I imagined, and blood dripped from his mouth, like he just finished eating a fresh kill. After a face-off that felt like eternity and pondering my next move, I turned and sprinted back up the stairs.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I found my brother laughing uncontrollably. With my adrenaline still high, I explained he was in danger and there was a ravenous coyote below out for blood. He continued laughing despite my warning, and I insisted I almost got attacked by a real coyote just seconds before. At about this time, it dawned on me this may have been an elaborate prank.
Once he stopped laughing, he explained he shot the coyote with his bow a few hours earlier, dragged it back to camp and positioned it near the bathroom entry. He also pried its mouth open with sticks to display its teeth.
Should my highly unlikely hypothetical coyote fight scenario ever present itself, I can now personally say I’d turn tail and run.
