April 2020 – we are all living under the apparent spell of C19, better
known as kungflu, or the Wuhan virus pandemic. And quite a bit of fake
news that goes with it all. At least in Arizona we are still allowed to
leave town, to escape into the woods. Just to get a change in scenery,
Mary strongly suggested we go camping. Simple stuff, just pack food for
two days, and beddings to sleep in the back of the 4Runner. Well, happy
wife – happy life. I converted the Toyota, packed water and stove. And
of course also firearm and ammo.
About midday we arrived what at one time was deer camp for Steve, Ron and
me. Nobody else around for miles. Mary simply is a hyper-miler hiker,
and soon took off to do her ten miles. I opted for lazy, plinked around
with my suppressed 300 Whisper – oops, Blackout. Brought along some gun
and hunting magazines and read some of those. Even prepared for a campfire.
Yep, that was before things warmed up Arizona style, which then ushers in
all those restrictions.
That evening I did sneak away from camp with the Ruger American over my
shoulder, but no ‘targets of opportunity’ showed up. The day wound down
with quiet time at the campfire and a little star gazing.
The next morning I woke up a little later than I wanted. So I hurried to
get my gear and again left camp, to the north this time. About a half
mile away I began looking for the ‘right’ juniper tree. And quickly
found one where I could stand and hide, yet have plenty of view. It
appeared to be a perfect morning, next to no wind, and temperatures barely
above freezing. There was a little ice on the dishes from the evening
before. Soon fake news echoed over the prairie. Fake news of a rabbit
struggling in agony, slowly dying. Fake news for something like a fox,
coyote or bobcat of an easy meal.
Having done this fake news thing way before somebody came up with the
label, the experiences ranged from a coyote bolting onto the scene while
still blowing the first squealing sequence, to nothing showing up at all.
Mostly the latter. Doesn’t matter. With the squealing the anticipation
grows. The first sun rays hit my tree when I was into the second fake
news paragraph. Then it got loud. About ten ravens found my noises too
interesting. Some landed in a nearby tree, some circled me. Know that
this bunch isn’t stupid. Soon they realized that the squeals are fake,
and they flew on.
I continued with my broadcasting. With every new attempt the
anticipation decreased. Mental games kick in: another failed attempt
to fake out a yote? How much longer should I stay here? Would I have
had more action if I had headed south from camp? Etc., etc.
Not sure what version of self-pity I was on when he showed up! The sun
made that coyote stick out like a light, even though he was what looked
like quite far away. And he just froze there. So, slowly the call came
back to my lips, and the fake rabbit struggled in severe agony again.
Except this yote was not impressed. He remained frozen, out there.
Now what?? Try calling one more time? If he turned and loped he’d be
gone in under a second. Somehow my brother’s words popped into my mind:
“Not shooting is also a miss!” I opted to slowly bring the Ruger to my
shoulder. At least I did have the scope all way down, in this case 4.5X.
As always, the heavy suppressor required definite lifting. But once the
crosshairs were on target, they remained there better. When they settled
at about the back of that dog I squeezed.
Fake News
|
The SigSauer belched, the supersonic Hornady hissed for what felt like
a long time. And then terminated into a solid whack – Kugelschlag!
The coyote collapsed in the back, then slowly fell over sideways in the front.
Down! And now he was just as frozen as when he was standing moments before.
I cycled the bolt, called some more. Occasionally one can fool a second
critter even after a shot.
Not this time. Besides, I can’t deny that I really wanted to know just
how far out there the yote had met my 110 grain Vmax, fueled by a max
load of LilGun. So I carefully left my hiding spot. Nothing behind me.
Couldn’t find the empty, either. I began my walk, counting the steps.
After 276 I was at the dead coyote.
It made my day. Only problem was that I had no camera on me.
Of course I had no more objections when Mary wanted to go camping again
the next week. And the week after that. You betcha each time I had the
Ruger along, and the camera. I needed another coyote for this story.
Guess what, they did not see it that way. But then Dan said he sort of
really could use a story for the next newsletter.
Meaning, this is all you gonna get, this time. Or, if the publisher were
to add some picture of a dead critter, it could be fake news.
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