Back from the hunting trip. It was only a few days, only really went out for geese once, spent the later evening wandering the field with a shotgun, hoping to kill something. Took a few pictures along the way to document my adventures.

(1) My dad and uncle got this coyote when they were going from pond to pond jumping ducks. My uncle had some special shotgun shells, they’re supposed to be able to take a coyote out at 150 yards. They got this one at about 40.

(2) I set up in the shadow of a hay bale, which you can see behind me. I had a coyote call (it’s supposed to sound like a dying rabbit, which basically just sounds like a crying infant) and a lot of time to kill.

(3) This was the hunting ground! You can’t see it in the picture, but I had three goose carcasses spread out along the tree line, in the hopes of tempting a coyote to come out for some free lunch. It requires a lot of patience. It was really relaxing to just sit there, but the wind was pretty high. Every time I looked in one direction, the wind blew particles from the hay bale behind me into my eyes, which basically blinded me. No good.

(4) My supplies. Smokes, a radio, a 12 gauge, and some ‘Dead Coyote!’ shells. I had a belt on with some bird shot, which would come in handy later. You don’t want to shoot birds with coyote shells.

(5) After an hour and a half I just got bored and decided to walk around. While I was walking along the perimeter of the field, I heard some rustling in the cut hay stalks by my feet. I looked a little closer and found this little guy. At first he ran away, but I took a few steps after him and he turned around and stood up on his hind legs. I reached out my foot and prodded him with my toe, and he attacked my boot, but gave up when he realized it was too tough. Brave little guy. He just stood there and looked mean until I got bored and walked off.

(6) and (7) Found evidence of beaver activity near the edge of this little pond I found. Tons of wood chips laying around, and a few stumps and felled trees. Pretty interesting to me, only because I’d never seen a beaver’s work first hand.

(8) and (9) In a flash of forethought I replaced the Dead Coyote! shells in the shotgun with some smaller bird shot. Skirting the edge of the pond, I heard the noise of dozens of flapping wings. Looked up and saw a cloud of about 40 birds taking off. I never even knew they were there. I fired into the middle of the cloud and dropped 9 of them, but they landed just at the pond’s edge. I didn’t have any waders, so I had to call my dad to come over in the quad with his waders on and scoop ‘em up for me. I only breasted four of them, enough for a decent stew. This type of bird is called an American Coot. Small breasts in them, but the meat’s as good as any other.