Matt&Mutt
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The Coyotes of La Gringa
We were resting in the shade of the Jeep’s undercarriage, sombreros low and askew, flip-flops cast aside, entertaining a long siesta after a late
lunch of freshly purloined chocolata clams that had been steamed open in sea water and then sautéed in garlic butter and chardonnay. That is when the
first coyote wailings pierced the winds of La Gringa. At first it was difficult to pinpoint precisely from where the din was emanating, but it was
clearly coming from someplace very close by. With a quick binocular scan, a large and well-nourished coyote revealed himself, facing us from the dirt
road that parallels the playa at the base of the surrounding hills, perhaps a hundred meters from camp.
It was not standard coyote discourse, however, what this critter had to say—not simply a smattering of yips and yelps or even just a good heartfelt
howl. There must exist many different dialects in the coyote language, because instead this beast appeared to be articulating intense and unsettled
emotions in multiple vernaculars at one time. It was as if he was possessed or entranced, and was speaking in canine tongues; loud, nonsensical,
riotous, but with resolute conviction. For nearly half an hour he maintained his post and continued his diatribe. Conspicuously, the entire time his
gaze was intently focused on my pup, Kobe. Was he simply registering complaint at our intrusion onto his beach? Could it be that it was afflicted by
an unquenchable true love from the moment that he first laid eyes on Kobe—she’s very pretty—and the only respite from his distress was a public
serenade of his adoration? Was it that he held malicious intent; perhaps a ploy to draw the naive camp dog back beyond the dunes and into the desert
hills, to be ambushed by the rest of his ilk?
Nervous of the latter two possibilities, I endeavored to somehow encourage the return of our toothy caller from whence he came. On foot with the dog
at my side, we drew nearer to the coyote across the scrub plain that divided us. Near the halfway point, a distance of perhaps 50 meters separation,
the coyote did indeed set afoot. However, instead of an expected retreat, this bold animal actually began slowly moving down the road towards us,
stopped after several paces, and again held his ground! Now this was extraordinarily unexpected and bewildering behavior for a coyote—is it really
that fearless of humans or could it possibly be rabid?!? When backcountry in the States, a rifle is standard travel gear, and is very effective at
warding off pests of all types. That said, I have not since childhood shot a creature that I did not intend to eat, but a harassing gunshot and the
resulting groundspray tend to send uninvited company quickly on their way. Not legal in Mexico. A slingshot launching 3/8 inch steel shot, however,
is. The first round kicked up some rocks just in front of the coyote and had him do a little sidestep dance, but he still held his ground. The
second shot was a well-placed hit to the haunches and sent him springing up the hill with a start. Surprisingly, still he was not persuaded and again
stopped after a short sprint and turned towards us, even as I continued to approach. A third round kicked up more dirt and rocks nearby, close enough
to convince him of the imminence of receiving another sour welt on his hiney, and he finally trotted away, upwards past the “Welcome to La Gringa”
rocks, along the crest of the hill, and off into the desert towards his den. He learned his lesson and was never to be seen again. We thought.
Late that nite, the coyotes of La Gringa held an emergency conference. When the halfmoon approached mid-sky, the session mediator signaled the
meeting’s commencement with an abbreviated howl. In short order, all three of the coyote elders were in focused discussion. It began as most civil
coyote conversations transpire, with polite pauses between one another’s yipped or yapped statements of opinion, in order to properly digest the
meanings, desires, and intents that were put forth before responding. This assembly was different from most, however, in that it rapidly devolved
into a frenzied and thunderous harangue, in which all rules of etiquette were abandoned as each of the elders strove to make themselves heard above
the others. I am certain that the shore fishing was poor the next day because the coyote’s boisterous clamor scared the fish to the safety of deeper
waters. Eventually, the session mediator succeeded in returning order to the gathering. Voices were lowered, various ideas were exchanged, plans were
hatched and analyzed, and a consensus was finally arrived at. And so was decided the fate of the Grigos de La Gringa.
The first foray was a simple reconnaissance of the structure of the enemy camp, followed soon after by limited probing of its perimeter to evaluate
levels of adversary alertness and to test their primary defenses. From these early missions it was observed that the human outpost, though well
supplied with valuable edible booty, consisted of only two hombres who slept without overhead shelter, and a domesticated canine of medium size. The
recon was greatly facilitated by the artificial lighting that the enemy maintained in its outpost. Coyote scouts were reliably able to approach to
within 10 meters of the enemy camp without compromising their positions. It was determined that, although formidable during the day, after nightfall
the human’s slingshot effectiveness was greatly hampered by a lack of synchrony between the shooter and the shiner, who’s task it was to illuminate
the attacking coyote warriors with the little sun that he held in his paws. Importantly, their firing capability appeared to further degenerate with
the passing nighttime, in direct proportion to the intensity of the aroma of cheap tequila that was detectable in the air. It was also determined that
the humans could give chase at only roughly one quarter maximal coyote speed, and that although the dog could run faster than the coyotes, it was
routinely summoned back to camp after sprinting only a short distance beyond the outpost perimeter. What was entirely unexpected by the coyotes, but
proved to be only a minor nuisance, was that the enemy’s arsenal included Mexican cherry bombs that could be launched a significant distance and with
reasonable accuracy with their slingshot. Though no casualties were recorded from the multiple bombardments that ensued during these initial sorties,
this was important information to acquire. With a solid knowledge base of the enemy’s tactics and means, the coyotes went home to rest and prepare
for the final decisive assault.
So after nicking the singing coyote loco with my slingshot that afternoon, they were loud as could be later that night—I’d never before heard coyotes
so loud or so persistent in their orations. A couple of times later one snuck up on our camp, probably to raid the chow bags that we had out. I
couldn’t tell if it was the same coyote from the day before, but he even came as close as the back of my Jeep, which was parked only a few meters from
where we had our bags laid out. But I tossed a few good-sized cherry bombs into the desert after them and that seemed to have put a scare into them.
Since we had seen no trace of coyotes since chasing them with flashlights and slinging ball bearings and explosives at them the night before, or at
any time during the subsequent day, there was little question in our minds that we had ridded ourselves of the coyote problem….So we thought.
The next evening, after a tasty supper of fresh clams over pasta in a very nice creamy parmesan sauce—with a healthy pinch of basil, of course mucho
garlic, and just a touch of balsalmic--not long after sunset, while sitting around rubbing our tummies and catching up on some reading by headlamp, we
learned otherwise.
The coyotes came en masse. They came from behind the dunes. They came from down the beach—from both directions. They came in twos. They came in
threes. There could have been more, but it was impossible to spot them all before they disappeared into the vapors. We tried defending camp with the
lantern on and with the lantern off and flashlights in hand. I tried a counter-ambush with my slingshot in hand and loaded from within my Jeep, but
the coyotes, they just tucked behind the dunes and laughed and laughed and waited us out. We thought maybe it’d be a good idea to raise the tent, just
in case. In case of what, I’m not sure—some type of protection perhaps. Protection from what I’m not exactly sure. I’ve slept in the raw in Africa
with the sound of hyenas and lions fighting over a kill, or just fighting because they hate each other. But coyotes are not hyenas and will not pull
you out of your sleeping bag by your head while you sleep. Still, these coyotes were relentless. I don’t think the tent worked in our favor since from
inside we could only now see in one direction, towards the Jeep, the supplies, and the dunes from which the critters’d originally arrived. But now
they came from the beach, too, knowing that it was a safe approach. I’d sling steel at their beady yellow eyes in the desert darkness, but it was
impossible to tell what was a hit or not. And then they’d just turn their heads away and the camouflaged target disappeared from the flashlight beam.
I launched the last of my cherry bombs at them, encouraged that it might have some effect as it did the evening before, but nooooo, none at all. They
were back minutes later. They were not directly aggressive and they were silent, but they were ruthless in their invasions! Like flies swarming a
horse that has a cropped tail. And zero fear of the dog, the same pup that only two months ago chased 3 coyotes out of camp during a false dawn raid
on the exact same beach. In the dark, with an unknown number of coyotes on prowl in the immediate area, I wasn’t going to let her after them, and the
coyotes clearly knew this.
So we set a trap !! Yes! Genius !! We stashed the chow bags in the rig and put a bunch of dry dog food kibbles on the ground not 4 feet from the tent
opening, and we waited. And the coyotes waited. And then they came. I could hear footsteps on the tarp that underlies the tent and extends out on all
sides by only a foot or so. A coyote was walking less than a foot from my head, and from the dog, just on the other side of the nylon! By the time we
bolted from the tent, slingshots & flashlights on the ready, all we saw was the ass end of a coyote disappearing down the beach. So we waited
some more. And the coyotes waited some more. And we waited even longer. But coyotes can be very patient. And we fell asleep….
When primitive camping, there are the basic supplies, the essentials, that allow the mornings to proceed without crisis as the most pleasant time of
the day. One of these is a nice cool drink of water upon awakening. Another is the ability to conduct your morning ablutions, without hindrance,
shortly thereafter. Both of these are frustratingly compromised when you awaken to find that not only your water jug, but also your favorite roll of
quilted two-ply have simply vanished ! Further investigation found the dog’s food dish down the beach one way, her water dish down the beach the
other way, and a roll of paper towels missing. But my water and buttwipe, dammit ?!? Merciless!! Upon further scrutiny of the battlefield, it became
clear that—no, impossible--a plastic liter bottle of mescal was also amongst the missing !! There were coyote tracks everywhere—veritable coyote
highways. The coyote Ho Chi Min trail. A thorough walkabout located the water jug in the brush a hundred meters away, the top chewed off but
surprisingly still full of water, and the tp and paper towels chewed to pieces nearby in the gravel. But the tequila was never seen again.
We changed our plans and decided not to stay another night. As we drove away later that morning, exhausted from lack of sleep, disheartened with our
heads hanging a bit heavy, a little thirsty, unwanted pressures building in the gut, I could have sworn I heard tequila-laced laughter in the winds…
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Taco de Baja
Super Nomad
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Great story!
We have a semi-truce with the coyotes at our Pacific beach camp. We freely give them any left-overs from dinner, and they generally leave us in
peace. They fight more amongst themselves for the choice pieces of marinated shish-ka-bob, pollo asada, BBQed halibut, Tri-tip…One of their favorite
meals was a carcass of a smoked turkey
Truth generally lies in the coordination of antagonistic opinions
-Herbert Spencer
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oldlady
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Good read!
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Martyman
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Cherry bombs and steel shot?? Nice story but...dude! You need to calm down a little. It is their home. We are only visitors.
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oldlady
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Then let them be gracious hosts and leave the Charmin alone!
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longlegsinlapaz
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Exceptionally well-told tale!
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lingililingili
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Truly enjoyed your story, thank you!
•Life is just one damned thing after another
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Paulina
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Thanks MattyMutt, that was entertaining for certain!
\"Well behaved women rarely make history.\" Laurel Thatcher Ulrich
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mtgoat666
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Suggest you protect your dog. Coyote packs will eat your pup for dinner, and a lone dog cannot fend off a pack no matter the dogs size. Many coyotes
are adept at luring dogs away from owners, where they can be ambushed away from their owners. 
Also suggest you clean up your camp if you don't want mice and coyotes nibbling your prized TP and pop tarts. 
Furthermore suggest you learn to camp without harassing the wildlife. If you put away the food scraps and put away your appetizing dog, then the
coyotes will stop prowling for food. If you happen to camp right near a den, you really should move your camp, show some respect for the locals. 
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Tomas Tierra
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Only one thing to do Mattyymutt.....BIGGER EXPLOSIVES!!!!!
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woody with a view
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everyone's getting a kick outta this one, i'm sure!
i've had pangueros tell me that to meet a lone coyote face to face in the bush is not dangerous for the lone adult human. meeting two coyotes presents
a 50/50 situation. 3 or more coyotes and you will have a very good chance of spending your final moments fending off hungry coyotes until, well, you
know......
keep that in mind whilst wondering thru the desert. anyone here know of anyone to ever fight off three coyotes and live to tell?
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Barry A.
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Great story, and great writing!!!
I have been entertaining coyotes in my camp for over 50 years and have never been eaten yet. Just lucky, I guess. 
I did have a friend that was sleeping along side my truck near Catavina on the ground, and a coyote came into camp around mid-night and had a tug of
war with my friend over his food sachel------the coyote was winning until the commotion woke us all up and we discouraged the coyote with yelling and
a broom------he simply went off about 20 feet and watched us for a long time, then slowly ambled off to not be seen again. The food sachels were then
put on top of my camper that that solved the problem. This coyote was fearless!!! and really BIG.
You gotta love the wildlife--------and their resourcefulness!!
Barry
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woody with a view
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they are crafty, tough little critters. i'm talking more along the lines of breaking down and setting off alone or rockhunting, plant id-ing and the
like. when you and a group are camped out, the coyote can smell each of you and knows what it's up against.
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CaboRon
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Thanks Matt,
Great story ..... keep em comin'
CaboRon
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Skipjack Joe
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| Quote: | Originally posted by woody in ob
everyone's getting a kick outta this one, i'm sure!
i've had pangueros tell me that to meet a lone coyote face to face in the bush is not dangerous for the lone adult human. meeting two coyotes presents
a 50/50 situation. 3 or more coyotes and you will have a very good chance of spending your final moments fending off hungry coyotes until, well, you
know......
keep that in mind whilst wondering thru the desert. anyone here know of anyone to ever fight off three coyotes and live to tell?
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My wife and I had an experience suggesting that coyotes aren't that dangerous. We were traveling across the sonoran desert in arizona at the time.
Exhausted from the drive we finally pulled off at a rest area and just plopped down our sleeping bags about a hundred yards away.
The coyotes starting yapping sometime at night. Judging from their voices there must have been a large bunch. The sounds got louder and louder until
they were virtually right next to us. We just rolled up deeper into our bags and waited for them to leave. They never attacked us, although they could
have done some damage had they decided to do that as we were defenseless.
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Cypress
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Matt&Mutt, Thanks for the great story.
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