Part of the joy of predator calling is sharing it with friends. Vic and I recently made a hunt with two fellas that we've known since grade school, and had a barrel of fun doing it. Since these fellas have jobs and families and live in Big Cities, they don't get to call casually like we do, and as a result they get a little confused sometimes when coyotes come to the call, seemingly out of the ground, and sometimes at a high rate of speed, but what they lack in experience they more then make up for in enthusiasm.

We made this hunt back behind Bowie, AZ, in a great big piece of open country containing mesquite tangles, sandhills, greasewood and yucca flats, and a ton of little twisty two-track dirt roads that let you go about anywhere you wanted to.

At night, in camp, there was a mesquite fire, charred steaks, and a big old full moon overhead for look'in at when the talk ran out (which ain't often with these guys) good conversation, and coyotes howling in the brushy bottom a mile or so away.

Mike and Greg both got to see some coyotes, and they shot a few and missed a few, and at the end they both pronounced the experience well worthwhile.

Of course, anything that takes you the hell out of Phoenix or Philadelphia has to be lots better than a sharp stick in the eye, one would think.