great job Gregg, actually I was thinkin' bout this today in the woods, we have a silly law that allows me to use any caliber in a handgun, but not a rifle when the deer season is open, DS starts oct 15 and goes to dec 20, what would be a better cartridge .204 or 22-250? or ???
I have used both; go with your 22-250.
And you know me by now guys and gals, I always lean toward the heavier side on most everything to do with calibers and game.
Plenty swear by the .204 but I have lost a few that I felt my 22-250 would have SMACKED DEAD...
Coyotes are very very tough. I spent sooo muucch time hunting my coyote areas back in those days that I tell you this story in all good faith as it being the absolute truth.
One cold wintry day I was howling and a big old male dog came in, then winded me and turned to leave. My 52 grain Speer hollowpoint from my tried and proven Rem. 788 22-250 was already on its way as he turned, and to my horror it tore into his right rear leg.
Over an hour later, nearing sundown, I gave up the trail, though it certainly was not for lack of blood. As I turned back to the truck, my thoughts and spirits were as low as they can get. I truly respect the coyote; their intelligence and wildness and free spirit, in lieu of man's attempt to control them. I have spent countless hours observing them from far off with good glass, they are amazing animals. I do not hate them as some do. I felt as bad at wounding that one and losing him as I would with practically any big game animal; I hoped he would not suffer much.
Fast forward two years, same hunting area, same ranch where I had wounded Limpy; the name I gave him because he had survived and I had seen him a half dozen times the following winter as well as this winter, but never in a position to get a shot.
That morning, I walked out to a low rise that would give me a good set up for calling. After setting up and calling a while, with a wounded rabbit mouth call, two coyotes started in, and my heart started crazily thumping: the lead male was Limpy!
I put him in the crosshairs and pulled the trigger, and completely missed him! A gimmee shot, and I blew it! Maybe the tension was too high: getting another shot at Limpy after two years! Limpy kicked into afterburner, rocketing right to left across in front of me, on his three good legs. My heart stopped, but somehow I bolted another round of 22-250 into the chamber, and wildly put the gun up. I swung with him and then when the cross was just ahead, I jerked the trigger.
Limpy sommersaulted and finally, at last, lay still.
I felt like a jerk.
