Imagine my shock when, at scarcely shooting light on a cloudy morning hunt, I looked out between the hay bales I'm sitting behind to see a coyote mere yards away. As he crossed directly in front of me no more than 25 feet out, I grabbed my 327 Encore - which was lying atop the bale in front of me - stood it up, stood slightly to find the coyote through the scope, and fired quickly before he could figure out the danger he was in. The coyote bolted down the hill towards the woods as sprigs of hay flew up all directions, and I realized that my bullet plowed through about a foot of densely packed hay, but not what I was aiming at. A thorough search yielded neither hide nor hair of the coyote.

This has not been my year.