Reader-Submitted Story
A Night Written in Arrows
by Daniel Vervloet of Diamond City, Alberta
That moment when you hear footsteps moving in your direction is something every tree-stand hunter understands. The anticipation is unmistakable. You strain to identify what’s coming, heart steady but alert.
As legal shooting light was fading, I heard movement below me and soon spotted the first of nine coyotes slipping through the timber. There was no real surprise; moments earlier, I had heard their howls drifting through the woods, a fitting soundtrack for the nearing end of the day.
With my deer hunt essentially over, I shifted my focus to predator management as the coyotes filed beneath my stand. I waited for the optimal moment, bow drawn and angled almost straight down. When the first coyote stepped into position, I released the arrow. The shot was perfect. The coyote flipped through the air, yelped once, and fell lifeless among the leaves below.
The reaction from the rest of the pack was immediate and unsettling. They circled their fallen companion, howling in what felt almost ritualistic. Realizing there was nothing preventing another ethical shot, I seized the opportunity. Before I fully processed what was happening, a second coyote fell to the same fate. Panic and confusion erupted through the pack as coyotes scattered in every direction.
I glanced at my quiver, two arrows remained. I nocked another and waited. A disoriented coyote paused briefly within range, and I released. The animal bolted, leaving me uncertain of the hit. With one arrow left, I looked straight down and noticed yet another coyote that had been there all along, unseen until that moment. I took the shot, but again the coyote fled into the brush, leaving doubt behind.
Climbing down from the stand, it donned on me that I might have just harvested four coyotes with a bow, an extremely rare occurrence. I found my first arrow, the broadhead completely destroyed but the shaft intact. Dragging the first coyote toward the second, I stumbled across another intact arrow lying on the forest floor. I wasn’t sure which shot it belonged to, but I was grateful to have arrows again, knowing I might need to finish what I had started.
Tracking was chaotic. Blood trails crisscrossed the forest floor, making it difficult to determine a clear direction. As I tried to sort it out, I nearly walked into a wounded coyote leaning against a log at point-blank range. I made a finishing shot, pinning it to the log. In a final burst of energy, the coyote bit down on the arrow protruding from its abdomen, snapping it in half before collapsing, still held in position by the remaining half arrow. I then removed the coyote from the arrow and recovered my broadhead, dull but intact, I fastened it to my last arrow. Now I had one arrow left, and one coyote still unaccounted for.
Eventually, I picked up a decisive blood trail, but by then it was fully dark. My headlamp had died, leaving me to rely solely on the dim light of my phone. As I followed the trail, I became acutely aware that I was not alone. Coyotes watched from the darkness, growling and barking all around me. At one point, the growling was dangerously close. When I shone my phone in that direction, I realized it was the final wounded coyote, still mobile, but unable to escape even a walking pace.
The coyote turned aggressive, charging, snapping and growling. I backed away to create distance, then turned, nocked my last arrow, and drew my bow while holding my phone and bow in one hand for light. I couldn’t see my sights. At that distance, I relied purely on instinct, and the shot ended the threat instantly.
With four arrows, I had harvested four coyotes.
I hold deep respect for an animal that is so intelligent, resilient, and prolific across North America. Despite loose regulations, ongoing conflicts, and even bounties in some areas, coyotes continue to thrive. They play a significant role in the decline of small game and deer populations, and responsible management is necessary.
I do not take the life of any wild animal lightly. But in this moment, I felt a clear responsibility to do my part. What began as an ordinary hunt turned into an unforgettable night. One that reinforced both the seriousness of predator management and the respect owed to every life taken in the wild.
For the previous Reader Story, click here.
