A hunter needs more than just skill and smarts if he wants to bag a predator as cunning as the southeastern coyote. July 1, 2024, was supposed to be just another day in the woods with my buddies, but boy, did it turn into one hell of a ride.

The plan was simplicity itself: all we’d do was set up between these two wood lines, call in some coyotes, and blast them. Nothing could have gone wrong, or so we thought.

Just as we turned on our caller, we heard something from the exact direction our guns weren’t pointed at. 50 yards behind us, this huge male started howling in reply to our caller. He was so close I could smell his musky coyote scent.

With something between a yell and a whisper, I called for my buddy Zack to "grab that damn call!" as we tried to sneak across the moonlit field as quietly as church mice. The last thing we wanted was to be upwind of that coyote, and we couldn’t use any lights to find our way through the brush, since coyotes, being the keen, sneaky bastards they are, can spot a flashlight from a mile away.

Then it all went to hell. I was loaded down like a pack mule - tripod on my shoulder, rifle at the ready with my fancy Pulsar Thermion 2 Pro XP50 thermal riflescope mounted on top. I was creeping along when suddenly - WHAM! I was at the bottom of this eight-foot pit I never saw coming.

My gun crashed down on top of me, and I swear I felt my scalp split open. But worse, it landed right on my Pulsar Merger XP35 thermal binoculars hanging around my neck. There was blood all over the lenses, and I thought, "Great, there goes five grand worth of gear."

But there was no time to cry over spilled milk (or blood). The damn coyote was still coming, so I had to pull myself together. I set up my gear faster than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest, praying to God above that my equipment still worked.

I hit the power on my Thermion 2 Pro XP50, and hallelujah, it fired right up! In less than a minute, I spotted that mangy mutt bounding towards us, mad as hell and ready to rumble.

I looked through that scope, hoping the fall didn't knock it outta whack. The coyote stopped for a split second, and I didn't hesitate. I squeezed that trigger, and with a loud BOOM, I sent that varmint to the coyote afterlife.

Looking back on that crazy night, I gotta tell ya - good gear is worth its weight in gold. My Pulsar stuff took a lickin' and kept on tickin'. That Thermion scope was tough as nails, and my Merger binoculars, even though they were covered in blood still managed to work like a charm.

So, whether you're a seasoned pro or just starting out on your coyote-killing crusade: don't skimp on your gear. When you're face-to-face with one of these chicken-stealing, garbage-eating mongrels, you'll be damn glad you shelled out for the good stuff. 'Cause in the end, it's not just about shooting straight - it's about having gear that won't quit when the chips are down and the coyotes are closing in.