This story, “Varmint Calling Can Be Dangerous to Your Health,” appeared in the March 1983 issue of Outdoor Life.
The soft yucca leaves swayed gently in the cool fall breeze that was rapidly lulling me to sleep. The effects of driving all night from Mesa to that remote part of Arizona’s Fort Apache Reservation was taking its toll.
Then a sudden gust of wind rattled the tall, dry century plant behind me, and the noise startled me. I again started to coax softly with my predator call. I had only called a few seconds when another wave of drowsiness engulfed me. I made up my mind that if a coyote or bobcat didn’t respond in the next few minutes, I’d head for camp and some much-needed sleep.
As I let the call slip from my mouth, I thought I heard a rock roll below me, slightly to my left. I was wide awake in an instant. Years of calling experience had taught me to look to the side without the slightest movement of my head. To my amazement, staring in my direction over a patch of prickly pear cactus at a distance of a little less than 50 yards, was a magnificent bear. His jet-black coat glistened in the sunlight and his great head swayed slightly from side to side as he surveyed the situation.
At 10 yards the great black bear snarled, his canine teeth gleaming in the sunlight. I swore softly and whipped my rifle to my shoulder. In that instant, a sickening thought struck me.
I could hardly keep from laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. My two hunting companions, Jim James and Lester Bradley, were somewhere up on the mountain a few thousand feet above me, trying to call in a bear. There I was down in prickly pear country near the floor of the desert with a bear practically in my lap. I hadn’t the slightest interest in killing another bear, even though I had a permit in my possession and the Arizona bear season had been open for nearly a month. Through the years, I had exceptionally good luck at calling bears and with a couple of truly fine trophy blacks already mounted in my den, I had no desire to take another. I have been content for the last decade to call for friends who want to take a bear.
My inner laughter over the situation was extremely short-lived. The next 60 seconds or so completely changed my outlook on varmint calling.
The giant black reared up on his hind legs, searched intently for whatever was making the sound and then dropped back on all fours and methodically moved up the hill straight toward me. Again I chuckled to myself and decided to see how close I could call him in. Again, I started coaxing softly on the call. The bear was not in a hurry but plodded steadily uphill toward the spot where I sat concealed. He looked as big as a barn and I thought, “Man, most hunters would give their eyeteeth for a trophy like that.”
At 25 yards it got a little spooky, and I decided he was close enough. I reached down and picked up a small rock. As I tossed it at him, I let out a “Ya-a-ah” that could have been heard a mile away. The rock sailed over the back of the animal. I was sure that yell would send the big bear crashing down the mountain in full flight, but he reared up again on his hind legs and let out a deep growl that chilled me.
“Perhaps he still doesn’t know I’m a human,” I thought, and I jerked my camouflage hat and veil off with one quick sweep of my hand and at the same time squalled “Ya-a-ah, get out of here!” at the top of my lungs. The great bear dropped back on all fours and with that same unhurried, swaying motion, continued toward me.
It was unreal. I leaped to my feet and with the bear only 15 yards away, I snatched up a rock the size of a grapefruit and let fly with all the force I could muster and screamed “Ya-a-ah!” once again. The rock sailed harmlessly over his head, and the bear didn’t even pause.
I had heard all my life of the great speed of a charging bear, but the big boar never changed his methodical gait or took his eyes off me. Time seemed suspended and confused thoughts were running through my brain.
At 10 yards the great black snarled, his canine teeth gleaming in the sunlight. I swore softly and whipped my rifle to my shoulder. In that instant, a sickening thought struck me. My custom 7mm magnum was in my truck. All that stood between me and the bear was my .243 and 80-grain varmint loads.
I frantically tried to place the crosshairs on the great bear’s head but at that range, all I could see through my 4X Redfield scope was hair. I was in serious trouble.
At seven yards, the black crashed through a small prickly pear patch, seemingly indifferent to the sharp spines. He was exactly 15 feet away when my finger closed on the trigger. The animal stopped as though hit by a cannon and let out a bawl of rage and pain. I ejected the spent case and put another round into the chamber so fast that I was scarcely conscious I had done so.
I didn’t pull the trigger the second time because the giant black sank slowly to the ground without another sound. Blood began to trickle from a small hole just left of center between the animal’s eyes.
I stood there without moving a muscle, staring at the downed bear. I was in a trance for some time and I just continued to stare. Then my knees began to shake, so hard that I had to sit down.
A few years have elapsed since that morning, but I remember only too well my thoughts while I sat there shaking. Had the bullet hit the bear only a few inches from where it did, I would not have had time enough to fire a second shot.
I have been using a varmint call for nearly 25 years. Some say that it’s an obsession. That is exaggerated, but I do believe varmint calling is the most fascinating form of hunting, and that big bear demonstrated that calling can be dangerous. Anyone who thinks otherwise is either a fool or hasn’t spent enough time in the field. Novice callers should be aware of the danger.
The number of attacks on callers by animals is extremely low. I have called in literally thousands of animals and only nine of them attacked me, but I’ll guarantee that when a caller has one on top of him biting and clawing, the rarity of these attacks won’t mean a darn thing.
Consider the incredible experience of Ralph Stayner this past winter. Ralph, a friend of mine and a fireman for the city of Mesa, was calling north of Rose Well, adjacent to Arizona’s Hualapai Reservation. It was a crisp February day and Ralph was making his fourth varmint-calling stand of the morning with his back against a large alligator juniper tree. He had an unobstructed view of the slope down to the valley below him.
Ralph had been calling about 10 minutes when he glanced down at his son, Steve, who was sitting beside him. The 10-year-old shivered and tried to pull his coat a little tighter. It was the boy’s first varmint-calling experience, and Ralph wanted it to be a special day. He glanced at his watch. It was already 9:30 and the morning had been a complete dud.
He returned the call to his mouth and started coaxing again. Then Steve whispered, “Let’s go, Dad. Nothin’s coming.”
A movement off to the left along the right caught Ralph’s attention. What he had seen out of the corner of his eye were a couple of ravens heading straight into the call. “That’s enough of this,” he said to himself. At the same instant, he was struck a staggering blow on the side of the head. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed for the rifle that had dropped from his grasp. He caught hold of the stock, but as he straightened up, everything began to spin and his eyes refused to focus.
Still partially dazed, he staggered out from under the tree. For some reason, he expected to see a coyote running away. To his utter amazement, a large mountain lion was standing behind the juniper. The big cat was looking at Steve, who was peering wide-eyed around the tree. The cougar was so close Ralph just poked the rifle at it and fired without bringing the butt to his shoulder. The bullet passed harmlessly over the lion’s back. At the report of the rifle, the cougar whirled and took off down the ridge at a dead run. The cat had traveled only about 35 yards when Ralph’s second bullet caught the animal just behind the shoulder, killing it instantly. Considering the conditions, it was a remarkable shot.
Still partially dazed, he staggered out from under the tree. To his utter amazement, a large mountain lion was standing behind the juniper. The big cat was looking at Steve, who was peering wide-eyed around the tree.
In the excitement of the moment and his elation over downing a lion, Ralph forgot everything else. It was only when he heard his son yelling: “Dad, Dad, you’re bleeding, that he realized blood was streaming down the side of his head from two wounds. There was a third cut but it barely broke the skin. Undoubtedly, the heavy hat he wore helped cushion some of the blow but he took a pretty good wallop as it was.
I think Ralph accurately assessed the experience when he stated, “You know, every time I sit down to call now, I get an uneasy feeling.”
Those who call where there are no bears or lions often assume smaller predators pose no threat. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Coyotes, foxes and horned owls inhabit almost every state in the union. There have been numerous documented cases of attacks on varmint callers by all three of these predators. A big owl can inflict deep and painful wounds with its talons.
Two people I know, a husband-and-wife team of varmint callers, were calling just north of the Mexican border a few years ago. Four coyotes responded and attacked them with such fury that both had to be treated in the hospital emergency room. Because two of the attacking coyotes got away, the couple had to undergo treatment for rabies.
Strangely enough, of all the animals that respond to a varmint call, the fox is feared more by veteran callers than any other animal. I don’t know of a caller who has logged much time in the field that hasn’t been attacked by one of these gutsy little creatures. Callers sometimes joke about the stupidity of foxes because they are by far the easiest predator to call in. There is nothing funny, however, about being attacked by one.
A close friend of mine, Woody Holloway, is about the most versatile outdoorsman I know. For many years he was an outstanding taxidermist, and he is a well-known hunter.
One morning, Woody was varmint calling in the Tonto Basin area. He was attacked by a fox and was bitten on the forearm. Woody, who is as strong as an ox, snatched the animal up and killed it with a rock. Not the least bit concerned about the incident, he took the carcass of the fox home and put it in his deep freeze, intending to mount it later.
The following morning, after Woody had gone to work, his wife removed the animal and took it to the state health department. The fox was rabid. The treatment for rabies is painful enough, but to make matters worse, Woody was allergic to the serum, and for a few days his life hung by a thread. Woody’s experience was a near tragedy, and it drives home an important point. If an animal attacks, make every effort to kill it so it can be checked by the state health department. If the animal gets away, the only safe thing to do is undergo the painful treatment for rabies.
The attack by the bear started me thinking about protective measures that should be taken by varmint callers. And I was asked to lecture quite extensively on this subject throughout Arizona. This led me to develop what I call the four rules of varmint-calling safety.
Stay alert and always expect the unexpected
This is easy to say, but after a few unsuccessful stands, it is also easy to let your mind wander. Animals coming to a call have a strange way of showing up when the caller least expects them. Case studies of attacks on callers indicate that in most instances, the caller never saw the approaching animal until it attacked him.
Most of the animals that respond to a varmint call can be dangerous and one simply can’t afford to go to sleep at the switch.
Safety should be given top priority in selecting a stand site
Many important factors enter into the selection of a good site for a varmint-calling stand, not the least of which is the number of callers. Three callers can sit in a triangle and cover each other. Two hunters back to back can do an adequate job. A lone caller has to be careful.
A good stand should provide protection from the rear and on both flanks outside the area of peripheral vision. Callers could take a lesson from trappers and construct a V out of brush or rocks to funnel an animal to a given spot. One way is to place your back against a tree and then build walls protecting your flanks with branches and limbs. This may sound like a lot of work, but it really takes only a few minutes. This kind of stand also offers protection from winged predators.
Most callers try to select a good vantage point because calling success hinges on being able to see approaching animals. However, with a little ingenuity, a caller can protect himself and still see what he has to see.
Always have adequate firepower
This should go without saying, but many callers ask for trouble. I don’t have qualms about a caller using a bow and arrow on bears, provided he is backed up by a magnum rifle with real killing power. The same applies to those who call animals to a camera. I’m a staunch believer in having a shotgun handy. A 12-gauge shotgun with magnum No. 2 loads or buckshot is a lethal weapon at close range for everything I hunt, except bears.
At times it is good to have both a rifle and a shotgun available. However, the shotgun should always be in the hands of the caller when he is actually calling. This is especially true in thick cover. Keep the rifle within reach for long shots.
Develop awareness of abnormal behavior in wildlife
If an animal sees or smells a caller, it should beat a hasty retreat. If it does not, something is wrong, and it could be caused by rabies or some other disease. Do not allow the animal to get too close, and if there is any question about its intent, don’t hesitate to shoot. If this results in an illegal kill, report the circumstances to a game warden and pay the fine if one is imposed. In a serious case, your safety is more important than any fine.
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It’s also important to handle and skin predators with care. Bubonic plague carried by the fleas is on the increase in some parts of the West, and there are other dangerous animal diseases. A carcass should be allowed to cool before it is handled. According to the health department, fleas leave the dead animal in a matter of minutes. Make sure they don’t infest you. Another precaution is to wear a pair of gloves while skinning.
Varmint calling is a fascinating form of hunting, but a little caution can make it safer without lessening your enjoyment. It is true that few animals will actually attack, but there is no guarantee that the next animal you call won’t do so.
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