It's early March, and the once-whitewashed forest is now boney gray with dashes of ochre where a few oak leaves still cling precariously to twisted limbs. There is a fine snowfall sifting down, lightly covering the traveling nomad's thick winter coat and rufous tail-an echo of the colors of the woods. The coyote never stops its groundeating march, only pausing to nose under clumps of grass poking through the tired snow. Suddenly it stops, cocks an ear, and springs upward, pouncing into the snow with its front paws. Its sharp nose disappears and emerges with a mouse struggling in its jaws. A quick shake and a flip and the rodent is gone. This small blessing is hardly enough to fill its stomach, and the coyote continues on.
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Like it or not, the eastern coyote or Canid latrans, is here to stay in Maine. At an average of 35-50 pounds, they are considerably larger than those found further south and west. Their size, some believe, is because these coyotes may have interbred with wolves on their migration from Canada, 80 years ago.
The eastern coyote is an opportunist and will readily scavenge for any food it can find, but subsists mainly on rodents, grouse, turkeys, squirrels, hares, and deer. Predation on deer, however, is the most controversial issue burdening the coyote. Deer-kill during severe winters can be a gruesome affair, which anyone who has ventured into an established deeryard can attest. A state-run snaring program addressing this slaughter, keying on areas where deer herds are down, was suspended in 2003. This was in direct response to the federal listing of the Canada lynx on the Endangered Species list. The concern was that the lynx could be inadvertently snared along with other nontargeted species like bobcat and wolves. The Maine Audubon Society and humane groups also called into question cruelty issues, effectiveness, and the cost of this program.
Ultimately, studies have proven that bounties, snaring, trapping, and hunting have little effect in controlling coyote populations. These studies have shown that these adaptive creatures have a built-in biological mechanism, so that they react to any increase in mortality humans impose on them with larger litters or more litters per year. Some calculate that, in order to make any inroads in controlling coyote densities, 75% of the coyote population would have to be suppressed. With an estimated statewide population of between 15,000 and 20,000 coyotes, that's hardly possible.
Should small-scale snaring or trapping operations be reestablished in vulnerable winter deeryards and in areas with a serious decline in deer herds? Certainly, when there is a serious threat to a particularly vulnerable deer population. But with the scientific evidence suggesting such efforts are futile in the long term, the costs of such a program, and the opposition from wildlife and animal rights groups, I don't see it happening anytime soon.
A more pertinent issue to address may be the increase in coyote problems that Maine and neighboring New England states are experiencing. Coyotes in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut are becoming less fearful of humans and subsequently are not only scavenging garbage, but also dining on domestic cats and small dogs. There are three documented cases where coyotes attacked or bit humans, all in highly populated eastern Massachusetts. Reports of domestic pets and farm animals being attacked are also becoming a more frequent occurrence here in Maine. The best advice wildlife biologists are able to give us and our neighboring urbanites is to be "territorial" around coyotes and to try to scare them away with loud noises. That usually doesn't include guns, as most problem areas have firearm discharge ordinances.
So what can we in Maine do? Hunting could possibly keep these wild canids afraid of humans, discouraging them from gravitating to burgeoning neighborhoods to prey on Tabby and Spot. Coyote hunting, with the use of both handheld and electronic calls, is just taking hold in Maine and is already a huge sport in other states. Maine hunters are starting to fill the void between fall deer season and spring turkey season by taking up vigils on field and pond edges, attempting to coax a coyote into shotgun or rifle range. This is ultimately a sport and not a management tool, with the reward being the excitement of the hunt itself and maybe a lush pelt. You can hunt coyote year-round in Maine and there is a special night season from January 1 to April 30, limited to half-an-hour after sunset to half-an-hour before sunrise. Maine hunters are quickly finding coyotes to be extremely smart and challenging.
I live in a place where I hear the howl of coyotes at night, and have had pets come up missing. I've been awoken at night by the savagery of my laying hens being attacked. Yet I remember that these predators are driven by instinct, not malice. They are worthy of respect, deserving to be treated as the clever survivors they are, not persecuted like vermin.
The late afternoon woods sport long shadows as our intrepid coyote continues its mission. Its travels have brought it close to civilization and it pauses as a piercing, panicked scream breaks the stillness of the forest. Instincts direct it downwind of the sound and it sneaks along a stonewall that bisects a field, popping its head up to look for what it believes is a snowshoe hare in distress. It should see it by now, and is becoming suspicious. The bawling from the hare has ceased, and the coyote slows, its wet nose probing for scent. Then it sees something amiss, a shadow along the edge, and, at the same instant, catches that dreadful smell of MAN. In a flash, it is in all-out sprint, followed by a "KAPOW!"-then another. It makes it back to the woods untouched, yet educated.
I missed that coyote, but I certainly put the fear of man in him-and maybe even saved someone's pet cat.
Brad Eden is an artist, writer, Registered Maine Master Guide, and owner/editor of the online magazine www.uplandjournal.com.
