Having read so much of this thread and enjoyed it, I feel I must keep it rolling on with one.
The Hunted:
I've hunted mid-western whitetails for several years, and had no shortage of encounters with coyotes, from taking shots at them with the bow, to being followed just out of the lamplight when dragging a deer. The howls now chill my spine every time, but it was not these experiences that make me feel that way, but an incident a few years ago in Wyoming.
The previous year I'd been lucky enough to hunt elk in Montana and Wyoming, done it tough, but learned a lot, including finding a nice couple of honey holes. I'd driven in a long way from other access points and been camping deep in a National Forest. Found a nice spot to camp vacant, and set up a wall tent. The mission for the trip was to learn more about elk behavior and hunt a cow elk with a bow in September. I was a few years away from drawing a WY general elk, and so wanted to familiarize myself with the area. I'd had some initial success but kept finding bugling bulls rather than cows, and all in places that you really wouldn't want to try and retrieve an elk from - dead fall, thickets and steep timbered slopes that worked every tendon and fiber of my muscles. After several days, I'd covered alot of miles, but it wasn't until I got late into the trip that I finally encountered a cow elk and twigged to what was going on - there was a group feeding and watering in a nearby meadow to my camp, but disappearing into a canyon as soon as they heard ATVs from other hunters echoing each morning before light.
So I worked through the edges of this meadow looking for sign and found a promising area of deadfall that seemed to have heavy sign of elk passage. As I examined it more closely, there was a good indication that the elk were walking past it in what I assumed to be the first few minutes of light. It was about a mile from camp, so I rose early, to set myself in ambush. It was about 2.5 hours before light. I got in quietly just in case I'd mis-judged the timing, and sat in the frosty morning air awaiting the sunrise. Something howled at a distance, echoing off the canyon walls, and I thought little of it other than how cool the echo sounded. But then it was joined by another, another and more until it seemed to be a constant rolling echo. Then they started to yip, and this being an area with wolves, and not having heard behavior like this I wasn't sure what exactly I was dealing with. The howling and yipping was coming closer, and fast, these things were on the chase of something...and I could hear them cresting each ridge and funneling through each draw as they grew closer and closer.
At this point, I was getting uncomfortable. I'm a big guy, but I only had a bow and my 357 on me, loaded with 180 gr buffalo bores for the guys in the big brown suits, and I wondered would 6 shots being enough given how many of whatever these hunting animals were that were coming close. Then the pursuit seemed to stop, really close, and the howls lit up above my ambush point, chilling me to the core, the same feeling I now get back east.
I balked - a hunting pack, baying for blood that was now close to me, a solo hunter who really wasn't prepared for this situation. I drew my revolver and turned on my headlamp to see at least 40 sets of eyes all along the ridgetop above me, looking down and focused on me - effectively triangulating my position. Trying my best to avoid panicking, I kept my head up and the light on the ridgetop illuminating their eyes and picked my stuff up, and backed down the hill...watching as they would take a few steps, then pause and seemed reluctant to follow, unsure of what I was. As I backed through a small draw and up to another little ridge, it seemed like I crossed an invisible line. As one, they turned parallel to the ridgetop, and began to howl and yip and resume the chase of whatever it was they were pursuing.
Backing off the ridge I ran like I've never run before. I was fit enough from a lot of preparation and perhaps 40 miles at altitude over the past week that I was hurdling dead fall left and right in the pre-dawn light. My headlamp sputtered and failed perhaps a quarter mile away from the site of the encounter. I made it back to camp at a pace that seemed unearthly fast. Arriving at my camp the come down hit, and I jumped into the car and spent the next hour trying to regain my breath I fell to pieces. As light came, I promptly packed up camp and got the hell out of there...feeling incredibly lucky to have not ended up the hunted.
Nowadays I bring a high capacity semi-automatic with me at all times when hunting, or if hunting with another in bear country have one armed with the revolver and backed up with spray for bears, and the other with a higher capacity semi-auto just in case I'm troubled again by the wolves/coyotes. Maybe not the scariest story, but still spooks me writing it.