CAN HUNTING PREDATORS BE SUSTAINMENT TRAINING?

Before I knew it, the coyote was gone. Spooked. And just like that, all the time and effort I had put into this hunt vanished with him. Frustration hit me like a gut punch. I glassed him moving along the ridgeline—then he paused just before the road intersection at 420 yards. At first, I cursed. That’s too far. But then I thought—is it really? Up to this point, all my military training had worked as expected. Just a couple of weeks ago, my platoon and I were hitting steel from standing at 400 yards. Confidence started creeping in. I can make this shot.

I scanned my surroundings. I could drop into the prone position here. That would give me the stability I needed. If I shot from the prone, I knew I had this. I grabbed my rifle and settled in. Now, I’m not sure if the coyote was just too comfortable or completely oblivious, but he sat there, staring at me. I ran through my shooter’s checklist—an abbreviated version, admittedly. Dialed my dope for 400 yards. Checked the wind—nothing major. Slow. Steady. Squeeze. Boom. That was the moment I realized how much my range training carried over into real-world hunting. Let’s rewind.

Sitting in a classroom at Basic Reconnaissance Course, I was half-listening to a lecture on concealment. Blend in with your surroundings. Match color patterns. Break up your outline. Concepts I understood but didn’t fully appreciate. Fast forward to my first deployment workup. Shooting drills. Patrol exercises. A senior operator in my platoon asked me, “If you were the bad guy, where would you attack us from?” A valuable lesson, but one I didn’t truly put into practice until I started predator hunting.

I started researching coyote behavior, reading every forum I could find. What stood out? All the recommended gear—tripod, rear bag, precision rifle—I already had. It was the same kit we used on the sniper range. The only thing I needed was a coyote call and a decoy. That next weekend, I drove out to the middle of nowhere, set up, and called as loud as I could. Nothing. Disappointed but not defeated. This pattern repeated for weeks. Frustration set in. I needed to change my approach. Was I getting spotted on approach? The next time, I wore my ghillie suit top and avoided natural lines of drift. Coyotes are smart. If they sense danger, they’re gone. Once I made the connection between concealment lessons and hunting, things started to click. I started spotting more coyotes. More importantly, I started applying these tactics in real-world observation positions.

Now, I knew how to stay concealed. I knew how to control their movement. But I was missing one final piece. Then, it all came together. I set up my call, got into position, and a coyote came charging in. 320 yards—ranged, checked my Kestrel, dialed. Gone. 275 yards—ranged, dialed. Gone again. 375 yards—ranged, dialed. Watched him disappear. I was furious. I should have pre-ranged these landmarks and memorized my holds. Lesson learned. This time, I planned everything: planned my concealment route, positioned my call with the rising sun at my back, found cover between two bushes, ranged key landmarks, and hung a gutted piece of paracord from my tripod to check wind.

This time, I was ready. The coyote appeared on a far ridgeline, ears perked toward my call. He started closing in. 600-yard marker. 420-yard intersection. Yellow bush at 300 yards. Close enough now that I could see his ears twitching, his eyes locked on the call. I shifted slightly to get in position, but I had forgotten the call remote was in my lap. It fell—battery cover popped off—a loud clatter in the silent landscape. The coyote froze. Eyes wide. And just like that—gone. I sat there, emotions swirling. But then I saw him again, pausing at the 420-yard intersection. Was that too far? I steadied myself. Dropped into prone. The coyote just sat there, staring. Checklist. Dope for 400. Wind conditions. Slow. Steady. Squeeze. Boom. A 175-grain .308 hit center mass.

That was the moment I fully grasped the connection between training on the range and hunting in the field. From that point on, it wasn’t just my training influencing my hunting—my hunting started refining my tactical skills. At work, I overheard guys calling me some kind of “tactical ninja.”

Nah, dude. I’m just a coyote hunter.

Final thoughts: Hunting sharpened my tactical skills in ways the range never could. Understanding terrain and concealment made me a better hunter AND operator. The best way to test your training? Take it to the field.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steve Holland discovered his passion for shooting early with pellet guns and .22s in the Boy Scouts, a foundation that served him well when he joined the Marine Corps in 2005. After volunteering for Recon and deploying to Iraq in 2006, his skill with a rifle earned him advanced sniper training, including courses under renowned instructor Todd Hodnett. He deployed again as a sniper and team leader, later becoming a Master Instructor at the Reconnaissance Training Center and continuing to refine his craft. After returning to 1st Force Recon and completing both the Marine Corps Basic and MARSOF Advanced Sniper Courses, Steve transitioned to the Marine Corps Reserve, where he began teaching precision rifle skills to civilians, law enforcement, and military personnel. When the Recon Sniper Course launched, he was selected as an instructor and named Best Instructor during his first course. Steve retired in 2024 and now works as a firefighter in California while staying active in the hunting and long-range shooting communities. Steve also works as an instructor and safety officer for The Cadre, a training company specializing in long-range shooting.