Many years ago, when I lived in the UK, I was part of a small pheasant shoot. It was a small syndicate where we all chipped in and did our bit to have about eight days driven pheasant shooting in the winter. We would buy in pheasant pullets (young birds) and rear them up during the off season ready for our Saturdays of shooting in the season. Bags ranged from 20-50 birds depending on a few circumstances.
These circumstances ranged from weather to bad shooting and also if the birds had not been disturbed during the night or early morning. They would roost at night in the small woods around the shoot but one thing that could really mess them around was a fox. Hunting with hounds had not long been banned so fox control during the year was up to those members of the shoot who had rifles.
Most Friday nights in the off season were spent lying looking over recently mowed hay fields or combined wheat. The foxes loved to pay these fields a visit as many a rodent and rabbit was caught up in the mower or combine and left behind making easy pickings for any who visited. We were often rewarded with a visitor or two, which made the evenings being eaten alive by mosquitos worthwhile.
The other method was to go out with a lamp and see if you could find them in the dark. Their eyes would glow in the light and through the scope they were easy to identify. One of the guys had an old short wheel base Landover with a rail around, which we used as our chariot of fire. The team usually consisted of four of us. It sounds a lot but we all had a part to play. Obviously one was the driver, steady on the breaks and throttle. Another was the shooter, this changed from week to week to let everyone show their marksmanship skills. The third was the lamper, he would shine over the countryside with a spotlight looking in anticipation for eyes. The fourth and very useful person was the gate opener. Many of you may not know but there are lots of gates on a UK farm so even though not the most exiting job, it was very important.
Once a set of eyes had been spotted a flick of the light across the front of the vehicle would indicate for the vehicle to be stopped and turned off. Then the rifleman would identify and shoot if safe. Most foxes would give an opportunity and many would react to a squeak or a call. There were always a few who knew what was going on due to previous close calls or being with another who hadn’t been so lucky.
One such fox was very wary of the spot and the call. It would never come out of the wooded area, never giving anyone of us a chance of a shot. We saw it on many occasions but not once did we have a shot. Many a Saturday morning the team of beaters would go through a wood while the guns waited in anticipation at the other end only to find out the fox had been there before and the wood was empty bar a couple of birds.
We had to do something to get this blasted fox, as everything we had tried had failed.
One evening I sat and thought about it. I realised that we were never going to get it if we just carried on doing what we were doing. A change of tactics was needed. I decided that the following morning I would go out before sunrise and wait to see if I could catch it at first light heading to where it laid up for the day.
I was up and out of the house at 04:00. The sun doesn’t rise early in winter in the UK. That morning the winter had truly arrived and overnight we had had a few inches of snow and the temperature had dropped to -10 degrees centigrade (14 farenheit). I made my way in the darkness to a tree stand where I planned to execute my ambush from. I climbed the ladder and sat. The warmth of anticipation soon moved on as the chill slowly made its way in. The rays of sunshine started to come through and the snow covered ground began to sparkle. Nothing, not a sign of this wily creature. Surely it must be hungry on such a morning when so much energy had to be burnt just to keep warm. At around 09:00 I decided I had been beaten. Climbing down out of the tree I started making my way back to the warmth of the house. Half way back and nearing one of our pheasant release pens, I stopped. Hearing pheasant alarm calls, a couple flew out off the top of a small thicket at the top of a hill. Then there it was, walking slowly out into the sun. I quickly lay down and got the bipod extended. Suddenly it stopped, sat and started to look around while warming itself in the morning sun. Here was my chance. I pushed the safety catch of my .243win off and steadied myself, not wanting to blow the chance. Putting the cross hairs on its chest I slowly squeezed off the shot. It was a hit and my quarry went down. I sat up and watched as this red tyrant lay there in the white snow. I walked up to collect it and see the face of the creature who had alluded us for so long. It was an old female well past her best with a glorious red thick coat.
A couple of phone calls were quickly made to the others in the team who were incredibly happy we had prevailed and accomplished our goal. The season continued without further hiccups and the wood where I shot the old fox was a good one for the season. We had many more difficult foxes to deal with, which were also put to rest the same way as the wily old female but she was the one who taught us to change and think out of the box.
Hunting and Outdoor Adventures 