Got home from work at a reasonable time, and decided to see if i could get another fox off the marsh.
I'd previously set up a comfy perch about 10 foot up a tree on the side of a little copse about half a mile out on the marshes, and after putting out a pile of nice stinky rabbit guts out, I settled down to watch the sunset and daydream.
As the light started to go, I noticed a movement in the reeds at the edge of a dyke. I slowly brought the scope up and saw something small and brown coming towards me. Watching carefully, I eventually saw that it was a Yorkshire terrier. At the same time, I realised that my increasingly vivid daydreams about what was for dinner were prompted by a smell of frying bacon.
Following the smell, I realised that there was a caravan and 4x4 on the marsh on the far side of the wood. Discretion being the better part of valour, I walked back home to drop off the rifle before calling the landowner and going back with him.
We spoke to the carvanners who were not pleased to be disturbed when they were settling down to dinner, and thought that we were particularly unreasonable to expect them to move at that time of night. To get to where they were involved going through two gates along a half a mile of farm track, and through another gate onto a marsh full of bullocks. They claimed to have made a 'mistake' but were tucked into the only caravan sized piece of cover for miles.
We all know this sort of thing goes on, but I don't understand how that it could be pleasant - even if I had done it, I would be on tenderhooks all the time in case some angry person turned up.