It's not all posh stuff.

Longstrider

Well-Known Member
Satisfaction comes in many forms.
On my longest running permission the farmer had reported that foxes were starting to become a problem around the back of his house, in and around the horse paddocks and would I be able to "have a word with them ?" Now, this is a farm with no chickens or other fowl, where no pheasants are raised, reared, or shot, so Charlie is usually left alone here where he does little or no harm. However, a problem is a problem and the farmer knows that I have the solution ..
It tuned out that the best place to station myself was at the rear of the stable barn , erm... wedged in a tight gap behind a high wall between an adjoining wall and the stables muck-heap. What a salubrious spot to spend the evening ! :lol:
I set the Ecotec caller up on a fence post about 80yds in front of my shooting position and settled in. An hour or so of intermittent calling and scanning around with the lamp had produced no more than distant eye-shine that could have been anything from badgers, muntjack, foxes, CWD's, or moggies from the village. Then, from around a wall-corner not 20 yds in front of me ran a small vixen. She was so close that she was effectively under my searching lamp and I only caught a glimpse of her back as she ran across in front of me. A quick burst on the caller had no effect on her, she was off and away with no hope of getting the rifle on her. Swearing under my breath at a missed opportunity I settled back down to my routine, consoling myself that a vixen as often as not has a dog 'in tow', sniffing her trail in the hope of sweet foxy lo-o-ove.
Sure enough, about 20 minutes later, along he came, stopping, sniffing and scent marking every few yards. I let him get right in front of me and took a breath to give the customary "Oy!". I needn't have bothered. About 140 yds in front of me he stopped, sniffed, and stooped to make a satisfying 'deposit' on the grass. The .204 settled, rested on my left fist atop the wall and as he stooped the trigger reached breaking point. The 32grain bullet entered just below a line between his eyes causing large exit wounds either side of his neck. A textbook MUG shot :) (Moves Under Gravity), then as the echo of the shot returned from the far hedgeline the church clock behind me started to chime the hour. "Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee Mr Fox!"
By the time I'd dragged the fox back to the muck heap, rummaged in the long grass to find the caller which had blown off the fence post, and realised that my coffee flask was empty and all the pork pies were gone I decided to leave the rest of the evening to the true creatures of the night and the interminable drizzle that had by now soaked me and my kit. Home, a shower, and a hot dinner awaited my arrival so I set off in that direction.
Dinner ? Home-made venison lasagne from the muntjack I got 2 fields away from the muck heap last week. YUM :)

Who but a shooter could appreciate the beauty of an evening spent standing next to (and down-wind of) a steaming great pile of horse muck, in the drizzle and the wind, finished off with a wonderfully tasty meal made of self-butchered meat ?
 

foxdropper

Well-Known Member
If you do enough of that mate ,you will consider yourself one of the creatures of the night .
Good field of view is essential when foxing
 

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