Deeply engrossed in my "Lockdown Project" and looking forward to the first test firing of 300 watts into each driver via a pair of custom crossovers, the ping of my phone afforded the opportunity to stretch my 63-year old knees. The text message was not good news as it simply read: “Away in Cumbria and a fox has got past the electric fencing and killed 19 hens. It would be great if you would shoot it please!”
At any other time I would have welcomed the opportunity to prove myself the finest fox stalker that ever strode the Greensand Ridge with rifle & single stick but lifting the former was not uppermost in my mind due to a nasty ear infection that has reduced my hearing by 50% and is more painful than a roe buck’s kick to the nadgers. But I like to please so the alarm was set for 4AM and an early night assured.
I arrived at the farm well before first light and was relieved to find the gate still opened to my access code as I seldom visit in a vehicle but rather walk down into it from an adjoining estate. Once parked I unwrapped the K250 and loaded it with 5 lovingly prepared rounds given of a delightful 87g ballistic tipped head, and set off for an ancient oak that affords very good but not perfect visibility of the various electrically fenced hen runs. A number of fallen dead braches provided the perfect backrest as I sat down and setup the PRS Hunter on a pair of lightweight Predator Sniper Styx.
A tumble of pipistrelle bats dive-bombed me as I glassed the surrounding area with my trusty but neck-breaking Zeiss 8X56 Night Owls. Some 200 yards away a barn owl patrolled the hedge-lined ancient cart track that separates the lower section of the farm from the high ground that constitutes the Greensand Ridge. It had been a long time since I had seen a barn owl and it felt good. The Zeiss bins cut through the gloom with their usual magic and enabled me to see a number of hens moving unhurriedly about their business. Very soon all evidence of night lifted and it was very clear this was going to be a waiting game of potentially many hours if I didn’t get lucky. I made no attempt to call a fox with my Nordik Plain Pain.
At 7:30 I decided to stalk the farm but not before moving closer to the encircling fence and spying into those areas below my current line of sight. Even as I folded the sticks and put on my fanny pack I thought I could detect agitated sounds from one or two hens but couldn’t be certain. My worst fears were however confirmed by the time I got to the fence as I could clearly see a hen in flight and shortly after a young racing snake of a fox latch onto it! The game was a foot but as soon as I tried to find a suitable rest for the rifle, either over or though the fencing, to get a shot off at what was some180 yards I received a belt from the electric fence which did nothing for my composure! Moving a little closer (down the fence line) was of no more help as live wire coverage is exemplary and in the end with God knows how many volts tracking through the K250 and/or my damp gloves I took a hurried moving target-like shot as the fox trotted proudly towards the hen house with his 2nd kill of the day. Down he went and with the victim still in mouth. The exit wound made clear the shot was further back than I intended but I wasn’t planning to eat the critter and especially now I had two tough old birds for next Sunday’s Lunch!
My text to Cumbria with 'evidence' went down rather well:
K
At any other time I would have welcomed the opportunity to prove myself the finest fox stalker that ever strode the Greensand Ridge with rifle & single stick but lifting the former was not uppermost in my mind due to a nasty ear infection that has reduced my hearing by 50% and is more painful than a roe buck’s kick to the nadgers. But I like to please so the alarm was set for 4AM and an early night assured.
I arrived at the farm well before first light and was relieved to find the gate still opened to my access code as I seldom visit in a vehicle but rather walk down into it from an adjoining estate. Once parked I unwrapped the K250 and loaded it with 5 lovingly prepared rounds given of a delightful 87g ballistic tipped head, and set off for an ancient oak that affords very good but not perfect visibility of the various electrically fenced hen runs. A number of fallen dead braches provided the perfect backrest as I sat down and setup the PRS Hunter on a pair of lightweight Predator Sniper Styx.
A tumble of pipistrelle bats dive-bombed me as I glassed the surrounding area with my trusty but neck-breaking Zeiss 8X56 Night Owls. Some 200 yards away a barn owl patrolled the hedge-lined ancient cart track that separates the lower section of the farm from the high ground that constitutes the Greensand Ridge. It had been a long time since I had seen a barn owl and it felt good. The Zeiss bins cut through the gloom with their usual magic and enabled me to see a number of hens moving unhurriedly about their business. Very soon all evidence of night lifted and it was very clear this was going to be a waiting game of potentially many hours if I didn’t get lucky. I made no attempt to call a fox with my Nordik Plain Pain.
At 7:30 I decided to stalk the farm but not before moving closer to the encircling fence and spying into those areas below my current line of sight. Even as I folded the sticks and put on my fanny pack I thought I could detect agitated sounds from one or two hens but couldn’t be certain. My worst fears were however confirmed by the time I got to the fence as I could clearly see a hen in flight and shortly after a young racing snake of a fox latch onto it! The game was a foot but as soon as I tried to find a suitable rest for the rifle, either over or though the fencing, to get a shot off at what was some180 yards I received a belt from the electric fence which did nothing for my composure! Moving a little closer (down the fence line) was of no more help as live wire coverage is exemplary and in the end with God knows how many volts tracking through the K250 and/or my damp gloves I took a hurried moving target-like shot as the fox trotted proudly towards the hen house with his 2nd kill of the day. Down he went and with the victim still in mouth. The exit wound made clear the shot was further back than I intended but I wasn’t planning to eat the critter and especially now I had two tough old birds for next Sunday’s Lunch!
My text to Cumbria with 'evidence' went down rather well:
K
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