Varmints and other grousers . . .

Hadn't had a bloodthirsty day in a while, so pulled out the old varmint gun and went snipin' yesterday.

A Capstickian death in the tall grass . . .

The first photo is of a not-too-old male chuck who had moved into an old den under one of our sheds. I've been watching him for several weeks and had concluded he was likely a male when no younger chucks materialized. I did a sneak on him at first from around the house: he detected me and dove back into the ground for cover.

Twenty minutes later he wasn't as lucky. This time I did the full-blown military crawl out onto the turf and assassinated him at 62 yards. I then decided to put him on the woodpile as fox bait.

I eased into fox sniping position at approximately 7:45 pm. Two days earlier a guest had seen a fox in broad daylight between our two barns. I set up in our pole barn, hunkered down between our tiller, snow blower, and lawn tractor. nothing shoots like a Deere . . . .

the fox blind

At approximately 8:10 a woodchuck wandered out from the bushes that surround our big barn. I sat and watched him for five or so minutes, resolving to put him on the list for August.

At that point a fox sticks its head out from the exact runway the woodchuck had used, and it stood there craning its neck to survey the yard with the woodchuck just yards away.

Of course, I'm pointed in the wrong direction, having baited my brush pile out in the middle of the sheep pasture. Plus my small engine blind doesn't really do a good job of covering me up. Feeling exposed, I sat there watching the two critters for a minute, hoping the fox would move out and allow me to reposition to line up a shot.

A fox bait pile in the act of being ignored by foxes . . .

The woodchuck then lunged at the fox! startling it perhaps, but at any rate the fox ran out into the grass and behind a spruce on the lawn. I hurriedly repositioned, and then it came back toward the bushes by the barn (which are loaded with black raspberries at this time). I didn't have much time to line up, and he was just about to go back into the bushes when I touched off a shot--MISSED. Damn. I went over and looked at where he had been, and nothing. nada. zilch.

I went back to my seat in the pole barn, and decided I needed a better blind than a Troy-Bilt. Hastily I pulled four bales of straw down and placed them between me and the bushes the fox disappeared into. Back in action!

Fox-eye view of the blind:
note skill in straw camo placement

It didn't take long. About twenty minutes later this little boy appeared from around the back of the barn, nonchalantly walking over to the raspberries. He presented a perfect broadside shot standing still at forty-five yards, and I quickly dispatched him.

So peaceful in deathly repose . . .

I let him lie, thinking there might be yet another curious fox to come. Sure enough, around 9:30 another fox came slinking down along the pasture fence. This time the varmint was moving way too fast to even think about shooting, and he disappeared off into the darkness. I decided to call it a night.

View from the blind: where foxes come to die