Perils of night-time foxing
Patrick Hook looks at the perils underfoot that can be a menace to the night-time hunter
Everyone who hunts on foot, especially those of us who do so in the dark, will know only too well the problem of trying to tread quietly to avoid spooking our quarry. While we all love to walk on flat turf, most of us won’t have that luxury. Inevitably, there is crunchy stubble, sheets of glass-like ice or noisy gravel to cross instead. But despite it being the most obvious factor, noise isn’t the most important issue.
What really matters is safety. While I don’t take a jobsworth attitude to health and safety, tripping over when you have a loaded rifle in your hands is not to be taken lightly. At best you may experience a brief delay in your hunting, but at the other end of the spectrum lie all manner of horrors.
As an example, I once went looking for a track into a field I’d never been to before. After much searching with my thermal imager, I finally found it right in front of me. Because it was only a foot or so away,
I stepped on to it. What I didn’t know was that there was also a hidden 2m drop. I landed very heavily, with my rifle going one way and my sticks the other.
Lesson
The back of my head was in a cowpat and I was completely unable to move. After about a quarter of an hour, I began to regain my senses and was able to determine that, apart from being very shaken up, I was unhurt. That taught me a lesson and now if there’s the slightest doubt about what’s ahead of me, I test the ground with my sticks first.
Another time, a close colleague of mine was shooting rats in an unfamiliar farmyard when he stepped back to get a better angle for his next shot. Unknown to him there was an unfenced slurry pit there and he went straight in. Luckily, it was ‘only’ 4ft deep and he was able to get out with only his dignity wounded.
His rifle, clothes and thermal imager needed a thorough clean, but apart from that
— and his having a particular aroma for a few days — he got away extremely lightly. Many people have died in similar circumstances.
Clag
If things such as tall stands of reeds or huge furrows aren’t bad enough to deal with, the British weather often makes it even more difficult. A few days of rain, for instance, can turn previously nice soft fields into boggy morasses where the mud has the consistency and grip of grease mixed with treacle.
Alternatively, a period of hard frost can transform an area of mild terrain into what feels like it’s been covered with sheet glass, where the slightest hint of a footstep results in a sound like a shop window being kicked in. Even in mid-summer, a period without rain can alter what was forgiving soil into something more akin to concrete, where an inch-high wheel track can trip you up in an instant.
Despite all the things I’ve said above, though, one thing consistently catches me out – and that’s tractor ruts, mostly because they’re so damned unpredictable. As soon as you think you’re clear, another seemingly reaches up and grabs your foot without warning and throws you into the nearest lagoon of mud. Only the other night I’d just left the truck when one caught me out and I ended up knees-down in a big puddle.
It could have been much worse, but on the way back I used a torch to avoid repeating the stunt.
I could go on forever about the various trip and fall hazards you can face while moving about on often unfamiliar territory in the dark, so always remember to go armed with a degree of caution as well as your gun.
A gung-ho attitude is likely to get you – or those around you – in serious trouble.
“If there’s the slightest doubt, test the ground with your sticks first”