The Challenge Of Fox Hunting
I HAVE been a keen fox hunter since I was a teenager and, believe me, that was a long time ago. I can actually remember the first fox I ever called up. I had read an article on fox hunting in a very old Australian Outdoors magazine and I remember thinking how great it would be to be able to do it well.
With the seeds sown, I headed to our small local sports store and bought my very first tin whistle for the princely sum of two shillings (20 cents in today’s money) and, armed with my grandfather’s Lefever side-by-side 12 gauge shotgun, headed out to Robert’s Bend, a few thousand acres of Crown land; I knew it held a lot of foxes.
I wandered around the bush, ignoring the countless rabbits, which seemed to be tempting me to shoot them, until I found a nice-looking spot that, to me, screamed fox. Selecting a spot that overlooked the winding gully, I started blowing the whistle, following the instructions that I had read. Like a typical teenager, after blowing the whistle for what seemed like forever,
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