THE HILL FOX
CHAPTER VII
LEAVING the Shires for the Welsh and Scottish mountains, and the Lakeland fells, we come across our old friend Reynard again, a much bigger Reynard however, and leading a wilder and more untrammelled existence. Even in Wales and on the fells of Cumberland and Westmorland, where the hill-fox is hunted by foot-packs, he is still something of an outlaw; and in the deer forests of Scotland—many of which are crawling with foxes—every man’s hand is against him. It is in the countries of his outlawry, that he exhibits that perfection of growth, stamina, and cunning, seldom seen amongst his relatives of more civilised regions.
The big hill-foxes are well able to look after themselves, and their prey includes lambs, young deer calves, dead or dying sheep, wounded stags, and the smaller creatures in fur and feather. On the mountains a fox must constantly have his wits about him, for he is always in danger from hidden traps, ambuscades, or poisoned baits. Wherever he goes he must tread warily, guided by his keen nose and his past experience.
As already mentioned, certain of the Scotch deer forests are literally crawling with foxes, for though cubs are destroyed in the spring, and a certain number of old foxes are shot when visiting the dens at dawn or dusk, a wholesale method of destroying them cannot be adopted on account of the disturbance to the forest. In such regions foxes naturally increase, and their depredations occasionally demand special measures of retaliation. Perhaps a fox drive is organised over a wide extent of ground with guns posted at all the likely passes, or a determined raid is made upon all the dens which the foxes are known to occupy. Terriers are employed at these earths, which either bolt the foxes to the guns or worry them underground. A big hill-fox can stand a lot of punishment, and I have known one to kill a small terrier, but if the latter is a sizeable dog with plenty of courage, the fox is doomed unless he gets “out of that.” A fox which runs the gauntlet of the guns, stands a better chance of life than one which fights the terriers, for though a running fox offers a fair mark, he is proverbially hard to hit. I once saw a fox bolted from a rocky earth, and get safely away, after six barrels of B.B. shot had been sent after him from the guns of three men who were all good game shots.
Apropos of shooting foxes, I killed a certain number in Canada by stalking them in winter. It needs very careful stalking to “jump” a fox from his bed, and put a bullet or a charge of shot into him as he goes away. This method can only be employed in snow, when the tracks of the fox can be followed. In the woods we often hunted foxes with slow hounds, posting guns on the well known runways. The foxes used to circle round in the vicinity, and somebody was nearly certain to get a shot. As each red fox skin was in those days worth £I, there was a certain amount of incentive to hunt for the pelt as well as sport.
There was and still is some demand for healthy cubs and adult foxes for re-stocking purposes, and if the consequent supply had been confined to foxes from the non-hunting districts of Scotland and other parts of Great Britain we should have been spared the epidemics of mange that have so often broken out. A healthy hill-fox makes a welcome change of blood, and helps to increase the stamina of his low-country relatives; but the importation of foreign foxes, carried in filthy crates and boxes, is like asking for an outbreak of mange.
Apropos of taking foxes alive for re-stocking purposes, one of the most ingenious methods is by the use of a stone trap or enclosure, known locally as a “kist.” When a fox has been tracked into a den, all the outlets but one are blocked up. In front of this outlet, a small stone enclosure is constructed, roofed with slabs of rock. Just in front of the mouth of the den, a wooden, or sometimes an iron, slide is fixed. This is attached to a string which passes over a stick placed across the centre of the trap, at such a height that when the string is pulled, the slide rises and permits free access to the interior of the trap from the mouth of the earth. When the front end of the trap is built, a narrow slit is left in it, of sufficient width to accommodate an ordinary wooden bobbin. To this bobbin the string on the slide-door is made fast, the length of cord being such that when it is pulled tight, and the bobbin is lightly jammed into the crack, the slide is clear of the entrance to the trap.
When all is quiet, the fox leaves the den and finds himself in the walled enclosure. Seeing light through the crack at the far end, he at once investigates, and in scratching to get out displaces the bobbin which flies up and allows the slide-door to fall. Reynard is then a prisoner until the keeper arrives in the morning with a sack for his removal. There are various other methods of bringing foxes to hand, with steel traps, and poison. Sometimes a bait is used, this being partially buried beneath wood ashes or earth. As is well known, foxes, like dogs, have a habit of “leaving their cards” at certain spots, and the trapper often takes advantage of these places. Sometimes he sticks a post into the ground on a mound near where he knows foxes pass, and buries several traps, with their chains tied together, round the post. Once in a trap, Reynard in his struggles springs the others, and is thus inextricably held. If a trap is pegged down, a fox will gnaw off his foot, but if the trap is attached to a light clog of wood, he will drag it to a distance, leaving behind him a trail easy to follow.
In America, wolves are killed by putting strychnine inside small balls of lard. These are allowed to freeze solid, and are then scattered about in open places, such as the frozen snow-covered surface of a lake. Into each ball of lard, a black feather is stuck, and when the wolves see these feathers against the white background they naturally investigate them, swallow the lard, and the poison does the rest. Foxes are also taken by this method. The Esquimaux employ a similar method, but instead of poison they place inside the balls of fat, a spring made of whalebone, held in restraint by a length of gut. When the animal swallows the fat, the gut string weakens, and allows the spring to fly open, the poor victim dying a very painful death.
American trappers use a variety of weird and noxious smelling oils and scents for attracting fur bearing animals. In the case of wolves and foxes there is no better bait than a few drops of the urine of the she-wolf or vixen, taken at the mating season. This, sprinkled on the likely “card leaving” places, round which are buried a number of traps, seldom fails to work the oracle.
A hunted fox is usually pretty good at concealing his movements, but I doubt if he can compare with the big hill-foxes in this respect. Anyone who waits near a den at dawn or dusk, in hopes of getting a shot at a dog-fox or vixen bringing food to the cubs, will quickly realise the difficulty of detecting the approach of their phantom-like forms.
In many districts of Scotland there used to be a local character known as the “tod-hunter,” anglicé fox-hunter. His assistants in the work of destroying foxes were a motley canine crew, composed of terriers, hounds, and animals of the lurcher type known as “streakers.”
During the cubbing time, the tod-hunter used to visit the earths with his terriers. The latter generally made short work of a litter, after which a watch was kept for the return of the old foxes. Should these have been missed by the hidden guns, the “streakers” were slipped in hopes of bringing them to hand. At other times of year, the fox-hunter used to draw the crags and corries, while men were posted at the various passes with “streakers,” ready to slip them at the foxes when opportunity offered.
Colquhoun, in “The Moor and the Loch,” gives a good account of a hunt with a big hill-fox. He and his brother were on a roe-hunting expedition with a steady old hound, when the latter got on to a fox. Both sportsmen shot at it, the shots taking effect. Despite its wounds however, the fox afforded an exciting chase ere it was finally run into by the hound. Many a wounded stag which is given up for lost, is watched and followed to his last resting place by the fox.
In the old days, organised vermin hunts took place in the fell country of Cumberland and Westmorland. Little in the shape of fur or feather escaped the attentions of the hunters, the bag including foxes, badgers, wild-cats, polecats, pine martens, eagles and hawks. In later times, money was paid for the heads of foxes, ravens and other birds and beasts, this money being in some cases disbursed by the church-wardens who also treated the school-children of their day to “scholars’ ale” at the expense of the parish.
I have already mentioned the “streakers,” which were attached to the Scotch tod-hunter’s motley pack. Although these dogs were fast, the fox frequently escaped them in the rough ground. A sharp cur dog can catch a fox if he gets away close to its brush, and a terrier has been known to do so ere now, but once the fox manages to avoid the first rush at close quarters, he can escape anything on four legs on hill-ground.
Even in districts where he is looked upon as an outlaw, the fox receives a certain measure of protection, from the fact that he is more valuable alive than dead. Many a fox in a non-hunting country is taken uninjured, to be disposed of in a district where fresh blood is required. If his value is apparent even in non-hunting districts, how much more so is it in countries where money is disbursed locally right and left in the interests of sport. The economic value of the fox is great, and is increasing yearly; and without him, the money now distributed in certain channels, would not find its way into the same pockets.
Although in this country the outlaw fox is worth comparatively little to the man who kills him, the reverse is the case in those countries where he is hunted for his fur.
There have been great changes in English country-life of late years, and in certain hunting districts the fox is perhaps not held in quite such high esteem by all parties as heretofore. Still, there is no getting away from the fact that Reynard’s economic value is greater now than ever it was. In pre-war days it cost a sovereign to shoot a pheasant, and the price has risen since then, but the value of each pheasant accounted for to-day can bear no comparison with the cost required to kill a fox in the Shires.
In mountain districts, it is not uncommon to come across foxes minus a foot. Many a fox gets clear of a trap at the cost of one of his pedal extremities, but despite his loss, appears to fare as well as ever. If this happens in a hunting country however, he will not as a rule last long for hounds soon account for a “three legger.” Once a fox has been in a trap, it is a clever man who will get him in another. An adult fox is not easy to trap at any time and his motto is “once bit, twice shy.”
True hill-foxes generally show a good deal of grey about their fur, but there are not so many of these “old timers” as there used to be. The Scotch mountains probably harbour more of them than any other district, because, being far from any regular hunting country, the foxes are uncontaminated with foreign blood. In the Lake District a few fairly grey foxes are killed each season, but the old sort—known as “greyhound” foxes—are now practically a thing of the past.
The hill-fox is a true mountaineer. He likes to make his kennel far up amongst the high tops, two thousand feet or more above sea level. From there he makes long foraging expeditions to the low ground, returning to his mountain fastness before daybreak. Instead of lying in a covert, a hedgerow, or the open fields, like his south-country cousin, he chooses some heather-covered ledge on a towering crag, with a wide, panoramic view of the country spread out below him. Under stress of weather, or when danger threatens, he will get to ground amongst the labyrinths of subterranean passages, which ramificate in all directions below the piled-up rocks and boulders.
There is no artificiality about his existence. He lives a wild, free life on the open hills, and all men are his sworn enemies. It is a case of hound, trap, and gun against keen nose, cunning and fleetness of foot, and to his credit be it said, the fox often wins.
