Glensman sent me a PM the other day wondering if we could arrange a second nights foxing out here in Connemara. I checked the Met Eireann website for the week ahead, dry and calm nights except for Friday night when the wind was supposed to get up a bit. The moon was pretty full all the time but all we could do was hope for cloud cover.

Friday came, the morning was fairly windy and wet on and off, but it didn't continue that way and we became becalmed as it got dark. What we did get in our favour was the cloud cover we'd been looking for making the early part of the night pretty dark before the moon got properly up in the sky.

Having only been out twice or so yet this year I was thinking hard about where we'd most likely see a fox. One large part of commonage was pretty much ruled out due to large flood lights on a road project casting shadows all across the flat bog. First stop would have to be Jurassic Park as I was still a bit put out we'd not seen a fox on there the previous outing.

We set up overlooking the gully I've had a lot of success in. Gave a quick call and waited just shy off the crest of the hill to hide our presence. Thirty minutes or so passed and nothing had shown to us so we headed off up the farm to the highest point in the green land which looks out on the flat(ish) commonage and the hill beyond that.

Glensman was still making his way up to where I was when I spotted an eye out between the fold in two hillocks, that's definitely no sheep I think to myself. I pick a spot to lay down with the rifle with no rushes to block my view. A quick flick of the caller and there's a lovely pair of eyes bouncing in towards me quick as you like. One of the benefits of the calm nights is how hard they get it to wind us and sometimes just run right in.

He stopped what I guessed to be one hundred thirty yards out from me, no time to mess about with the Leica and no need either with him being in so close. With the crosshairs high on his chest the report of the rifle carried off out across the bog and returned a lovely thump as the forty grain Hornady connected with the dog fox. Glensman made it up the hill and we set off out to pick up our fox and bring him to the farmers door. You're shooting the next fox...



One shot, it was time to move to pastures new. There's a good valley with a road running up through it. Mostly open common grazing but with some fields and forestry too. I've permission to shoot over 90% of it at this stage, save for one farmer who doesn't like shooting. In Ireland we can shine the lamp from the road, but shooting from the road is a no-no. The plan was to drive slowly up and down the narrow road and if we spot a fox, park up and give chase on foot.

Two thirds way down the valley again, Glensman spots a fox out to our left in the flat bog by a river. good news for us as the river will cover the sound of getting the gear ready and moving through the rushes. We move out and after a few yards I'm looking around and no Glensman to be seen! Lol. He's gone a different way so I find him again and we head up a small hillock to an old track where we might find a decent shooting position.

Unfortunately the only spot is a real wet, sticky, downward sloping, horse **** dump.... Everywhere else is covered in rushes. Then panic and general mayhem ensues as my ****ing phone rings... We recover with some little dignity left.

Being the kind soul I am, and having carefully considered the condition of the ground I remind Glensman it's his shot... Nope, he's not biting and I'm to take him. Fecks sake. Our fox is out past one hundred eighty yards, and settled nicely in a stand of rushes looking back at us. As I get settled into the rifle I can feel the water soaking in from my knees to my chest, the joys.

A quick blast of the caller and our fox moves out of his hide to the left and along the river bank. I stop her with a shout out around one hundred seventy yards and squeeze the Jewell ever so slightly to loose another ballistic tip. With a meaty thump our second fox of the night falls over.



Just as soon I hear "There's another one coming". We see another fox approaching from the right, again the far side of the river and over three hundred yards distant. Off goes the lamp for a few seconds and on with the caller. When we light him up again he's made up a fair bit of ground.

I'm settled down again in the muck, he stops and I range him one hundred eighty seven yards. No problemo I think, calm night, stable shooting platform, and away we go. The rifle jumps and the bullet connects... But...

We see him go round and round in circles, I've reloaded and have the crosshairs on him, just stop the antics for a second. Then he bolts as fast, presumably, as he's able to. Getting smaller and smaller in the scope the good feeling level starts to drop about this fox. As he nears the top of a small hillock he gets fouled on a tortán and falls foul across it. I aim just slightly over his spine and fire again, another meaty thump is returned and our third fox of the night slumps to the ground. Ranged that spot at two hundred seventy yards.



My first shot on him had shattered his front right leg completely and proceeded to take a large chunk out of his left rear leg. Why it hit so low I can't say for sure. I was sure about the shot but must have moved something I shouldn't have while squeezing the trigger.

When we went to pick up the first of those two foxes another fox, brazen as you like, walked by us. I attempted a foolish standing shot and missed. Long Winter ahead now watching that fella run from lamps!

After having a feed in The Chipper in Clifden we took a look around my own farm but didn't see anything else. Started getting a bit damp towards the end of the night so we called it a night and headed home. Pretty enjoyable night had and a great lamp man, who's going to be the rifleman next week!