Friday, 19 April 2013

The Fox

I've had a long day on Final Cut Pro today, editing the Northumberland National Park by Night film. An evening visit to Holywell was what I needed, especially on a stunning evening like tonight.

It was still, only a slight breeze, the 2 Swallows at the cut had now become 6, and both Chiff Chaff and Willow Warbler were in song. Little Grebes on the pond had doubled in number, and the Shoveler pair had been joined by an extra female.

Heading down to the fields, I picked up a shape in the distance, at first I thought Hare, but then realised, it was a Fox! Relatively in the open I checked the wind, using the blinding low sun to my advantaged I approach it from the cover of a hedge. It was still some distance away.

Stopping at every gap, and looking, it still hadn't moved, but I could now pick out the shape of its ears in the grass, it was asleep! Basking in the warm glow of the setting sun. Reaching the field boundary I crossed into the next, out of sight, and scent, I quickly made up the ground, before reaching the cover of the wood.

It was still, silent, but thankfully Woodpigeon-less. A minefield of leaves, twigs, and sticks lay ahead. The sun was now behind me, casting my shadow towards the Fox, I had to be careful. Moving gently through, I saw a gap, and headed for it, lying on my belly when I got there. Gradually moving my binoculars up, I immediately realised I was quite close, and it was still asleep. Nose to the ground, it lifted its head and yawned, surveying  the field ahead. It got up with a stretch and moved off slowly, as if it had been lying for a while, not eager to leave the warm glow of the sun and its bed.

Following it right, a second Fox ran across my vision, much closer this time, I lay motionless for a while, but didn't see the second animal again.

Repositioning to higher ground I watched the sleepy Fox head across the field, sniffing as it went, now in hunt mode. It stop momentarily to observe a pair of Curlew, who soon flew off, next a Lapwing which seemed to be toying with it, approaching quite close. The Fox dropped like a Collie and tried to make ground, pouncing at the last second, but too slow for the brave Lapwing.

It reached an area of rough ground, disappearing into the long grass. Holywell never fails.

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