'Terrible fox trouble'

It is well documented about how introduced species have harmed, and in many cases, decimated the native animal flora and fauna population.  At a glance, America doesn’t seem to fair as badly since the northern regions bunker down for severe winters and are bereft of life for a few months due to the hibernation of mammals and the migration of birds.  Australia, in contrast, has an ever present visible problem from well known vermin including introduced bird species in the form of sparrows and blackbirds, to pests such as rabbits, feral cats and more recently the cane toad. Foxes are also common and the Victorian Government endeavoured to reduce their numbers by putting a bounty on their heads throughout the 1950’s which was redeemed with the proof of scalps.

One day Isabel Ferrier rang my uncle from Winninburn Station.  “Tom, we’re having terrible fox trouble, all my chickens have been taken – can you come over?” she implored in her high pitched, squeaky voice.  Although still a huge holding in comparison to the nearby farms, it was only a fraction of the size in its ‘hey day’ when teams of shearers were employed for its massive woolshed which was perched on top of a precipitous cliff above the Wannon River.  “No, worries, Isabel,” my uncle replied, “We’ll be over in the afternoon.”

You can imagine my excitement about the prospect of a fox adventure but it was nothing compared to when the farm dogs found out.  “Will we go and get some foxes?” Ballie excitedly called out to the motley array of canines.  They were quick to show their approval with delighted looks, delirious barking, running around in circles and they even began licking each others mouths.  “Right, well let’s go” he enthusiastically called to them.  By the time we had picked up the gun and the spade, the dogs had already taken up their positions in the old Chev.

Isabel greeted us at Winninburn and after a few pleasantries we were driving across the vast, open paddocks in search of foxes.  It didn’t take too long either as we noticed two or three foxes scampering away in zig zagging motion to avoid being shot.  The dogs bounded out of the Chev. through the open windows, but had little chance of catching their prey who had quickly disappeared into the distance.  We searched for hours and rustled up quite a few foxes but could not find their dens.  The idea was to track them to their abode, let the fox terriers harass them in the hole, trace where the barking was coming from below the ground and then dig them out.  Grandpa used to get a lot of enjoyment relating the joke about how the legendary Pat and Mick went fox hunting.  Pat had his head down the den and suddenly called out.  “Hey, Mick, what’s darkening the hole.”  His laconic reply was - “if his tail breaks you’ll know it.  After which, grandpa broke into a series of chuckles. which caused him to jerk up and down.

Just when we were becoming discouraged, luck seemed to turn our way.  The dogs had surprised a fox and had chased it to its den but the only trouble being it was located high up the cliff on the other side of the river.  The terriers had quickly scampered up the steep slope and had entered the den but we still had a long way to go before we could help them.  The prospect seemed daunting.  Not only had we to cross over the river but we knew that we couldn’t dig into the slide of the hill to evict the fox. 

We eventually found a way to get across the river over a large fallen red gum and we gazed upward.  The slope was even more acute than my uncle’s notorious hill adjacent to the house paddock where there were some famous stories about run away car tyres which had demolished a fence in the flat below.  At the top I could see the sides of the Winniburn Woolshed and wondered why they had built it so close to that sheer cliff.  I could just imagine a tired shearer falling to his death if he wasn’t watchful.

With great care and with exhausted gasps we somehow made it up that incline to the den.  The larger, slower dogs had decided to take their time and when we reached the hole they eagerly began sniffing the scent of the fox.  As we suspected, it was impossible to dig the fox out, so Ballie yelled into that dark opening for the terriers to come out.  Of course they were very reluctant but eventually appeared to find out what was keeping us.  They squinted in the bright sunlight and their paws and faces were dirty from their digging.

Ballie then had an idea.  It had little chance of success but it was worth a try.  We perched about six feet above the den and waited with the gun in hand.  Ballie indicated to the dogs to be perfectly still and quiet with an earnest. “Sheeeee! ……..”.  The dogs responded obediently by lowering their ears and some even started to visibly shake with anticipation.  We must have waited over half an hour and just when I thought my knees couldn’t take the crouched position any more, the head of the fox appeared. The dogs showed great restraint and Ballie knew that he had to act quickly.  He blasted the shot gun from point blank range.  We were so close that it catapulted the fox out of the den and into the air.  The dogs responded immediately.  “He’s getting away” they seemed to think.  In a second they had all leapt forward and grabbed any part of the fox they could find.  Of course it was stone motherless, dead but the steep incline had started a snow ball effect with half a dozen dogs falling head over heels.  At first we momentarily saw the fox and then a scurried frenzy of legs and the heads of the dogs at all sorts of angles. I’m not sure how far they plummeted but the momentum had taken them all the way to the river below.    By the time we reached the bottom, the dogs were all standing around triumphantly with their trophy.  “Didn’t we do well?” they seemed to indicate.

We happily returned to the homestead and Isabel was there to greet us.  “You got him Tom”, Isabel gleefully exclaimed.  “Yeah, it wasn’t too hard!” Ballie confidently retorted.  “Just a matter of knowing where to look” he boldly added not letting on that we had probably seen about half a dozen foxes that afternoon.