The light was still dull and a heavy frost covered the hills and valleys. I was walking a bit faster than usual for stalking, trying to keep warm, when my eyes picked up a fox on my starboard bow, about 100 metres away. It hadn't noticed me, which I thought was unusual given that we were both out in an open paddock, with me coming over a crest. I stood still but the fox kept moving along its track, angling away from me and up the slope. It stopped just after I'd fitted my earmuffs and quietly pushed the cocking lever over to the Fire position. It didn't look at me but I think it sensed something was out of the ordinary. This would be a standing shot - a 50-50 chance at a small target - trying to pull the trigger on the right wobble. As I lost the sight picture with the recoil I had the usual split second thought about whether the shot had been good. I believed it was, with the wobble on the fox's head when the rifle boomed. My M03 absorbed the 30-06's thump comfortably and when the scope came back into position I saw that my target was on the ground instead of running away. I experienced that feeling that hunters know, the one that isn't easy to understand for people who love all animals equally, the cuddly ones and the guilty ones. Happiness for having used my equipment skilfully to do my job well, pride from having achieved what I set out to do after getting up at four o'clock on a cold winter's morning and sadness for the animal. It didn't know that it was a feral pest and officially declared as vermin, to be shot on sight with extreme prejudice and with the best calibre for foxes - whatever you're carrying at the time. The 180 grain Remington Core Lokt projectile had just clipped the top of it head, so it would have made a great pelt if that's what I was after.
The fox I saw later that morning would not have made a great pelt. The sun was up and I'd climbed to a high hill-top to enjoy its warmth. The strange thing is that this fox and I were within 30 metres of each other for 10 minutes or so, with only the curving slope of the hill keeping us out of each other's sight. It was having a snooze in the morning sun while I was using the elevation to look far out across the farm. For foxes. Or pigs. Either would do. I took a few steps north-east towards the sun and saw the fox stand up and stretch right there in front of me, down the slope a little. It was no more than 25 metres away. I'd frozen for a few seconds, waiting for it to see me and race away, but it didn't. Surely it will see me as I put my earmuffs on. Nope. It has to see me as I move my slung rifle up into a firing position. Nope. It'll hear me cocking the action. Nope. My feet were still positioned with both pointing at the fox so it was an unusual posture when I had my eye lined up with the scope. Not a steady hold but it's a big target behind the cross hair - better be quick - but don't want to miss - aim for the shoulder - Boom! The shot rolled it down the slope a couple of metres. The 180 grain Core Lokt made a big and bloody hole, but not the riotous mess a Nosler Ballistic Tip would have made. This was a big dog fox, that could have killed lambs on its own with ease.
In the moment before I fired I thought about whether my improvised shooting posture, with my feet and chest pointing towards the target and the rifle coming almost straight out from my shoulder, could lead to my eyebrow getting whacked by the scope. With my old and lightweight Remington Mountain Rifle this could have been a problem. But I instantly decided that the extra mass of the Mauser M03 would soak up the recoil. It did - I had no problem at all.
