The Thermome Ter at the bank
in the small rural Iowa town
displayed - 40 degrees Fahrenheit.
It was that glaring minus sign
before that number that really
made me stare with a prolonged
glance as I drove past. A short
time later I opened the truck
door and stepped into a strong
Midwestern wind. I began my trek
across soft snow that squeaked
loudly underfoot. I glanced
up often as I waded through
snowdrifts and shuffled over icy
patches to confirm that my target
was still visible and sleeping on
the distant hilltop. That target
was a fluffy red — a.k.a. red fox.
Yes, it was definitely bitterly cold
out, but that fox had emerged
from its den to soak up the
sun’s warming rays while trying
to increase its body warmth. I
wondered what was warming
about being out in a - 40 degree
temperature and a stiff wind?
When I was about 150 yards away,
I hunkered over a Stoney Point
tripod and settled the Model
70 rifle on the rubber prongs.
The unsuspecting red fox was
headed into a very deep — and
permanent — sleep.
When I shot, the fox spun like
a top, struggling to its feet, and
then it dashed about 20 yards
before collapsing in a heap of
red fur. The really odd thing,
however, was that the rifle
report — I was shooting a
rifle chambered for .22-250
Win. — sounded more like an
air rifle’s “Whumpf” instead
of a prominent loud bang. It
was indeed bitterly cold out
today. After I collected the fox,
I made a hasty dash for the
truck and its heater. It was time
to find another red and make
another shot. Today, more
and more predator hunters are
bagging reds because they have
returned in good numbers to
many regions.
