Outfoxed

                                  

                                             Outfoxed

One evening, while looking out my kitchen window as the last light pulled away from the winter landscape, I saw a red fox running atop the frozen crust of February snow.  It was crossing a neighbor’s farm field with the nervous, zigzag steps of an animal clearly uncomfortable at being out in the open. Although I could see that it carried something in its mouth, the low light had robbed the scene of detail so I could not tell what it had caught.

 As I watched, the fox abruptly turned away from crossing the field and chose instead to disappeared into the evergreen landscaping surrounding our neighbor’s house. I watched until dusk turned to night but never saw it re-emerge.

Catching a glimpse of such a shy animal is, for me, like receiving a rare gift. The opportunity to photograph an animal as beautiful as a red fox is even rarer. Several years ago, I had such an opportunity.

While photographing early-spring wildflowers on a forested hillside in Michigan’s Waterloo Recreation Area, I met a friend who was out, binoculars in hand, searching the treetops for migrating warblers. She told me of finding an active fox den at a nearby location in Waterloo, and being familiar with the area, I pressed her for details on the den’s location. It turned out her directions were precise and I had no problem locating the den. I resolved to set up a portable blind the next morning and attempt to photograph the family of fox.

At 5:30 AM the following morning, I sat shivering in my blind about 60 feet downwind of the den with my back to the edge of a small copse of trees. The den lie inside a small hillock covered with blackberry bramble and, from my position, I had a clear view of two of the three excavated tunnels leading inside. I waited as dawn slowly unfolded.

As if cued by the first morning sunlight spreading across the landscape, a small kit emerged from the den. After sniffing around for a few moments, he sat down facing the rising sun at the entrance to the den. With as much calm as I could muster, I checked the settings on the camera and pressed the shutter release. The kit’s ears twitched, but its eyes remained riveted straight ahead. In a moment, I would know why the youngster’s attention never wavered.

From across the field, the sunrise at her back,came the vixen carrying a hapless robin to feed to her offspring. A second kit came out to greet her when she arrived at the den but quickly, all three animals retreated underground. Transfixed, I waited to see what would happen next.

Several long minutes passed before the vixen emerged from the den. She paused, bathed in the morning light and I once again pressed the shutter release. Immediately, her head snapped around and she fixed her stare on the blind.  I took a couple more shots before she turned away and trotted off. I knew my cover was blown.

I waited twenty minutes or so and then, as quietly as possible, I took down the blind and left, taking care to remain downwind of the den.             
                        
Several days passed and I decided to try to photograph at the den again. After arriving before first light and waiting as I had before, sunrise came and went without a glimpse of either the kits or the vixen. I waited until the sun was high in the morning sky before quietly slipping out of my blind and packing up to head home.                             
  
As I stretched my stiff limbs and looked around, I saw the vixen sitting on a hillside behind my      blind watching me. I had been outfoxed!  I left quickly and never returned to the den.

©Robert W Domm 2014
www.robertdomm.photoshelter.com


Photos
Fox Kit and Vixen
Pentax LX   Pentax 500mm f4.5
Fujichrome Velvia