Twin Elements Podcast · Hunting Stories

Red Coats and Rabbit Squeaks: Bowhunting Foxes Between Red Stag Stalks

The property we're hunting has thrown up an unexpected side project. Between blackberries and a genuinely staggering rabbit population — dense enough that the owners once bulldozed a whole warren-riddled paddock flat back in the eighties rather than fight it — the local fox and feral cat numbers have exploded. So during the midday lull, when the day's main quarry goes quiet and beds down, we've been putting the bow to work on predator control instead. About a week and a half in, we're sitting on eight or nine foxes and starting to properly understand what makes these encounters tick.

In This Report

1. Why It's Worth Doing
2. Reading Fox Behaviour vs. Cat Behaviour
3. The Whistle Ladder
4. Picking the Setup
5. Working a Ridge Properly
6. When the Whistle Doesn't Work
7. The Bow Advantage

Why It's Worth Doing

Foxes and feral cats are both introduced species here, and once they're living wild rather than as pets, the damage they do to native birds, small mammals, reptiles, and insects is enormous — millions of native animals lost every year, on top of the lambs and poultry losses that get local farmers understandably furious. Most properties we hunt actively want foxes targeted the moment they realise we're capable of it. It's become a genuinely satisfying complement to the rut — the same read-the-wind, stay-still, wait-for-the-shot skill set that goes into calling in a mature stag, just with far more repetitions and a much faster feedback loop.

Fox Shot Sequence

Arrow on the string, take a range, start whistling, then aim small — miss small!

Reading Fox Behaviour vs. Cat Behaviour

One of the more interesting things we've picked up watching both species come to a call is just how different their psychology is. Foxes behave almost like an over-eager dog — they'll come charging in on a squeak, then seem to forget why they bothered, glancing around and losing interest quickly. That habit of looking around is exactly what gets them picked off, because it's also when they start noticing an odd shape that shouldn't be there.

Cats are the opposite. When one commits to a call, it moves like a leopard stalking an impala — every foot placement deliberate, tail and shoulders perfectly aligned, moving low and slow with total focus on the source of the sound. They don't glance around scanning for danger; they're locked onto what they believe is prey. That singular focus makes them easier to draw on once they're within range, but it also means you rarely get the chance in the first place — cats are simply far more cautious and secretive day to day, which is why sign of them (a print on a game trail, feathers scattered near a waterhole) is common but actual sightings are rare.

The Whistle Ladder

We've learned to carry a genuine arsenal rather than relying on one call, because different foxes respond to different sounds depending on what they're actually hunting locally. The order runs roughly: a simple lip squeak first (quiet, doesn't disturb any deer nearby), then a small reed-and-plastic "harmonica" whistle for another notch of volume and reach, then a classic button whistle, then the Apex whistle — genuinely loud enough to pull foxes from over a kilometre out — with a double-reed cottontail wail kept in reserve for country where rabbits aren't the dominant food source and something closer to a distressed bird or piglet sound works better.

One stubborn young fox on this trip completely ignored the lip squeak, the button whistle, and the harmonica — sat right there hunting crickets, barely lifting its head. It wasn't until we switched things up that it came charging straight in. James took it at ten yards. It's a good reminder that a fox that shrugs off your best call isn't necessarily uneducated — it might just not be hungry for what you're offering.

Picking the Setup

Where you set up matters almost as much as which call you reach for. Gullies, rocky escarpment edges, and stretches of dead, fallen timber all concentrate movement, and anywhere with an existing blood trail or an old carcass — a pig gut pile, in particular — tends to already have foxes working the area on a routine, which shortens the wait considerably.

Concealment matters more here than it does stalking most other game, simply because a fox coming to a call is actively hunting with its eyes rather than feeding with its head down. Setting up somewhere you can turn on a swivel without breaking cover is worth the extra few minutes it takes to find, since a fox rarely commits from the exact direction you expect. Once you're set, working through a range of calls rather than one favourite, and drawing your bow in slowly rather than in one motion when a fox does commit, both make the difference between a shot and a spooked animal — along with reading the terrain and elevation properly so you're not calling into dead ground the sound can't reach.

Working a Ridge Properly

On our best day, we called in over ten foxes in three or four hours by treating the whole ridge as a system rather than a single stand — setting up, whistling for around ten minutes, then moving two to three hundred metres and repeating. Foxes at the edge of the previous stand's hearing range often arrived at the new spot almost instantly, clearly primed by the earlier calling but unwilling to close that extra distance until we brought the sound closer — not unlike an ice cream truck driving down your street versus one parked out the front.

The best confirmation of that "double up" tactic came from a spot where we'd already taken a pig earlier in the trip and later spotted a fox leaving the carcass. James snuck to thirty metres in strong wind and took it as it walked off — and while he was retrieving that fox, a second one walked straight in to twenty metres, looked at its dead companion, and got the same treatment.

When the Whistle Doesn't Work

Not every encounter goes to plan on the call, and our only cat of the trip is proof. We were sitting off a wallow when a black shape emerged from a blackberry bush below — clearly a cat by its tail and prowling gait. We tried squeak after squeak, escalating through the whistle ladder; it sat and looked our way but never committed. Rather than force it with the loudest call in the bag, we dropped our packs and stalked in on foot instead — genuinely loud going, with a huge amount of storm-felled deadfall underfoot, but the cat's own unhurried, half-distracted movement (it dove once after a fairy wren got too close) bought us the cover we needed. James closed to twenty-five metres, caught it quartering-on along a fallen log, and put a pilot-cut broadhead clean through its chest. It covered barely thirty metres before going down.

I'd honestly rather account for one cat than five foxes. They're cunning enough that sign of them is everywhere and actual encounters are rare — getting one on the ground felt like a genuine trophy in its own right.

The Bow Advantage

The best part of doing this with archery gear rather than a rifle is the flexibility it gives you mid-hunt. Shoot a fox at twenty yards, walk over, retrieve the arrow, and keep pushing on without missing a beat — no reloading, no disturbance beyond the shot itself. Compare that to mates who've sent us footage of a fox trotting past at twenty yards while they're set up with a rifle two hundred metres from their main quarry, forced to just watch it walk into the scrub. Being able to do both in the same sit has made this stretch even better than expected.

The Adventure Continues

Join the Twin Elements team as they head back into the Australian bush.

Want the full story behind this episode? Listen to the podcast or watch on YouTube.

This piece is adapted from a Twin Elements Podcast episode recorded during the red deer roar, covering predator control with the bow.

From the Field

Whistling foxes isn't just extremely addictive — it's also serving a good cause, removing introduced, feral predators that wreak havoc on our native wildlife.