It was well after midnight and a cold wind blew as the three predator hunters pulled into the Manor Township farm field, their seventh "set" on a night that began at 8 o'clock.

Careful not to slam the doors on the van, the three swung silently into action. Twelve-year-old Corey Rineer slung the .22-caliber Hornet rifle over his shoulder. His dad, Craig Rineer,  had an array of prey calls, and a neighbor, Andy Houck, 22, shouldered the tripod that would hold the rifle to help with  accuracy if a shot was taken.

Setting up about 200 yards into the field in a spot with a 360-degree view, Craig Rineer began blowing into a small tube call. It sounded like a baby's squeak toy. To a fox, it's the sound of a mouse in distress.

If two subtly different mouse calls brought no takers, the hunter would turn to a series of reed calls, each filling the air with the progressively louder shrieks of a wounded rabbit. To me, they sounded unsettlingly similar to a crying baby.

But unlike the last six stops, the hunters didn't have to call long this time.

They swung powerful beams of red light from headlamps across the barren field. The foxes are not disturbed by red light as it doesn't affect their night vision. On occasion, they even seem drawn to it.

"Sometimes, we feel they're going to run right over us," says Craig. But a regular white light would send them fleeing.

Suddenly, the eyeballs of no fewer than three foxes shone in different corners of the field.

It's called "catching eyes" and to a predator hunter, it's the rush that makes a long, fruitless night suddenly seem short.

At first, none of the foxes seemed to show much interest in what they should have sized up as wounded prey. It had been warm in recent days and no snow covered the fields. The living had been fairly easy and the foxes hadn't burned a lot of calories hunting. They weren't desperate for a meal.

Finally, after more calling, one of the foxes started moving, circling the distress sounds, trying to get downwind to catch the scent of any danger before moving in.

The hunters moved furtively, trying to get closer. Rineer resumed calling. Immediately, bouncing eyes were again spotted, this fox already in range.

Rineer barked and the fox stopped. His son, stoically peering down the mounted rifle, placed the infrared crosshairs squarely between the fox's glowing eyes and pulled the trigger.

The female fox dropped dead. Weighing 13 pounds, it was the young hunter's 22nd of his first full season of  predator hunting. He has missed only twice.

The hunters then drove to another spot where they saw another uninterested fox lying in a field.

Trying to move closer, the fox either caught their scent or heard noise or perhaps spotted them silhouetted by the moonlight, known as skylining. Whatever the cause, it ran off.

It was 3 a.m. The youngest hunter pleaded to keep hunting until the sun came up and the nocturnal foxes also would call it a night. But his father, who took silent pleasure that his son loved a long night outdoors with dad, had morning errand obligations and said it was time to go home.

The next day, they skinned the fox together, throwing its entrails across the street into a farm field where, the week before, three bald eagles had come to feast.

Then, in the basement of their Washington Boro-area home, they would turn the fur inside out and scrape off fat. Placing the hide on a wire stretcher they would fluff up the fur and let it dry by hanging.

The hide would then be ready to sell to a local fur buyer, perhaps bringing $17 to $20 — more if sent to Canada where it might be sold to a clothing designer, perhaps from overseas.

In some quarters, natural fur is again slowly becoming an alternative to artificial synthetics as a more environmentally friendly choice to stay warm.

But money is not why a father and son spend their solitary nights together outdoors.

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Craig Rineer, 40, who owns his own kitchen and bathroom remodeling business, has hunted since he was a kid. Predator hunting always fascinated him but he never knew anyone who did it.

Then, alarmed at the decline of Pennsylvania's deer population, Rineer read that coyotes were one factor.

About five years ago, he decided to do his part so there would be deer for his sons to hunt. Though he still hopes to hunt coyotes seriously, he is admittedly hooked on hunting foxes, which are ample throughout Lancaster County.

Farmers are appreciative of the efforts of predator hunters because fox dens in fields present hazards for farm machinery and foxes are known to raid the henhouse.

An overpopulation of foxes in an area accelerates the spread of mange and other diseases.

Craig was eager to see if his youngest son would also take to the sport. When Corey was about 8, he accompanied his father on a nighttime hunt, along with two other fathers and their sons.

It was not a big hit. The boys found the hunt kind of eerie. "They all thought this animal that we were calling in was going to eat them," recalls Craig.

Now, though, Corey is every bit a diehard as his dad, going out two to three times a week during the predator-hunting season from late October to late February.

This is Corey's first full season as a youth predator hunter and it didn't take his dad long to realize his son had a better shooting eye than he did. "I don't want to shoot in front of him. I don't want him to see me miss," dad laughs.

Now, Corey is ready at the rifle while dad does the calling. Corey started the season by shooting 14 foxes without a miss — not an easy task on a small animal in the dark at distances up to 200 yards. Sometimes there is wind to contend with and always the adrenaline pumping and a small audience standing behind.

"He's in his glory when he is out there," says dad.

"I really enjoy it because once the foxes come in it's just such a rush," says Corey, a seventh grader at Manor Middle School. "It's so cool watching the eyes bounce and come in."

His mother, Teresa Rineer, is pleased to see father and son spending time together, sharing a mutual passion.

"I see that they have similar interests in hunting and I love that they spend so much quality time together doing the same sport," she says.

"I see the bond. As boys get older, as kids pull away, this is something that keeps Craig and Corey connected, and I love that."

Each night when they come home after a night of hunting, and Corey pads down the hallway to  bed, Teresa hears him thanking his father.

Every time.

acrable@lnpnews.com

For a listing of outdoors events throughout Lancaster County this week and beyond, go to lancasteronline.com. Click on Sports, then Outdoors.