The Beacon in the Bushes: A Beginner's Night at a Club Foxhunt

There is a particular smell to a radio clubroom on a wet Thursday: instant coffee, old carpet, and the faint ozone tang of a rig that has been left on since Tuesday. It is comforting. It is also, if we are honest, sometimes a bit static. Which is why a number of UK clubs have started decamping to the car park at seven o'clock sharp with maps, headphones and something that looks suspiciously like a garden fork.

The garden fork is not for gardening. It is a mounting pole for a hidden transmitter, and the event is a foxhunt — a direction-finding game where members use receivers and directional aerials to track down a low-power beacon. Nobody is hunting an actual fox. The fox is a small box of electronics tucked behind a hedge, under a bench or, on one memorable occasion, inside a sealed biscuit tin that a club secretary had clearly been saving for exactly this purpose.

What a foxhunt actually involves

A foxhunt is part sport, part radio lesson and part walking tour of your local park. The club hides one or more transmitters — foxes — within a defined area. Hunters work in teams, usually two or three people, and use handheld receivers, directional antennas and attenuators to work out which way the signal is coming from. The first team to find the fox wins. Everyone else gets tea and the smug satisfaction of having found it eventually.

On 2 metres, the classic club fox is a small handheld or a purpose-built beacon transmitting a few milliwatts into a simple antenna. On 80 metres, the game becomes a slower, more atmospheric affair involving larger loops and a lot of standing still with one eye on the signal meter. Most clubs stick to 2 metres for beginners because the kit is cheap, the bearings are sharp and the hunt fits neatly into a two-hour evening.

Setting the course without upsetting the council

The first rule of a successful foxhunt is permission. A town park, a country park or even a large car park can work beautifully, but only if the landowner knows what is happening and why. Club organisers now routinely send a short letter to the council or park ranger explaining that a group of licensed radio amateurs will be walking around with aerials between 7pm and 9pm, that the transmitters are low power, and that no one will be climbing anything or digging anything up.

A simple risk assessment helps. So does a clear boundary: the hunt area is marked on a map, marshals are placed at the edges, and every team checks in and out. Hiding a fox near a children's playground is a non-starter. So is tucking one into a flowerbed that the parks department has just replanted. The best hiding places are dull: behind a bin, under a bench, at the base of a tree, inside a discreet plastic box marked with the club's phone number in case a member of the public finds it first.

The kit on the night

You do not need a shack full of equipment. A basic 2-metre handheld, a tape-measure Yagi, a step attenuator and a pair of headphones will get you round most courses. The Yagi gives you direction; the attenuator stops the signal from pinning the meter at full scale when you get within fifty metres. A paper map and a compass are still standard issue, partly because phone batteries die and partly because map-reading is a useful club skill that does not involve a software update.

Many clubs now keep a loan box for newcomers: two or three homemade Yagis, a handful of attenuators, a few high-vis vests and a laminated set of rules. The total cost is modest, especially compared with a club repeater. The social return is enormous. A newcomer who has never soldered anything can be competitive within twenty minutes of arriving.

Safety, neighbours and looking less suspicious

Let's be realistic: a group of adults standing in a park at dusk, waving what looks like a small television aerial, can attract attention. That is why clubs are increasingly open about it. A note in the local newsletter, a quick word with the park warden and a club member in a high-vis jacket go a long way. Teams are asked to stay on paths where possible, avoid blocking car park entrances and keep their voices down when they are close to housing.

The radio side matters too. Transmitters are kept to low power, aerials are kept low, and the whole event operates within the terms of the amateur licence. If a neighbour does ask what is going on, the answer is simple: "It's a radio treasure hunt. We're licensed, we'll be gone by nine, and we're very sorry about the beeping." In practice, most people are delighted. A surprising number ask if they can have a go.

Why it beats another talk on baluns

Foxhunts work because they are active. You learn about antennas by pointing one. You learn about propagation by watching the signal disappear behind a hill. You learn about receivers, attenuators and map-reading without anyone standing at a whiteboard. Families can take part. Teenagers who would rather be anywhere else suddenly become fiercely competitive about bearings. Seasoned operators get to practise real radio skills in the real world, which is not the same thing as reading about them.

They also solve the club-night problem that nobody likes to talk about: the same twelve people sitting in the same chairs listening to the same speaker. A foxhunt is a do-er, not a sit-ter. It gives the club a reason to be outside, a reason to invite guests and a reason to put the biscuits in a rucksack instead of a Tupperware box.

Getting your club started in 2026

You do not need a committee sub-group and a three-year plan. Pick a date. Ask the council. Borrow a beacon. Draw a map. Write four rules on a laminated card. Put a notice in the club newsletter and on the local repeater. The first hunt will be slightly chaotic, someone will find the fox in the wrong place, and everyone will have a story by the end of the night. That is the point.

If your club has been meeting in the same room since the year dot, a foxhunt is the gentlest possible shake-up. It is cheap, it is legal, it is social and it gets people on air without anyone having to give a lecture. The fox in the car park is not a threat. It is the best thing to happen to Thursday nights in ages.