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Horses and hounds cannot go crashing through standing crops, but once the combine harvesters -- massive machines half as big as council-houses and nearly twice as expensive -- have rattled, rumbled, reaped and threshed through the fields, the way is clear.  The waste they leave is set alight as the easiest and cheapest way of clearing the field ready for ploughing again.
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Equally unchaging is the tremor of anticipation that harvesting brings to fox-hunters.  They've read the smoke signals.  Soon, as August advances, they'll be out -- cub-hunting.
Since the whole of agricultural Britain is not one vast cornfield (yet, some pessimists might add), the start of cub-hunting is not governed everywhere solely by harvesting.  There are many accessible crop-free areas harbouring foxes a-plenty, but fox-hunters observe a voluntary close season until at least into August.