Tuesday 16 June 2015. 4.45pm.
The tall willows are whispering in the light breeze; the day is swelteringly hot – the wind is not at ground level as I sit on this man-made jetty at Nind nature reserve. The old trout fishery winds round in front of me, a sunny waterway about 15 feet across, snaking through the shrubby alders and reeds like a mad disused canal.
There are watervoles aplenty here, protected and encouraged. They appear to be multiplying well each year. A week ago I was watching at this same place, and a large vole swam along the bankside while a well-fed kingfisher fished from a hanging branch opposite me. He worked that bit of rhine for over an hour, often catching tiddlers.
Today, nothing is stirring in water, land or sky. A pheasant just rasped and flew further up the reserve, but it was hidden from me. A moorhen quaks round the waterway bend to my left, then the silence descends once again.
5.05pm. A female mallard has just passed down the channel from right to left, with a small chick in tow – just one. Swimming agilely through the reed, they both rounded thr corner without a sound.
6.00pm. A watervole has just swum across the rhine from the far bank over to my side, disappearing into the stand of reeds in front of me. Somehow, I don’t think it has a burrow on this side as it is highly clogged with greenery. The far bank is open alder roots and soil. It may swim back after chewing on the foliage.
The water in these side channels appears to be stagnant. Thereis no stream movement in the surface scum, floating pollen from the alders – only the back and forth dallying by the wayward breeze. But there appears to be plenty of fish. How these ‘fisheries’ were stanked off is a mystery to me. There are various old sluices to direct the water to and from the river, but I can’t tell how they used to function.
It is twenty to seven now. To my left a robin announces the evening, a chiffchaff is hanging around in the vicinity, a moorhen hides in the stand of reeds near me, and still the wind shivers the willow leaves. The greater bay willowherb has colonised along this bank, interspersed by a few meadowsweet plants whose flowers are nearly out. Someone has driven through the reserve with a mowing machine in the last few days, cutting paths amid the long grass. Goldcrests sizzle through the willow treetops by the bend, now moving to the alders opposite me. The evening draws in . . .
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