Monday 16 September 2013
The hops that rampage across the thicket below the top shallows are beginning to brown, and misty mornings and a dew that betrays miraculous feats of web spinning by spiders in the night suggest that autumn is imminent. No trees are yet on the turn other than a Whitebeam in the garden that always seems to go early, and all bar the Cherries have had a reasonable summer, even the conker, that in recent summers has turned to rust by the end of July.
Child A returned from her ten days on a volcanic island and Child B survived Dublin, just. He is currently coughing and spluttering with some gaelic oojah, a condition he will retain in the coming weeks when he mixes with the masses at Cardiff. On the two occasions that I have fished in Ireland we have always returned with some to share amongst the neighbours, One year my brother brought back the gift of chicken pox for his classmates and subsequently his sibling during exams, and I found some form of Eire flu picked up after extensive bobbing up and down on Lough Ree in pursuit of pike in rain and wind of the eighties.
On this river, fly continue to hatch, trickles of olives through the middle of the day, and several fish have been caught. The factor of a local fishing tackle emporia visited and caught four fish in a few hours the best a fish of five pounds that I had no idea was in that part of the river. But the river remains very low, if a pair of swans shuffle their feet for five minutes upstream, the whole river turns cloudy. In May the Indian runners that occupy my employers orchard strained their necks to get at the barley on the bed of the river margins that we broadcast for their brunch. This morning they walked across a river which was too shallow to swim in to receive their provender. I won’t go on, but we need a wet winter with no new abstraction, nuff said.
Mdme has some ideas, Otis has great expectations and eyes the sofa regularly, but myself I look forward to doing things a tad better with more time available. In peanut butter terms I have been spreading myself a bit thin in the last five years.
Child A and Child B will be back at Christmas with their chaotic ways, when we will no doubt be reminded that our standards have slipped since they last departed and could we make sure that the car is fully fuelled as they have places to be and people to see.
Other than Otis taking up space on the sofa (he has the mother of all booties) I don’t think we would have it any other way
Roots and wings, roots and wings
Sunday 8 September 2013
Understandably following a hot dry summer the discharge has decreased and the river has become increasingly diminished as the summer has progressed. In the week prior to the August weed cut, the ranunculus started to die off and pull out, as I jumped in the river to thrash around with my scythe, it already looked like someone above had carried out a couple of days cutting, as dead weed hung in clumps on the weirs and shallows. The ranunculus doesn’t normally die off until after the season closes. During times of low water I would normally bar cut the lot seeking to maintain a decent level of water but the weed was not in good enough condition to maintain its place in the stream and I was left with no option but to cut back what weed remained. As a result the river is now down to its bare bones, lower than the period when water restrictions were last implemented. Four miles upstream from here at Weston Colley the river is barely running and is a foot off the bottom of the gauging station. Our bridges are decidedly precipitous and the water seems a long way down when mowing the banks with the tractor. We have barely enough water to run our stew ponds and the few fish that remain are on half rations and are not having the best time of it. The fishing in the river normally picks up in September when the river can take on a late season sparkle but la truite are reluctant to feed and most sulk and skulk. Spawning may be a few months off but currently the spawning gravels remain inaccessible to all but the weaniest fingerling and parr as the water flowing over them is barely a few inches. The fringe has been allowed to encroach as has the watercress that in some places extends half way across the channel helping to squeeze the flow, but when the first frost hits and the cress sails off downstream a trickle of water running down the centre of the channel will be all that remains.
This river is crying out for water, and decent winter replenishment of the aquifers that feed it.
In an era when all things new and funky are preceded with the letter “i” a fossil fuel company trading under the moniker of “igas “ have been drawing oil from below the aquifers a few miles from here. On three sites they trumpet their CBM operation as sustainable and having little impact on the environment, the process involves water, so I contacted the company and questioned them at length on their operation in the valley. It involves the retrieval of oil from coal seams deep underground and while it involves the use of water, all water used is sourced from the coal seam itself and then re-injected to the same place once the oil has been retrieved, some sites do not have the ability to re-inject the water and in such cases water is taken off site for reinjection elsewhere, if this were happening in the oil field underneath this valley I would be kicking up a fuss as it is water leaving the catchment for which it was originally intended. All three sites within a few miles from here re inject their water from whence it came. There are concerns with the process over localised drawdown of aquifers but whether that is the case here is difficult to ascertain.
Provided I continue to look left and look right when crossing the road, my active existence, along with a diet that includes the determined and sustained consumption of red wine, tomatoes and dark chocolate should lead me to cash in my chips at a reasonable age. On days when the black dog looms, thoughts centre around warmer weather and less rain, a larger population, increased abstraction and the prospect of this river becoming unfishable during my lifetime sustained during periods of low flow by the sewage outfall at Barton Stacey. A doom laden prediction perhaps, but thirty years ago three miles upstream from here a fishing club thrived. As a student on an estate further downstream from here the fishing department would regularly deliver fish for stocking through the summer months, today any fish over half a pound would have its back out of the water.
I hope I am wrong and if in the future igas apply to use groundwater to explore the possibility of exploiting shale gas beneath this valley and the groundwater is low. Someone at command centre central will ignore the "bottom line" and say that the chalkstream environment will be impacted on, the river needs every drop of water it can get, and please source your water elsewhere.
Well done to the Conservative member of Parliament for the Meon Valley for speaking up for the threat posed to chalkstreams in the south and the possible threat to groundwater supply by shale gas extraction.
He’s an angler, and not a bad one at that!
For the record it was a Christmas present from the lady who sleeps on my left and had been to ninety nine percent of the places I have visited with my camera bag.
A midnight flight brought us back in Blighty, where Mdme dashed straight off to work, Child A hung around for 24 hours before dashing off to a Canary Island for 10 days, Child B made 48 hours before departing for a cricket tour of Devon and then on to five days in Dublin, while I wandered up the river and wondered where all of the water had gone. Child A will arrive home for 24 hours before setting off for her final year at Portsmouth University, while Child B will begin his first year at Cardiff University, leaving the lady who sleeps on my left, myself and Otis at home alone. The cuts of meat will be considerably better and wine may be taken with each evening meal, our time will be spent in togas lazily reclining on plumped cushions occasionally popping grapes into each other’s mouths enjoying complete control of the television remote control.