Mr Clapham, a Leucistic Goose and a Surprise Spaniel Experience

Happy New Year everyone and best wishes for 1973

We did that one?

Ok, on with the guff and a report of recent movements.

Which this week, as ever have centred principally around habitat enhancement and raising biodiversity, cos that's the kind of guys us keeper's are.

Up around a spring hole for much of the week with Lord Ludg and The English.

Willow had taken hold and the hole and the thirty yards of spring ditch was fairly void of light and life. So with Messer's Stihl and Husqvuarna forming the vanguard the forces of Salix were not so quietly conquered,

light streamed in and from the centre of the spring hole appeared a hand holding a sword.

I may have dreamt that last bit, but pictorial evidence would suggest otherwise and we have had an email from an A.Pendragon@hotmail.com regarding the precise location of said spring.

Ducks have already found the new patch of water and I reckon Pike will find it a perfect part to nose up in order to spawn. I'll plant it up with sedge and reed in a few months which should thrive with the improved light. It was a fairly lifeless piece of water and wood and at this point I could strike up the band to perform the familiar standard of this house of why some habitats benefit from being managed by man (keepering they used to call it) but won't because if we refer to the top of the piece, we are currently living in 1973 so if all interested parties can send a SAE I'll pop a postcard and a few Polaroid's in the post.

There are a few boggy areas around the spring hole and logistically it took a bit of working out as to how some of the willows could be extracted for introduction to the fire but not for the first time the little orange tractor performed magnificently and three pairs of hands on a job like this can reduce the time taken to complete the task substantially so thanks as ever to Lord Ludg and The English for helping out.

It must be cold somewhere else as we've quite a few teal in the valley and more geese than I can ever remember,

including this strange looking cove.

It had me foxed for a bit but google suggests that it's a leucistic greylag. A greylag goose whose body can't form enough pigment to colour it's feathers. There is also some small feathered oddity in the wood that I have yet to pick out. It hangs around the tree canopy and makes a "peep peep" sound every thirty seconds or so, I'll let you know on here when I find out what it is. The number of cormorants flighting this valley continue to increase and I now see them most days, six on the pond on one occasion and twenty buzzing the main river valley as I joined the A303 on a dash for provisions one lunch time.

River levels have slowly crept up during the opening weeks of this year. It was evident that the springs in the spring hole around which we were engaging the forces of crack willow flowed a little stronger as our work progressed. Aquifers have received some replenishment and the welcome sign of a chalk stream increasing in level during a couple of dry days as the contribution made by groundwater flow increases sent me scurrying over to the cricket pitch, where I can take the lid off a borehole and with the aid of a torch, shine a light to reveal the height of the groundwater in the valley (we don't do dodgy data, fake news or conjecture just have a look with our own eyes and form our own opinion) It had indeed risen but was still three feet below causing groundwater flooding on the outfield that was not such an uncommon occurrence in front of the pavilion ten or more years ago.

Recent left foot right foot expeditions in an effort to extend life have seen us cross a couple of chalk stream valleys both of which would characteristically carry standing water at this time of year. Here's one of the Anton Valley

And the Upper Itchen,

Apologies folks, but more rain please.

Just by way of reminder here's that island in the middle of the Itchen that has been exposed since September and has since been claimed by this wagtail.


In other news,

We've had a spaniel to stay. For twelve years we played host to the world's worst spaniel. Bill Hicks once joked that in the event of a nuclear war from among the dust an indestructible Keith Richards would stir and proclaim

"I saw the light and I thought we were on"

The same applied to Chump. A spaniel with duff back legs, indomitable attitude and a propensity to bring back half a hedgerow in his feathers he was terrific fun, but high maintenance and once he passed on we both agreed that we'd had ticked the "spaniel experience" box.

Until last week, when Madam agreed to look after a friend's elderly spaniel for a few days. Soporific, well mannered and with a dislike of a puddles he was a dream to look after, although he did have a funny way of taking his ease.

To return to guitar legends who surfaced in the nineteen sixties, I understand that a film is currently being shown in picture houses across the land that centres on the life and times of Eric Clapton.
I trust that the scene in which he fishes at this place and we shared a cold lunch at my employer's kitchen table made the final cut and the visit to our local pub where the landlady continually called him "Mr Clapham"

Top bloke and not a bad fisherman.

Oh yes almost forgot,

here's one of the dog who refuses to believe that Christmas is over.