Funky Claude and The Medium of Fire

Back to work and the perennial skirmishes with the forces of crack willow continues. Mostly small stuff on the non fishing bank that is starting to inhibit weed growth, we've been dropping it into the river and pulling it out with the tractor to burn on the fishing bank. We experienced the warmest winter day on record recently and feeding a fire became a sweaty business. I had planned to burn the fen where we were working in a few weeks time, I try and do it every year as it produces a much thicker covering of flowers indigenous to a piece of fen in a chalk valley, principally hemp agrimony, meadow sweet and willow herb which are a magnet for buzzing bugs and butterflies.

Half way through the morning, sparks from our (You'll note the shared responsibility) fire ignited the fen

and within five minutes a wall of flame was making its way down the valley, and at this point I'll resume the diatribe regarding an urgent need for rain in these parts. I had completely underestimated how dry the ground was, and urged on by the merest of zephyrs, much of the fen was completely burned off.

Which is great for the butterflies and all things that buzz, but because of the unplanned nature of the burn, I hadn't had a chance to thoroughly soak some fire breaks and a few hours later this resulted.

For Deep Purple fans with a penchant for an allegory,

Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention are in the Fishing Hut. The establishment pictured on the left is the Gambling House, while I play the part of both Funky Claude and Some Stupid with a Flare Gun.

For the unallegorical, and fans of funk, the burned out shell is not the Fishing Hut.
This is all that remains of the birch clad shelter by the old stew pond used to store fish food. It was on its last legs but didn't deserve to suffer this fate.


The clay tile porch collapsed and yes, the hut did indeed die with an awful sound. Hissing mostly as red hot tiles pitched into the pond.

It was my error of judgement to be burning willow on the riverbank, fortunately I am blessed with an understanding and forgiving employer. I didn't appreciate how dry the ground was, but who expects a barbecue ban in February?

You never stop learning.

We need rain, lots of it.

For the river, of course, but also to keep me from burning any more buildings down.

Who will be our Stormbringer?

In other Fire news, an application has been put in for a new "waste to energy via the medium of fire" facility on the other side of the Highway to the Sun.

It's the mother of all incinerators that promises to provide power to a large part of Hampshire and it uses water, which is a worry for me.

There are many in the area who spend their days in a permanent state of agitation. Foam an ever-present at the corner of the mouth, fists are clenched and teeth firmly gnashed. It seems to have been the default state for many throughout the past two to three years but it could be a long process for a decision to be taken on Wheelabrator Harewood which may call for a more measured and considered response.

Unwelcome planning proposals regarding energy production and waste disposal have been made before in this parish, and have been rejected following a measured and considered response.

Clearly I like a fire, but I don't believe the Wheelabrator is a suitable development for this valley. It is an industrial leviathan that will loom large on the local landscape and an inappropriate development for this parish. I will respond accordingly when invited to do so.

Give Wheelabrator Harewood a google and draw your own conclusions. Please respond accordingly when invited to do so.

Back on the bank, Tarka's back with a bang. When the snow fell there were no sign of any otters, other than a brief visit to our bottom boundary by a beast currently billeted on Bransbury Common. The trout fishery a mile upstream has suffered with a herd of Otters since Christmas. Seems that they are now extending their territory to visit us during the night - the otters, not the good people at the trout fishery.

All sensible people agree that the warmest winter day on record is Bing Crosby's version of Mele Kalikimaka

Apparently Bing was pipped for the warmest winter day on record this week.

Buds began to swell, blossom broke and the Ceti's warbler rocked up. We've a dearth of geese on the upstream water meadow, which suggests that it isn't that cold somewhere else and there are many duck paired up. We've also plenty of roe deer about the place at the moment with a couple of quite senior bucks.

Despite calculations of algorithmic proportions late last year, our supply of seasoned split logs is running low and the log splitter has been fired up. We got through quite a nit of wood when the snow lay on the ground, but a morning with the splitter produced a pile that should see us through the rest of the winter.

Like a repentant Viking, I shall never lift an axe in anger again. Hydraulic log splitters are the future of producing fuel for the fire.

I do seem to have mentioned fire quite a lot in this post.

Oh yes, nearly forgot. This book has just been published.

George is someone that I bump into now and again when I am bumbling about on the short stretch of the Itchen that I fall in and out of.

It has taken him ten years to produce this book and it provides a comprehensive "state of play" of the Itchen above Winchester in the early part of this century. George is a tenacious and talented photographer and the book features many examples of his best work and highlights the incredible biodiversity that exists in a chalk stream valley.

It's an excellent and comprehensive tome that covers all aspects of chalk stream life and I commend it to the house.

Further details on how to obtain a copy can be found at www.gmp.co.uk