When I was a boy,
I dreamed of a river. MY river...
..of mayflies and monsters...
..of weirs and whirlpools.
Now I am grown,
my river still surprises me.
With each uncovered secret,
I fall deeper into a magical world.
I have loved this river all my life.
Now I cross her to reach home - an
old millworker's cottage by a weir.
I watch her changing moods
and, every season, how my neighbours
struggle to survive.
She's nine miles long,
but you can see all her beauty
and the creatures that depend on her,
here, within a few hundred yards
of my home.
# You go to my head
# And you linger
like a haunting refrain
# And I find you
spinning round in my brain
# Like the bubbles
in a glass of champagne
# You go to my head
# With a smile
that makes my temperature rise
# Like a summer... #
The river carves banks
for kingfishers to nest in.
Each summer, the same pair bring up
their family just by the house.
Sometimes the female flashes by
a dozen times in a bright morning.
From minnow to mayfly, life on the
river is not as tranquil as it looks.
Beneath the surface lurks danger.
This familiar face
belongs to my noisiest neighbour.
Constantly on the lookout for food...
..or predators!
But I suspect there is a new visitor.
For the first time since
I've known the river - an otter.
I haven't seen him yet,
but by the bridge is an old holt -
a network of tunnels and burrows
used by otters decades ago.
Outside the entrance,
I've seen tracks.
At night, I've heard whistles which
make me hopeful that otters are back.
This river can be a tough place
to live - never the same
from one day to the next.
With spring comes flood.
I've seen the water rise three feet
in as many hours.
Food becomes hard to find.
By nightfall,
all our homes are threatened.
I wasn't the only one
caught out by the rising water!
A dog otter -
unnerved by the sight of me -
watched as I struggled
to raise the sluice gates.
As the water level fell,
a female rushed past the house
to rescue her squeaking cubs.
I didn't know whether she could
save them from the flood, but I did
know that otters have come home.
The next morning,
I found another surprise -
less welcome,
but at least it was taxed!
The ancient Greeks
believed this little blue bird
had the power to calm the waters.
They called her Halcyon.
The Gods blessed her
with fair weather to build her nest.
This halcyon bird survived
the hungry days of the flood,
and has been fishing since dawn.
She has a suitor.
There is one sure sign
that two kingfishers are a couple -
their engagement is official
when the female accepts a fish
from the male.
To impress, you should do something
you're good at,
and kingfishers are best at fishing!
Despite HIS very best dives, this
female seems only too happy to catch
her own fish - and hers are bigger!
# Is you is or is you ain't my baby?
# Maybe baby's found somebody new
# Or is my baby
still my baby true? #
I can't help admiring
his persistence. I watched them
all morning and he NEVER gave up.
For all his fancy fish work,
she played hard to get.
I think
she was testing his commitment!
# Is you is or is you ain't my baby?
# Maybe baby's found somebody new. #
He and I were both relieved
when she accepted.
# Or is my baby
still my baby true? #
To be certain,
he spent the day offering her fish
to reinforce the bond!
They will rely heavily
on the strength of this bond
in the months to come.
By April, the pair have chosen the
nest site. This bank has been used
by kingfishers for generations -
high enough not to flood and safe
from predators. They take turns.
It's hard work digging! It may take
two weeks to complete the nest -
which can be a metre long,
with a chamber for the eggs.
But the happy couple
have a problem - good territory
and loyal males are hard to come by.
We have an intruder.
The first reaction is what I see
most often - to fly at the strange
bird and chase it, whistling loudly.
Intruders will not be tolerated.
But what of the otter and her cubs?
Although I've looked every day,
I haven't seen them since the flood.
Then, at the end of April,
my persistence paid off.
Two cubs survived the flood!
They look about four months old -
just big enough to start learning
about their river home.
This might be their first journey.
They are frightened - hugging
the bank, staying close together.
They struggle with this environment,
preferring to leap from rock to rock
rather than face
the full force of the water,
calling for reassurance.
While Mum is very wary,
the little ones barely notice me.
They have more than enough
to cope with.
It's a whole new scary world.
They reach the house.
Up the steps and over my lawn
isn't the usual route,
but they are too small
to go Mum's way UP the weir!
At the top of the weir, they come
really close. I hope they'll linger.
But they don't like the lights
and they're gone again!
DAWN CHORUS
CUCKOO CALLS
Dawn is my favourite time here.
This daybreak
finds the kingfishers still digging.
They still have a problem -
the intruder hasn't got the message.
She must be desperate.
Aerial combat is the first option -
they try to chase her away again.
At this time of year, particularly,
females want to avoid injury,
and won't normally attack each other.
But for the homeless female,
perhaps this is her last chance.
I watched them pose,
sizing each other up.
Flattening their bodies and pushing
their necks out. Neither will yield!
In rare cases,
kingfishers try to drown each other,
but in 15 years of watching them,
I've only seen it once.
This female is NOT giving up!
I was about to witness
the most startling drama
I've seen on the river. This is it.
To the death.
I soon lost track
of which one was MY bird.
I had no idea how much longer they'd
last in the water without drowning.
A mink! I thought it was an otter
when it burst out from the bank.
One kingfisher had dived to safety,
but which one?
It was impossible to tell.
The mink had been waiting in ambush,
hidden, even from me,
probably attracted by
the kingfishers' frantic whistling.
She stashed the first bird
and returned, sure there was another.
But one kingfisher got lucky.
She's spotted me!
We were so absorbed in the fight
that she's as surprised to see me
as I was to see her!
I was hoping that this
bedraggled survivor was my neighbour.
And then the proof!
Her mate!
Reaffirming they are a couple!
For my exhausted kingfisher,
this is prime territory.
Everything is set for her to breed.
That, in the natural world,
is worth fighting for!
By contrast, you'd think that
moorhen females are timid, nervous
characters - and normally they are -
but not in spring.
When there is a fat male to be had,
then the girls let rip
and the feathers really fly!
MOORHENS SQUAWK
Once the cat fight is over,
the triumphant female
suddenly switches from sassy
to submissive as the male steps in!
The loser gathers her strength to
fight again before the males run out.
In my duck gang,
the males are very much in charge.
Spring is a difficult time
for females!
Often, I watch horrified
as they are mobbed by gangs of males,
and yes, occasionally, they do drown.
But this couple has been together
since the autumn, and have a much
stronger bond than I normally see.
Where there's running water,
there's usually wagtails. My closest
neighbours nest right by the weir.
A cup of twigs, roots and grasses,
lined with hair from my dog -
it needs to be just right
before she lays her clutch.
A good nest should fit snugly.
By April, most of my feathered
neighbours are on nests. This
is when they are most vulnerable.
Last year, a rat took the eggs from
the wagtails' and the ducks' nests.
And the moorhen -
now settling on this years' eggs -
was raided at night by the mink.
The wagtails are on a deadline. They
need to time their chick hatch with
the mayfly hatch at the end of May,
when they can guarantee
food for hungry mouths.
But even the egg thieves run
the gauntlet, coming out at night.
Hunting takes the rat
past the mink hole...
NOT a good place
for a rat to linger.
Mink are not native -
an alien species, forced to survive
in a foreign country
because of releases from fur farms
as far back as the 1950s.
Our rivers are similar
to those of its native America
and, in the absence
of any competition, they thrive.
Now the competition is back.
Bridge Holt - the native
is reclaiming its territory.
I don't rate the mink's chances
with this otter.
She's ten times the weight -
all claws, teeth and muscle.
Inside the holt, her cubs grow
quickly. They rely on her for food.
Tonight, she must hunt.
A fox will avoid a fully-grown otter,
who could easily outweigh him.
She has only one thing on her mind -
fishing.
My heart sank
as I watched him go into Bridge Holt.
It'd be touch and go - a fox against
two cubs. Holts have an escape route.
I hope the cubs made use of it!
They say rats are intelligent.
Not sure about this one!
The mink has been lucky.
After a good meal, she'll probably
spend the next 24 hours sleeping.
So that's one less predator
to worry about!
Particularly good timing
for the moorhen,
whose chicks are
just making their first appearance.
Otters are fond of moorhens,
but feathered fowl
aren't on her menu tonight!
COW MOOS
I've heard that ducklings call
to each other from inside the eggs
to synchronise hatching.
It must work! After nearly
four weeks' incubation, they're
all out within a couple of hours.
It's a bit of jump from the nest,
but they show no fear.
They're impatient
to begin their life on the water.
I count 13.
That's a lot for any mother to watch,
no matter how diligent.
She's going to be busy...
and won't be the only one!
# Up a lazy river
where the old mill run
# Meets a lazy river
in the noonday sun
# Linger in the shade
of a kind old tree
# And you throw away your troubles
And you dream with me
# Up a lazy river
where the robin's song
# Wakes a bright new morning
We can loaf along
# Blue skies above
# Everyone's in love
Up a lazy river
# How happy we can be, oh-oh
# Lazy river, lazy river, lazy river
# Up the lazy river
where the old mill run
# That lazy, lazy river
in the noonday sun
# Linger in the shade
of a kind old tree
# Throw away your troubles
You can dream with me
# Up the lazy river
Robin's song
# Wakes up, we can loaf along
# Blue skies above
Everyone in love
# Up the lazy river
Crazy river
# Lazy river, lazy river, lazy river
# Up the lazy river with me! #
While the frenzy of summer
continues around them, the ducklings
relish their first visit to the weir.
So busy dabbling for insects, they
are blissfully unaware of any danger.
Every year
I watch the same drama unfold.
It seems to be a ritual,
almost a rite of passage.
Although some
are understandably reluctant
to throw themselves into the game,
I have never yet seen a duckling
injured - a little shaken, perhaps.
It's all part
of learning to navigate the river,
and it certainly endears them to me.
Under the water, another
annual tradition is about to begin.
These rather ugly bugs
are mayfly larvae,
a foundation
of the river's ecosystem.
They have survived on the river bed
for at least a year,
but now they transform themselves.
Late May is when mayflies live,
love and dance in the sun.
They only have 24 hours to mate
and lay their eggs before they die,
if they aren't eaten first, for
many creatures love a tasty mayfly!
# What a difference a day made
# Twenty-four little hours
# What the sun and the flowers
# Where there used to be rain
# My yesterday was blue, dear
# Today I'm a part of you, dear
# My lonely nights are through, dear
# Since you said you were mine
# Lord,
what a difference a day makes
# There's a rainbow before me
# Skies above can't be stormy
# Since that moment of bliss
# That thrilling kiss
# It's heaven when you...
# ..find romance
# on your menu
# Oh, what a difference a day made
# And the difference...
# is you. #
Those who do survive lay their eggs
by skipping along the water, dipping
their abdomens onto the surface.
The eggs drift down
to rest on the muddy bottom
before, in turn, becoming the larvae
of another year's mayfly hatch.
But all too quickly
their day in the sun is up.
They fall in their thousands,
dying, onto the river, every evening.
In late May, the wagtails return to
their new chicks over and and over,
beaks stuffed
with nutritious mayflies.
Their first nest by the sluice
was raided by the rat
and so they relocated to the patio.
They only just had time
to hatch their new brood
and catch this time of plenty.
Upriver from the house,
the most beautifully ugly babies
on the river have all fledged.
I have never known the moorhen
hatch this many chicks before.
Perhaps there are too many. One
appears to be weaker than the rest.
After his first journey, he can't
make it up the bank to the nest.
Before long,
he is missed by his parents.
It's the father
that comes to the rescue.
He's looking for an easier route
and encouraging the chick to follow.
I'm surprised
how well the parents work together.
While the father tries to help
the chick, the mother takes over
at the nest, keeping the others warm.
After all this effort,
the chick is exhausted.
Instinct kicks in
and, desperate to keep him warm,
the father tries to incubate the
chick, as if he were in the nest.
But slowly struggle ceases
and life ebbs away.
I had watched both parents
incubating their young,
but sometimes even the most
dedicated parenting is not enough.
Right in front of my eyes,
a chick's life had left him.
But life is only one part
of the cycle in the river.
It is a reminder
of how high the stakes really are
for all those with chicks to raise.
MUSIC: "The Host Of Seraphim"
by Dead Can Dance
It's minnows
that keep this river alive
and the river
teems with them in summer.
The kingfishers have seven chicks.
To keep them alive, they have to
fish during every moment of daylight.
As they're being fed,
the chicks shuffle round in a circle,
so that each gets a turn.
Throughout the summer on my river,
the parents will need to catch
5,000 minnows to feed their chicks.
The pressure to catch is relentless.
Every dive is an investment
of energy.
Every minnow counts.
But even a kingfisher
can't juggle two fish every time!
What doesn't end up in
a kingfisher's belly isn't wasted.
Gammarus -
freshwater scavenging shrimps.
They clean up the river floor
of all rotting detritus.
At this time of year, all trace
of that minnow will be gone in days.
A refusal? It's hard to believe
they are finally full.
For some time, I had been worried
about the otter family.
I hadn't seen them since the fox
sneaked into Bridge Holt weeks ago.
When they finally showed up,
both cubs were on fine form
and had grown quite fat.
They must have had good fishing
on some other part of the river.
They are big enough to follow mum
everywhere - even up the weir.
They enter the water
with barely a ripple,
the mark of an accomplished otter.
Now they're SO confident
in the water.
Gone are the days when
they clung to the side of the bank.
They need this confidence
and the skill to remain unseen.
The modern river is full of hazards,
things that decades ago the otters
might never have come across.
MUSIC: "Are You Gonna Go My Way"
by Tom Jones and Robbie Williams
People have touched just
about every part of the river now.
The otters have been gone so long
that their scent has faded in Bridge
Holt, and now it has a new resident.
The mink has woken up and is hungry.
Dinner just swam by.
My chicks might not last the night.
My infrared lights and camera
mean that I am the only one
that can actually see the drama
as it unfolds in the darkness.
The duck knows
that the mink is stalking her,
but has no idea where he is.
She hides her chicks away
in the bank, rough in her urgency.
Then she acts as a decoy
to distract the mink.
She waits until she can sense
that he is really close,
before noisily drawing him away
from the hidden chicks.
SHE QUACKS
This is a risky strategy.
If she gets caught, he'll kill her
first, then probably the chicks, too.
She's seen him.
Still ignorant of the huddle of
hidden ducklings, the mink gives up.
Summer has moved on
for the kingfishers.
Their chicks have just fledged.
They have all their glorious plumage,
but none of the skills to match.
By now the parents are weary
of feeding their offspring.
The youngsters must learn to fish
quickly, while minnows are plentiful.
It's easy to understand how a
parent's patience quickly runs thin.
It's going to be a rude awakening.
But the first signs of independence
are there. Mum's fish is ignored.
A first dive.
He missed.
And it's a belly flop!
I watch forlorn babies every year,
getting more and more hungry until
they master this most precise art.
Some of them never do
and many starve.
The parents viciously
turn on their young.
Even a mother who has worked so hard
to feed her brood all summer
knows that there won't be enough
fish for all of them in the winter.
They must go.
Many will drown in the weeks to come
while they're learning to fish,
or die fighting
to establish a territory.
Only a quarter of chicks
will survive their first year.
Summer is over.
# Sanctus, sanctus
# Sanctus Dominus
# Dominus Deus
# Deus Sabaoth
# Sanctus Dominus Deus
# Deus Sabaoth
# Pleni sunt coeli et terra
# Gloria, gloria tua
# Hosanna in excelsis
# Hosanna in excelsis
# Hosanna in excelsis
# in excelsis... #
Autumn brings flood.
Everyone has to move
and that brings casualties.
Out on the road,
a young female otter.
I don't think she's one of mine.
One night, just before Christmas,
my dog otter returned to the river.
He was really on a mission!
But experienced enough to avoid cars.
The mother and cubs have spent
the night in Bridge Holt.
The cubs are now fully grown,
too big to be sharing.
They have no idea
there's another otter on the river,
or what the night will bring.
I didn't realise this would be
the last time I would see the cubs,
porpoising
as they flushed out their prey.
Fish flying out of the water rather
than confront those sharp fangs!
Family life as usual.
They suddenly become very wary.
It's their first meeting with their
father and they are right to be wary.
A dog otter will kill his cubs if he
doesn't want them in his territory.
But he is quite relaxed.
The way he quietly fishes
in front of them reassures the cubs.
So, keeping close together,
mum and cubs follow his lead.
Soon the cubs are relaxed, too,
enough to start feeding again.
They ferret under the rocks
for stone loaches and bullheads,
tasty little snacks.
Slowly mum increases the distance
between her and the cubs.
She's even happy to leave them
with me close by,
as she moves off with the dog otter.
One last glance before she goes.
They realise her plan.
This is the first time they've been
on the river without her
and they don't like it.
I know she'll be back in the morning,
but they don't.
She ignores their calls
and, reunited with her mate,
heads off into the night.
There is only one reason
for a dog otter and a female
to be travelling together.
But I would have to wait
until the next year for proof.
A year passed, the cubs left.
But the following autumn
the mother otter returned
and, with her, some new cubs which
she began to teach about our river.
I hope I'm going to be able
to get to know them all over again.
The kingfisher
survived the winter's flood.
The ducklings grew up,
and the following summer
had ducklings of their own.
And as for me?
I'll never stop dreaming
of the river, my Halcyon River.
