Chris Avery | Sunday, 18 August 2024
The rest of that winter was kind for habitat work, clearing the debris from the Tornado, and we slotted into a routine of clearing the branches and the accompanying tons of twigs, leaves and tangles and strangles of Ivy; wild Roses; and Woody Nightshade. The fishing club members rallied not so much in droves but a constant flow of drips and drabs, which is the way I like it, little and often, a constant turning of the wheel.
I concentrated on the areas of the potential Redds first, with the exception of that ‘Heart of the Brook’ spawning ground I’d previously put so much of my efforts into. That was to sit on the backburner for now. There was so much fallen, weighing down on that particular area, burying the Brooks waters deep under 8 feet or more of crushed debris spreading for 50 or 60 feet of stream bed. It was hard to discern what was under all that tangle of branches and foliage and gauge the scale of the task in hand.
And hard not to imagine, considering the extra time and effort I had dedicated to this specific area, that the storm itself had not focused its efforts on this particular stretch. Payback? Some divine retribution and a personal affront.. “So you think you can play god with our river do you Avery? You went too far this time!”
Those river deities who in the past had delivered the dastardly and quite awful Max down to us briefly as a club secretary, obviously in punishment for some hideous faux pas, were now again messing with my head and sending Tornados to teach me a new lesson it seemed. They are a terrific pain in the Butt to deal with.
I knew at least one major old stunted Willow with a trunk of around 5-6 feet diameter was in the Brook or wedged across the banks with its limbs and foliage crushed down into the stream bed, gradually collecting extra flotsam from upstream creating more pressure.
It had come down crushing an adjacent Hawthorn with it, laden with thick twist of Ivy, Brambles and Briar rose, this just small first section, which in itself looked an epic task. A kind of Jackstraws castle game of cutting away smaller limbs and pulling out branches to open up a passageway, while a ton or more of suspended Willow trunk teetered above waiting to continue its earthbound descent and destiny.
My gamble was that when it eventually tumbled, that the far side bank would catch it and hold, but I wanted to make sure I was clear and able to find a quick exit if needed, I certainly didn’t want volunteers near, or be hurried into making hasty cuts, nor trust others to make cuts who may not recognize the tell-tale signs of the first hints of movement.
Immediately upstream of this, in the continued chaos for 50 feet or more, there were 3 or maybe 4 very thick limbs off a few Ash trees that had crashed down bringing many smaller branches and trees with them. So that could all wait.
But for now, anywhere lower downstream where a spawning ground was covered or would be potentially affected by our works either upstream or downstream of it, where changing the flow and the current by removing material would potentially alter the stream bed or the purity of water passing over those eggs. These areas were given priority and, conveniently as it turned out, they were mostly in the lower reaches anyway.
Then with redds dealt with, our progress was linear, systematically working upstream clearing and re-managing each bite sized area as we went.
A team of volunteers would turn up, usually 4 or 5 guys, and I got pretty good at working out a manageable chunk for that day.
Taken as a whole, to clear all that Brook without mechanical help looked over-whelming. But to break it into a series of manageable projects and successes. Well it was easier for all involved to become engaged and invested in it, with a minor victory to look back upon at the close of the day’s play.
I liked the idea of seeing what seemed to be a hopeless challenge for the numbers attending, and then ending with a very satisfying snapshot of a pristine looking Brook flowing clear and sweetly again, while on the bankside, two neat piles of off-cuts sat , 4 or 5 feet high. One consisting of the thicker off cuts that may get reused back in the Brook or was of firewood size; and the other a tangle of Twigs; small Branches; Ivy; Briar; and Weeds . As the stuff got dragged up out of the Brook from the cutters it covered a huge area, but systematically cut down and stacked away by our beavers on the bankside, it was remarkable how much it reduced it all.
Delegating or selecting this task wasn’t a challenge, you simply looked in the cars of the people who arrived to recognize any hint of OCD fastidious order, and they were your bankmen. Put them on cutting out a tree in mid-stream and a 10 minute task becomes an hour of unnecessary deliberation and painful dithering, but give them mess and chaos on the bankside to offend their sensibilities, and then just let them lose with loppers and be amazed.
In a few places these stacks of tangle remain on the bankside, compacted down a little and decorated with a growth of creeping hops or Bindweed adding a lush green covering to the twiggy and branch constructed, wildlife apartment blockbelow. An almost impenetrable haven, at first for the small nesting birds and I guess the basement a labyrinth for small mammals too, either for sheltering, or for dining. They are highly desirable winds and shambles, for shrews, weasels and mice and also for lizards and Toads feeding on the Wood lice; Beetles; Spiders; Ants; and worms, in the lower levels during the warmer 3 seasons. Then in Winter the stack becomes a hibernation shelter for Hedgehogs in the basement and Butterflies and ladybirds in the drier upper apartments. In no time at all hundreds of species of creature commune in this constructed debris from the terrible storm.
As the wooden structures break down from within over time, and the stack gradually collapses in on itself. The Beetles; Woodboring insects; the Wood lice, Wood Wasps and Bees really move in as the funguses take hold to crumble the apartments to woody rich mulch and gradually return it all in time to the bankside soils . All that’s left to be seem is a small barely discernable mound of rich woodland humus.
Nature provided an organic little Trump tower with green penthouse apartments by the Brook that will one day become a rich fertile oasis of green verdant growth, a counterpoint to parched plants, struggling in the surrounding, depleted, farmland soils.
Working with loppers and hand saws (I avoid chain saws with volunteers, and for myself they are a last resort). It’s the endeavor of a thousand cuts, not one dramatic big slice through or a hefty mechanical drag up the bank side and away. Ideally two guys in the Brook clearing the blockage, another one helping to drag and clear the debris up over the bank, and then two on the bank sorting and stacking the off cuts. Even the older members, now beyond doing a long mornings labour, could turn up for an hour or two, to give support, and drag a few branches up over the banks and helpstack them fastidiously away.
Finishing it neatly is important; for the guys working it emphasises a successful day full of achievement, it looked good for the passing public, and for the farmer shows that we were organized and seemingly systematic. Up to the task, and caring for the place. And then for the hundreds of species that use the remaining stacks, it adds integrity to the structure of their new abodes.
Whereas starting and leaving the next bit unfinished until next week, looked and felt for the participants, like we were over-whelmed and the task is too big. So I restricted each visit to a project we could complete on the day, or over the weekend, and end it there.
As the weeks turned into months the Trout had come onto the Redds in places where we had worked on the gravel and those areas were now avoided as we worked further up-stream. Week by week neat piles of off cuts appeared on the banksidesmarking our progress, and then like some impish unseen helpers magically disappearing when our backs turned, as the farmer came along with a tractor and moved them away. We seemed to be synchronized to the needs of the farmer and, without more than a passing word, we were almost working as a team.
In an ideal situation for him, he’d have just hoicked the lot out and cleared out all debris with machines, but over the years I guess he had seen so much of these projects now and witnessed the outcomes; realised there was nothing detrimental in what we were doing to the efficiency of this drain across his lands, and there was the added benefit of the wildlife, the pollinators, and the financial grants.
The locals and the dog walkers metered the progress with their visits and gifted kind words of encouragement and sometimes even recognition and gratitude to the fishing club!. In odd places I put piles where the tractor wouldn’t reach them, or if that particular farmer wasn’t as organised.. and they became our wildlife Trump Towers.
In the stream we had more cover for the Trout and wildlife, more habitat for our invertebrates to cling to or as adults climb back down into the Brook to lay eggs. And more diversity of currents and flows, sorting; grading; and cleaning the particles in the waters..
This dark cloud that so briefly visited, was producing so much silver lining.
As the Christmas period approached, progress was virtually up to the ‘Heart of the Brook’, and then the big ash tree above the Pack horse bridge. And I was happy to have some bank holidays and time alone to get on with this bit.
I had my Christmas planned this year, I’d have hopefully unwrapped all the branches and foliage off the remaining trunks the week before with just the chairman and his Black Labrador popping down to check on progress each afternoon, and then help drag the offcuts up over the high banks, Lola the lab jumping in the stream to grab any branches that got away from me and were drifting downstream. And on Christmas morning I turned up with flask and sandwiches to find my new toys, one big teetering Willow tree trunk and 4 meaty branches sat in the stream and set about cutting them to shape , levering them around if possible, and fixing them into the streambed. Can’t think of a better way to spend a Christmas day.
Have a great weekend y’all
Chris Avery