Go with the flow
Following the River Devon, plus good sleep tips
Rivers have captivated me since early childhood; such special serene places where wildlife abounds at every turn and the gentle flow of water acts like a soothing tonic. My earliest recollection of a river was as a four or five- year- old wandering down to the banks of the Water of Leith on the southern outskirts of Edinburgh, accompanied by my older brother.
I remember the green lushness and finding a dunnock’s nest hidden in a moss- covered tree stump by the river’s side, the four eggs shining like azure jewels. I recall the dampness of the air and the sound of the water bubbling over the rocks.
When the family then moved to the north of Edinburgh, the Water of Leith was still an ever- present friend, although slower in flow as it closed in upon the sea. I often watched water voles from an old disused railway bridge, hearing their “plops” as they dived into the water and seeing their V- shaped wakes as they hurriedly swam for cover.
From the same bridge I observed speckled brown trout, their heads facing upstream and tails moving rhythmically to keep pace with the current. I saw my first kingfisher here and watched tiny thread- like elvers making their way upstream after having travelled thousands of miles across the Atlantic from the Sargasso Sea. The spell had been cast.
In my early teens, and accompanied by friends, I ventured further afield to explore the River Tyne in East Lothian in a magnificent, wooded valley near Humbie. Here, all caution was thrown to the wind and we would wade in the river exploring nooks and crannies and searching under banks and over- hangs for dipper nests.
These intricate dome- shaped creations were easy to find once you knew where to look. Wading brought a new dimension to my connection with the river – it was like becoming an integral part of it – and you saw so much more.
Later, when I moved north to Aberdeen, the Water of Feugh – a tributary of the mighty River Dee near Banchory – became my favoured watercourse, a place to explore and enjoy. Here I would find the nests of grey wagtails clinging to rock ledges and watch woodcock at dusk engaging in their mystical territorial courtship flights known as “roding”. I discovered my first slow worms basking in the sun only yards from the river’s edge. The sandpipers were the stars in spring and early summer, flying on flickering wings from rock to rock accompanied by their highpitched peeps. On boulders by the bank, it was not unusual to stumble upon the sweet- smelling droppings or spraints of otters.
On a different tributary of the Dee by the edge of the Cairngorms, there was a small gorge where rowan and birch trees miraculously found tenure on its steep rocky sides.
In this dark and mysterious place, the river was narrow and only a few feet wide. The sides of this rocky cleft were home to peculiarly formed liverworts, primitive plants that thrive in the perpetual humidity and shade.
But in late summer and early autumn the gorge held salmon in its dark watery depths. These fish had run up this tributary as far as they could go because the water was too low for them to negotiate the final leg over a spewing waterfall that provided access to the gravelly spawning grounds further upstream.
These salmon would lie in the deep pool in the gorge for weeks, waiting for the heavy rains that would deliver the right conditions to pass this seemingly impenetrable obstacle. One year, I stripped naked and donned a mask and snorkel and swam amongst the fish. The peaty water was freezing, and I could endure the cold for only so long, but the sight of their flashing torpedoshaped bodies is still imprinted upon my mind.
Fast forward a few decades, and rivers are still part of my very being, and last year, while sitting by the banks of my current local river, the Devon in Clackmannanshire, I decided to delve deeper into its soul and embark upon a 12- month journey to get closer to its wild beating heart.
The result is my new book, If Rivers Could Sing, which explores the River Devon from its source in the Ochil Hills to where it spills out at its estuary in the Inner Forth near Alloa.
My journey turned out to be a revelation in which I discovered beavers and otters, and learnt of the intricate relationships between river invertebrates, plants and other creatures.
Insects and other invertebrates are especially important, and as I reveal in my book, they are the engine room of the river, the driving force that supports birds, fish and so much else. Trout and minnows depend upon this natural bountiful larder for their very being, both when these invertebrates are in their larval stage, and when the mayflies, caddisflies and stoneflies miraculously emerge as fully winged adults.
If Rivers Could Sing also explores the pollution legacy of the Devon when during the industrial revolution the river became seriously contaminated from the activities of textile mills and other human activities along the river’s course. Furthermore, there are new threats in the form of alien invasive species such as Himalayan balsam and American mink.
The story of the Devon is of a river that has largely recovered after years of neglect; a microcosm of the inherent ability of nature to bounce back if given half the chance to do so. But it is not a pure and perfect river, and sadly never will be, because it still suffers the scars from the past, and the daily impact of humankind will
The peaty water was freezing, but the sight of their flashing torpedoshaped bodies is still imprinted upon my mind
forever haunt it into the future.
But despite that, the Devon is a wonderful river, a beautiful and inspiring place.
Indeed, all rivers are special. Rivers provide continuous ribbons of connectivity, linking different habitats and areas through their wild corridors. Their banks are rich in alders, willows and other trees, and the steep- sided valleys created by their multitude of tributaries enable natural woodland to prosper, supporting so much other natural life. River flood meadows are rich in wildflowers, butterflies and other insects, and the associated natural ponds and oxbow lakes are a haven for amphibians.
Rivers and their environs are also places for recreation and for people to relax – serene slivers of tranquillity. Whether it be anglers or canoeists, birdwatchers or walkers, rivers have something for everyone. In an age where stress and mental health are major issues affecting society, the calming influence of a flowing river can relax the mind and soothe the soul like nothing else.
Rivers are the beating heart of our environment; arteries of shimmering life that wind through our landscape, havens for nature and places for all of us to enjoy.
If Rivers Could Sing by Keith Broomfield can be bought at www.tippermuirbooks.co.uk, from bookshops and online, priced £ 9.99.