Western Morning News (Saturday)
Majestic salmon return to breed after epic travels
In a recent article Charlie Elder watched salmon battling up Dartmoor river rapids to reach their breeding grounds. This week he visited a shallow tributary high on Exmoor where these powerful travellers gather to spawn
“Fish live in trees,” said Phil with a smile as we waited patiently, our eyes fixed on the river.
It is a phrase used by those conservationists and anglers in the know to describe how branches and roots of riverbank trees provide invaluable hiding places for fish of all ages.
And he’s not wrong.
We had spotted a dark shape slipping from the exposed open water ahead of us into the shadows and tangles beneath a toppled willow and remained still in the hope it would return.
I had joined Phil Turnbull, fisheries technical officer with the Westcountry Rivers Trust, to walk an upper section of the River Barle near Withypool high on Exmoor in search of salmon that spawn at this time of year.
The rain-fed river running off the moor was gin clear, a few metres in width, and flowed at knee height over a gravelly bed. Its smooth glides were fringed by occasional trees and broken by rocky riffles, while in places the current had gouged deeper pools.
This combination of elements provide the perfect spawning grounds for Atlantic salmon that make the perilous journey here from the sea to breed in the winter, and this is the most productive tributary of the Exe in terms of spawning numbers.
Female salmon thrash the riverbed with their broad tails and use the current to help wash away stony sediment in order to create a depression known as a redd into which they lay their pea-sized eggs, fertilised by males that gather alongside. This trough is then covered over using the same technique, producing a characteristic humped area of fresh gravel and pebbles that can stand out against the surrounding shingle.
Phil had pointed out a couple of potential redds, but there was no sign of salmon at work digging and laying so we had continued to walk upriver in the hope of glimpsing any adult fish that might be present.
Salmon are wary of movement and will rapidly take cover. A slow and stealthy approach was required.
Like Phil I had donned a pair of polaroid fishing glasses, which help cut through surface glare and offer a window into the water beneath. When the sun broke through the clouds, providing a little warmth on this cold December day, it illuminated the riverbed clearly. The anticipation of seeing a salmon was enough to have my heart skip a beat every time I caught sight of fronds of weed waving in the flow. Was that one? Or that?
But good things come to those who wait. From beneath the tree a large salmon, perhaps over three foot long and 7lbs-plus in weight, eventually gently swam into view. Flexing its slim and powerful body it curved into the current and effortlessly held its position right in front of us.
I have never seen a fish so huge in such a seemingly small body of water and could only mouth the word “amazing”, rooted as I was to the spot. Salmon are stunning, from the streamlined shape to the subtle freckled patterning of the skin, and to witness this traveller, that had defied the odds with single-minded determination to reach these high breeding grounds felt like an honour.
The life cycle of the salmon is a fascinating and complicated one. The buried eggs, protected from being washed away or eaten, emerge in spring as fry and develop into well camouflaged parr. After one to three years these undergo changes that adapt them for life in the ocean and they head downstream as silver smolts and out into the sea in spring, roaming the Atlantic as they feed. Some tagged salmon from England have been caught off Greenland.
Salmon head back to the rivers of their birth to breed, following their inner compass and chemical scents in the water, and those that return to the river in summer after a winter at sea are known as grilse. They run the rivers following heavy rain, typically in autumn, when the water is deep enough to negotiate rocky obstacles that stand in their way. Those that spend several years at sea grow to be much larger and may head upriver earlier in the year, living off fat reserves without feeding until the spawning season, but are much rarer now.
While some adults live to breed another day, the majority, weakened by the journey and
effort of spawning, will die – having given their lives for the next generation and the future of the species.
Our salmon are in long-term decline and, as Phil explained, a multitude of factors at sea and in rivers are behind dwindling numbers of this internationally protected species.
The impacts of fishing by-catch and global warming that alters marine ecosystems and shifts sources of food is one part of the story. The deterioration of salmon rivers is another, with abstraction of water, pollution incidents and run-off that introduces chemicals, nutrients or silt from surrounding fields being key concerns.
In the northern Atlantic the large scale targeting of salmon has been widely prohibited and licensed estuary netting significantly reduced, helping to preserve precious stocks. Angling is also subject to controls, with an emphasis on catch and release, and the quality and quantity of water in rivers is closely monitored. But the issue that is the focus of Phil’s Westcountry Rivers Trust work is the manmade barriers to river migration that may prevent returning salmon from reaching spawning grounds.
While the iconic image is one of salmon leaping up rapids, Phil says that “a jumping fish is not a happy fish”. The risk of injury, exhaustion and a failure to get past obstructions all take their toll.
The Exe is an open river, free from natural obstacles, but has around 20 historic weirs within the catchment, some built to feed leats that once powered mills. One study estimated that 10% of salmon may not make it past a barrier, with ten barriers potentially preventing two-thirds of fish reaching their upland spawning grounds.
Phil is working in partnership with landowners, the River Exe & Tributaries Association representing riparian owners and anglers, the Environment Agency, South West Water and other stakeholders on projects to remove or mitigate barriers, such as by constructing fish passes. This will ensure an easier passage for those adults returning upstream and reduce losses among smolts heading downstream to the sea.
Surveys of salmon mean the River Exe population is now categorised by the Environment Agency as ‘at risk’, with the declining numbers not considered sustainable over the long term. So every effort is needed to improve the outlook for this awe-inspiring fish of such cultural – and economic – significance.
“There is something so captivating about salmon – powerful and beautiful, in perfect harmony with its surroundings,” said Phil. “Their migration is one of nature’s greatest and most gruelling journeys and you wonder as you watch one in the river what they have seen on their travels, as far as to Greenland and back, and what stories they could tell.”
Despite the challenges, some make it up the entire 60-mile length of the Exe to the headwaters in just a day or so in favourable conditions – an astonishing feat, especially given they are battling against the flow. These fresh fish are silvery and still have sea lice attached, though the individual we were watching was more coloured so would have been in the river a while.
We watched as the salmon, with a fluid flick of its tail, moved off, and in further sections of the Barle spotted others, perhaps ten in all, every one of them wary and wonderful. Some abraded on their river trek had been infected with a freshwater fungus, the white patches on body or fins flagging up their presence beneath the surface. Others were clean and gunmetal grey in the water, holding territory mid-stream in pools or lurking beneath overhanging banks.
I could have applauded every one of them: survivors like no other. King of fish. Long may they reign in our Westcountry rivers.