Wild Life in a Southern County Part 16

Where the brook pa.s.ses under a bridge of some size the current divides to go through several small arches. There is here some fall, and the stream is swift and bright, chafing round and bubbling over stones.

Here the 'miller's thumbs' are numerous--a bottom fish growing to about four inches in length, and with a head enormously broad and large in proportion to its body. They rarely rise from the mud or sand; they hide behind stones, their heads buried in the sand, but their tails in sight. Every now and then they change positions, swimming swiftly over the bottom to another spot. Their voracity is very great, and they often disappoint the angler by taking his bait. The cottage people are said to eat them.

The 'stwun loach'--stone loach, as the lads call it--hides also behind and under stones, and may be caught by hand. These loach are apparently capricious in their habits; certain spots abound with them, in others you may search the stream in vain for a long distance. So, too, with the gudgeon: I noticed in one brook I frequently pa.s.sed that they never came up beyond one particular bend, though there was no apparent difference in the soil or in the stream itself. In the brook the jack do not seem to care much about them; but in the lake above there are no gudgeon, and there a gudgeon is a fatal bait. Nothing is so certain to take; the gudgeon will tempt the pike there when an ordinary roach may be displayed before him without the slightest effect.

A flood which brings down a large quant.i.ty of suspended mud and sand discolouring the water attracts the fish: they are looking for food.

But too much mud compels them to shift their quarters. This is well known to those who net the stream. They stretch the net across the brook a few yards below a bridge or short culvert--places much haunted by fish. Then the bottom of the stream above the culvert is thoroughly stirred up with a pole till the water is thick with mud, and this, pa.s.sing through the culvert (where the pole cannot be used and the fish would otherwise be safe), forces them to descend the stream and enter the net. Probably they attempt to swim up stream first, but are deterred by the pole thrust under the water, and then go down. It is said that even eels, who like mud, will move if the volume of mud sent through is thick enough and continued sufficiently long.

The fact that a little stirring of the bottom attracts fish is made use of along the Thames to attract bait for those night-lines which are the detestation of the true angler. The bait catcher has a long pole, at the end of which are iron teeth like a rake. With this he rakes up the mud, waits a few seconds, and then casts a net, which generally brings some minnows or other small fish to sh.o.r.e. These fish are then placed in a bucket, and finally go on the night-lines.

The ditches as they open on the brook are the favourite resorts of all aquatic life, and there most of the insects, beetles, etc, that live in the water may be discovered. They form, too, one of the last resorts of the reeds; these beautiful plants have been much diminished in quant.i.ty by the progress of agriculture. One or two great mounds by the brook can show a small bed still, and here and there a group grows at the mouth of these deep ditches, on the little delta formed of the sand, mud, and decaying twigs brought down. I have cut them fifteen feet in length. Some people, attracted by the beauty of the feathery heads of these reeds, come a considerable distance to get them. I have made pens of them: it is possible to write with such pens, and they are softer than quills, but on account of that softness quickly wear out.

A woodc.o.c.k may occasionally be flushed from such a ditch in winter.

Woodc.o.c.ks are fond of those ditches down which there always trickles a tiny thread of water--hardly so much as would be understood by the term streamlet--coming from a little spring which even in severe frosts is never frozen. Ever when the running brook is frozen such little spring: are free of ice, and so, too, is the streamlet for some distance.

From the bed of the brook proper the reeds are gone--they have taken refuge in nooks and corners. This is probably accounted for by the periodical cleaning out of the brook--not annually, but every now and then, in order to prevent the flooding which would be caused by the acc.u.mulation of mud and sand. The roots of the flags seem to withstand this rod: treatment; but many other water plants cannot, and are consequently only found in places which have not been disturbed for many years.

There is as much difference in ponds as in hedges, so far as inhabitants are concerned. Many fields and hedges seem comparatively deserted, while others are full of birds; and so of several ponds which do not apparently vary much--one is a favourite haunt of fish, and another has not got a single fish in it. One pond particularly used to attract my attention, because it seemed devoid of any kind of life: not even a stickleback could be found in it, though they will live in the smallest ditches, and this pond was fed by a brook in which there were fish. Not even a newt lived in it--it was a miniature Dead Sea. Another pond was remarkable for innumerable water-snails. When the wind blew hard they sometimes lined the lee sh.o.r.e to which they had drifted.

The herons are at the same time the largest and most regular visitors to the mere out of which the brook flows. One or more may generally be found there at some time of the day all the year round; but there is a remarkable diminution in their numbers during the nesting season. The nearest heronry must be about thirty miles distant, which probably explains their absence at that time. It also happens that just before the summer begins the mere is usually at its greatest height; the water is deep almost everywhere, and there are fewer places where the herons could fish with success.

They fly at a great height in the air, and a single stroke of the huge wings seems to propel the bird a long distance; so that though at first sight they appear to move very slowly, the eye being deceived by the slow stroke of the wings, they really go at a good pace. They do not seem to have any regular hours of visiting the lake--though more seem to arrive in the afternoon--but they have distinct lines of flight along which they may be expected to come. In winter, however, they show more regularity, going down from the lake to the water-meadows in the evening, and returning in the early morning--that is, supposing the lake to be open and free from ice. If the sh.o.r.es are frozen a heron or two may be found in the water-meadows all day.

In the autumn, after a dry summer, is the best time to watch them. The water is then low; numerous small islands appear, and long narrow sandbanks run out fifty or sixty yards with shoals on either side.

After a very dry season the level of the water is so much reduced that in the broadest (and shallowest) part the actual strand where the water begins is a hundred yards or more from the nearest hedge. This is just what the heron likes, because no one can approach him over that flat expanse of dried mud without being immediately detected. I have seen as many as eight herons standing together in a row on one such narrow sandbank in the daytime, in regular order like soldiers: there were six more on adjacent islands. They were not feeding--simply standing motionless. As soon as it grew dark they dispersed, and ventured then down the lake to those places near which footpaths pa.s.sed.

But although the night seems the heron's princ.i.p.al feeding time, he frequently fishes in the day. Generally, his long neck enables him to see danger, but not always. Several times I have come right on a heron, when the banks of the brook were high and the bushes thick, before he has seen me, so as to be for the moment within five yards. His clumsy terror is quite ludicrous: try how he will he cannot fly fast at starting; he requires fifty yards to get properly underway.

What a contrast with the swift snipe, that darts off at thirty miles an hour from under your feet! The long hanging legs, the stretched-out neck, the wide wings and body, seem to offer a mark which no one could possibly miss: yet, with an ordinary gun and snipe-shot, I have had a heron get away safely like this more than once. You can hear the shot rattle up against him, and he utters a strange, harsh, screeching 'quaack,' and works his wings in mortal fright, but presently gets half-way up to the clouds and sails away in calm security. His neck then seems to drop down in a bend, the head being brought back as he settles to his flight, so that the country people say the heron often carries a snake.

The mark he offers to shot is much less than would be supposed; he is all length and no breadth; the body is very much smaller than it looks.

But if you can stalk him in the brook till within thirty or forty yards, and can draw 'a bead' on his head as he lifts it up every now and then to glance over the banks, then you have him easily; a very small knock in the head being sufficient to stop him.

The tenacity of life exhibited by the heron is something wonderful: though shot in the head, and hung up as dead, a heron will sometimes raise his neck several hours afterwards. To wring the neck is impossible--it is like leather or a strong spiral spring: you cannot break it, so that the only way to put the creature out of pain is to cut the artery; and even then there are signs of muscular contraction for some time. A labourer once asked me for a heron that I had shot; I gave it to him, and he cooked it. He said he boiled it eight hours, and that it was not so very fishy! But even he could not manage the neck part.

This bird must have a wonderful power of sight to catch its prey at night, and out of some depth of water. In severe winter weather, when the lake is frozen, herons evidently suffer much. Most of them leave, probably for the rivers which do not freeze till the last; but one or two linger about the water-meadows till they seem to despair of catching anything; and will alight in the centre of a large pasture field where there is no water, and stand there for hours disconsolate. I suspect that the herons in winter time that come to the ponds do so for the fish which lie at the bottom on the mud packed close together, that is, when the water is not deep. It is said that when ice protects the fish herons eat the frogs in the water-meadows; but they can scarcely find many, for though I have been over the water-meadows day after day for snipe, I seldom saw a frog about them here.

When the level of the mere, after a peculiarly dry season, is very low, is also a good time to observe the habits of many other creatures.

There are always one or more crows about the neighbourhood of the lake; but at such times a dozen or so may be seen busily at work along the sh.o.r.e. They prey on the mussels, of which there are great numbers in the lake. Anyone pa.s.sing by the water when it is so shallow can hardly fail to notice long narrow grooves in the sand of the bottom. These grooves begin near the edge--perhaps within a foot of it--and then run out into the deeper part. By following these with the eye, the mussel may often be seen in a foot or two of water--sometimes open, but more generally closed. The groove in the sand is caused by the keel of the sh.e.l.l as the creature moves.

There are hundreds of these tracks; the majority appear to run from shallow to deep water, but there are others crossing and showing where the mussel has travelled. One may occasionally be seen in the act of moving itself, and making the groove in the sand. But they seem as a rule to move most at night, and to approach the sh.o.r.e closest in the darkness. In the deep water they are safe; but near the edge the crows pounce on them and may be seen peering about almost all day long.

Besides those that are eaten on the sh.o.r.e, numbers of mussels are carried up on the rising ground where the turf is short and the earth hard. Until stepped on and broken, the two halves of the sh.e.l.l are usually complete, and generally still attached, showing that the crow has split the sh.e.l.l open skilfully. They range from two or three to nine inches in length. The largest are much less common; those of five or six inches are numerous. Some of the old-fashioned housewives use a nine-inch mussel-sh.e.l.l, well cleaned, as a ladle for their sugar jars.

Now and then, at long intervals, an exceptionally dry season so lowers the level of the mere that all the shallower parts become land, and are even pa.s.sable on foot, though in places quicksands and deep fine mud must be carefully avoided. The fish that previously could enjoy a swim of some three-quarters of a mile are then forced to retire to one deep hole only a few acres in extent. Now commences a reign of terror, of which it is difficult to convey an adequate idea.

These waters have not been netted for years, and consequently both pike and perch have increased to an extraordinary degree, and many of them have attained huge proportions. Pike of six pounds are commonly caught; eight, ten, twelve, and fourteen pound fish have often been landed.

There was a tradition of a pike that weighed a quarter of a hundredweight but one day the tradition was put into the shade by the capture of a pike that scaled a little over thirty pounds. There are supposed to be several more such monsters of the deep, since every now and then some labourer pa.s.sing by on a sunny day, when jack approach the sh.o.r.e and bask near the surface, declares that he has seen one as big as a man's leg. But about the vast number of ordinary-sized jack there can be no doubt at all; since anyone may see them who will stroll by the water's edge on a bright warm day, taking care to walk slowly and not to jar the ground or let his shadow fall on the water before he can glance round the willows and bushes. Jack may then be seen basking by the weeds.

When an exceptionally long continuance of dry weather forces all the fish to retire to the few acres of water that remain, then these voracious brutes do as they please with the other fish, and the roach especially suffer. Every two or three minutes the fry may be seen leaping into the air in the effort to escape, twenty or thirty at a time, and falling with a splash. The rush of hundreds and hundreds of roach causes a wave upon the surface which shows the course they take.

This wave never ceases: as soon as it sinks here it rises yonder, and so on through the twenty-four hours, day and night.

The miserable fish, flying for their lives, speed towards the shallow water, and often, unable to stop themselves, are carried by their impetus out on the mud and lie there on the land for a few seconds till they leap back again. Even the jack will sometimes run himself aground in the eagerness of his pursuit. Looking over the pool, the splash of the falling fish as they descend after the leap into the air may be heard in several directions at once, and the glint of their silvery sides in the sunshine is at the same time visible. At night it is clear the same thing is going forward, for the splashing continues, though the wave raised by the panic-stricken crowds cannot be distinguished in the darkness.

It is curious to notice how the solitary disposition of the jack shows itself almost as soon as he comes to life. While the fry of most other fish swim in shoals, sometimes in countless numbers, the tiny jack, hardly so long as one's little finger, lurks all alone behind a stone which forms a miniature harbour. On a warm day almost every such place has its youthful pirate. Notwithstanding the terror of the roach when pursued, they will play about apparently without the slightest fear when the pike is basking in the sun with his back all but on a level with the surface--that is, when the lake is at its ordinary height. It is as if they knew their tyrant was enjoying his siesta.

These roach literally swarm. At their sp.a.w.ning time that part of the lake the sh.o.r.e of which is stony is positively black with them. For a distance of some hundred and fifty yards the water for seven or eight feet from sh.o.r.e is simply a moving ma.s.s of roach. They crowd up against the stones, get underneath them and behind them, enter every little creek and interstice, and are so jammed by their own numbers that they may easily be caught by hand. In their anxiety to secure a place they crush against each other and splash up the water. This impulse only lasts a day or two in its full vigour, when the mult.i.tude gradually retires into deeper water.

When thus sp.a.w.ning the roach are preyed on by rats--not the water-rat, but the house or drain rat. There are always a few of these about the lake, and they grow to an enormous size. They destroy the roach in great numbers. I have seen the sand strewn with dead fish opposite and leading up to their holes; for they catch and kill many more than they can eat, or even have time to carry away. I have shot at these great rascals when they have been swimming fifty yards from sh.o.r.e, and I strongly suspect them of visiting the nests of moorhens and other waterfowl with felonious purposes. They catch fish at any time they see a chance, but are most destructive during the sp.a.w.ning season, because then the roach come within reach. Such rats, too, haunt the ditches and mounds, and are as dangerous to all kinds of game as any weasel, crow, or hawk.

Tench lie in the deep muddy holes. With the exception of the tench, the greater number of the fish in this mere haunt the sandy and stony sh.o.r.es. When the lake is full there are broad stretches of water which are shallow and where the bottom is mud. You may look here in vain for fish: of course there are some; but as you glide over noiselessly in a punt, gazing down into the water as you drift before the gentle summer breeze, you will not see any of those shoals that frequent the other sh.o.r.es where the bottom is clearer. Other favourite places are where the brooks run in and where there are sudden shallows in the midst of deep water. The contour and character of the bottom seem to affect the habits of fish to a large extent; consequently those who are aware of the form of the bottom are usually much more successful as fishermen.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

WILDFOWL OF THE LAKE--SEA BIRDS--DRIFT WOOD--FORCES OF NATURE AT WORK-- WAVES--EVAPORATION--AN EAGLE--FROST AND SNOW--EFFECT ON BIRDS AND ANIMALS--WATER-MEADOWS--SHOOTING STARS--PHOSPh.o.r.eSCENCE--WATERSPOUT-- NOISES 'IN THE AIR.'

The 'summer snipe,' or sandpiper, comes to the lake regularly year after year, and remains during the warm months. About a dozen visit the shallow sandy reaches running along the edge of the water, when disturbed flying off just above the surface with a plaintive piping cry.

They describe a semicircle, and come back to the sh.o.r.e a hundred yards farther on; and will do this as many times as you like to put them up.

Sometimes they feed in little parties of two or three: sometimes alone.

No other place for some distance is visited by the sandpiper: none of the ponds, or brooks; only the lake.

In summer but a few species of birds remain on this piece of water.

Only two or three wild ducks stay to breed: their nests are not found on the mere itself, but in the ponds adjacent. One small pond fed by the lake and communicating with it--dug where the muddy sh.o.r.e would otherwise prevent cattle approaching the shallow water--a quiet spot almost surrounded by bushes, is a favourite nesting-place. The brooks that run in are occasionally used by ducks in the same way, and one of the large ditches which is full of flags and rushes and well sheltered is now and then selected. But the ducks do not breed in any number, though they used to do so within living memory.

The coots cannot be overlooked in spring; they chase each other to and fro over the surface in the liveliest manner, and their nests are common. Moorhens, of course, are here in numbers. Why is it that they never seem to learn wisdom in placing their nests? Whether in the lake, in the ponds, or brooks, they exhibit the same lack of foresight as to changes of level in the water; so that frequently their nests are quite drowned out. Occasionally in the brooks the nest is floated bodily down the stream by a sudden rise. These mishaps they might easily avoid by placing them a little higher up the bank.

In the lake there are several acres of withy bushes which when the water is low are on dry land, but in spring and early summer stand five or six feet deep. This is a favourite nesting-place with the coots: and they show the same neglect of the teachings of experience; for their nests are placed almost on the water, and if it rises, as it often does, they are flooded.

It is said that otters used to come to the mere many years ago; but they have never done so lately, though stories of their having been seen are frequent. One summer the story was so positive and so often repeated that I made a thorough search, and found that it originated in the motions of a large diving bird. This bird swam under water with wonderful rapidity, and often close to the surface, so that it raised a wave and could be traced by it. This was the supposed otter. The bird was afterwards shot, but its exact species does not seem to have been satisfactorily ascertained. Several kinds of divers, however, have without doubt been killed. Grebes are often shot.

Occasionally sea birds come--particularly a species locally called the 'sea-swallow,' which frequently appears after rough winds and remains flying about over the water for a week or more. Six or eight of these are sometimes seen at once. The common gull comes at irregular intervals, generally in the winter or spring; it is said to foretell rough weather. Occasionally a gull will stay some time, and I have seen them also in the water-meadows. Considering the distance from the sea, the gull cannot be called an uncommon bird here.

Towards winter the wild ducks return; and during all the cold months a flock of them, varying in number, remains. They are careful to swim during the day in the centre of the very widest part of the lake, far out of gunshot; at night they land, or feed along the sh.o.r.e. Teal, and sometimes widgeon also, visit the place. Once now and then wildfowl come in countless numbers: it is said to be when they are driven south by severe weather. On one occasion I saw the lake literally black--they almost covered it for a length of half a mile and a breadth of about a quarter. It was a sight not to be quickly forgotten; and the noise of their wings as vast parties every now and then rose and wheeled around was something astonishing. They only stayed a few days.

How many times I have endeavoured to trace the V said to be formed by duck while flying, and failed to detect it! They fly, it is true, in some sort of order, but those that come to the mere here travel rather in a row, or line, slanting forwards, something like what military men call in echelon. The teal seem much bolder than the wild duck: they are often shot as they rise out of the brooks; but the ducks very rarely go to the brooks at all, and can still more rarely be approached when they do. They swim in the water-carriers in the great irrigated meadows, but are careful to remain far out of range; so that the only way to shoot them by day is for two or more sportsmen to post themselves behind the hedges in different places while a third drives them up.

The first snipes are seen generally in the arable lands, afterwards round the lake--the muddy sh.o.r.es by choice--and finally in the brooks.

As the winter advances they seem to quit the lake in great part and go down to the brooks. A streamlet that runs through a peaty field is a favourite spot. The little jack-snipe frequent the water-carriers in the irrigated meadows and the wet furrows. When the lake is frozen over the wild duck stand on the ice in the daytime for hours together, leaving the marks of their feet on it.

In walking along the sh.o.r.e lines of drift may be noticed, marking the height to which the waves driven by the wind have carried the floating twigs, weeds, and leaves: just as along the sea the beach is formed into terraces by the changing height of the tides. The shallower parts of the lake are so thickly grown in summer with aquatic weeds that a boat can only be forced through them with the utmost difficulty. Some of these grow in as much as eight or even ten feet of water. On the sh.o.r.e, where it is marshy, the mare's-tail flourishes over some acres: there is often a slight marshy odour here, which increases as the foot presses the yielding mud.

When the water is low in autumn these are mown, and, with the aquatic gra.s.ses at the edge and the rushes, made into the roughest kind of hay imaginable. The coa.r.s.er parts are used as litter; the best is mixed with fodder and eaten by cattle. Many waggon-loads are thus taken away, but as many more remain; and in walking over the spongy ground a smart 'pop' is continually heard: it is caused by the sudden compression of air under the foot in the mare's-tails lying about; for their stems are hollow, and have knots at regular intervals.

After a continuance of the wind in one quarter for a few days--south or south-west--the opposite sh.o.r.es are lined with such weeds carried across, together with great quant.i.ties of dead branches fallen from the trees and willows. So that on a small scale the same thing happens as with the drift wood of the ocean; and, indeed, by studying the action of natural forces as exhibited in our own pools and brooks, it becomes much easier to comprehend the gigantic operations by which the surface of the earth is altered.

For instance, the north-eastern edge of the water is continually encroaching on the land, eating away the sandy soil, showing that the prevalent winds are south and west. The waves, thrown against the sh.o.r.e with the force they have acquired in rolling six or seven hundred yards, wash away the earth and undermine the bank, forming a miniature cliff or precipice, the face of which is always concave, projecting a little at the foot and also at the top. So much is this the case that an unwary person walking too near the edge may feel the sward suddenly yield and find it necessary to scramble off before a few hundredweights of earth subside into the water.

In this process the loamy part of the earth is dissipated, or rather held in suspension, while the small stones and ultimately the heavier sand fall to the bottom and form the sandy floor preferred by the fish.