Natural World (1983) s21e06 Episode Script

1 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.
And 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.
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.
Dorothy Moore - BBC Broadcast 2002 E- mail us at subtitling@bbc.
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