It was a drab end of winter day. I decided to go on one of my forays out into the borderlands of Surrey and Hampshire. The Basingstoke Canal called me as often it would back in my early twenties. Around that time, I also fished those waters not with great success I may add. It was simply for the pure joy of being outside in nature.
On this occasion bike-birding was my mode of operation. More ground can be covered this way and stopping is relatively straight forward.
In those days the Basingstoke Canal had somewhat of a revival. The channel carrying the water had seen a clean-up. In the Seventies as a child, in the village of Ash near Aldershot, my family walks were by the canal at times. We saw it was a veritable dumping ground. Memories of shopping trollies, tyres and other large scale human detritus fill my mind. Moving away from the area to Yorkshire we missed the time when the canal had major work on it. The work carried out by various volunteers included the removal of litter, dredging and other structural works. Not until the mid-nineties were 32 miles of the canal restored to its former glory.
The Basingstoke Canal has played a large role in inspiring nature connection for me. To have such a feature within walking distance from where I live is very convenient – and a privilege. Beyond the Greywell Tunnel, a feature which is protected due to a large bat roost is a further stretch with varied ownership. This part hasn’t had the same attention as the sections to the east with which I am more familiar, due to requiring other forms of transportation to reach them.
Dismounting my bike and locking it up I headed to a section I was less familiar with. The far bank of the canal was adjacent to some foreboding looking buildings which were on the edge of Aldershot. Aldershot you may or may not know is the home of the British Army. When you live in such a place there is that military presence that hangs over you. Everything is tainted by this sense of heaviness over the countryside. Being somewhat naïve and unaware at this point of a line I had crossed I continued my walk.
Suddenly – and to this day I don’t know how they appeared. Two camouflaged clad, gun wielding, short crop haired, baton slapping men, approached me. Up until that point I was quite peaceful. I was about to have an unforgettable experience.
Often on my walks and bike rides in those days I would carry a notepad with me. This was in my hands as they approached. They both looked very threatening. One more than the other as he had face wounds which looked like he had been in a recent fight! He was slapping his long baton against his hand. I’m usually quite laid back, but this was making me decidedly edgy! He happened to be the spokesperson and asked me what I was doing. So, I said with pounding heart, I was out looking at the local wildlife. Of course, I had my binoculars hung around my neck and had not long been perusing the bank and the trees opposite. Apparently, that’s where I had strayed and crossed a line.
“Can we have a look at your notebook please?” It was only later that it dawned on me. The buildings opposite were not as I had supposed an office block, but they were in fact the barracks belonging to the army. They were part of the Montgomery Lines area which, were built in the 1960s. This area housed the airborne forces up until the early 1990’s when they moved to Colchester. Between this period the IRA committed an alleged revenge attack for Bloody Sunday where they bombed a part of this area killing 5 people and injuring 19. So, this is why they were decidedly wary of anyone wearing or using a pair of binoculars here.
Let’s call the spokesman Mr.Slapstick – in no way was he funny! Mr Slapstick informed me then that this was a restricted area and advised me to refrain from using my binoculars. He took rather a long time looking at my notebook. Maybe he couldn’t read – well my note taking does lead a lot to be desired! He certainly wanted to make sure that what I was writing was genuine as he quizzed me about some of the terminology and lists. He was making sure that it wasn’t code. His partner seemed to me less intimidating as the investigation continued and was, I felt also bemused by the situation.
Unexpectedly Mr. Vole broke the tension. No not the one from Wind in The Willows, as far as I know. It was a special moment. I genuinely became excited. Back then it was unusual to see Water Vole (Arvicola amphibius) along the canal. Yet they were evident, when I fished, I used to see them trundling along the banks opposite me and plop in the water, by the lock on Government Road. In fact, about five to ten minutes’ walk from where my military guard confrontation took place.
These two burly, tough guys on seeing my excitement and pointing finger turned in unison. Their military training took over. They leaned over the bank together, to where I was pointing. I spoke out loudly – stating, “Water vole!” as if they knew what that was, forgetting their inquisition and was rewarded with a lovely view of a disappearing water vole. Mr Slapstick seemed satisfied with my explanation of what I was doing and gave me a caution, handing me my notebook back. I went off rather hastily after that, relieved that I hadn’t been called in as some kind of spy. There was a real sense that a connection with nature had been facilitated for them. Hopefully some spark of interest in nature was lit up or fanned into life.
Not having walked the ‘restricted’ stretch since that time I’m afraid to say, I don’t know what the state of the water vole population is there. I know elsewhere that they have dramatically declined since that time.
A decade after this event, in a lunch break from my work I happened to ascend the steep embankment towards the aqueduct which carries the canal over the Blackwater Valley Bypass – A331. I kicked myself in not approaching it more stealthily. I reached the canal towpath to see a slinky, long, dark shape disappearing into the undergrowth and heard a small splash. My brain registered the creature as an American Mink (Neovison vison). This was my first experience of seeing this sly creature. Disappointingly it was not an otter. I found out after this experience they were fur farm escapees from the 1950’s and 60’s. They are now breeding across the country. It was a thrill to see this mixed blessing all the same. Subsequently I saw a couple swimming in the River Wey by Stoke Lock in Guildford during the mid-2000’s. That is the last I’ve ever seen of them. With bittersweet moments like this there’s the realisation that as human beings we do have a lot to answer for.
The last water voles I ever saw were on the River Avon, on the north-eastern edge of Durrington in Wiltshire where my parents used to live. Drains, pools, and inlets make up this stretch. As a young family with little children visiting the area, we would frequently see them in the vicinity. As the River at this point isn’t particularly wide, we could see them clearly, noticing their features.
(about 18 to 27.5 inches (46 to 70 centimeters) long)
by Peter Trimming is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0
This highlights that the loss of water vole on the Basingstoke Canal is in my view linked to the mink’s arrival. Sadly, their demise is also related to the increase of American Signal Crayfish (Pacifastacus leniusculus) which frankly I became frustrated with when fishing the canal. According to the Inland Waterways Association their ‘extensive burrows can destabilise banks, causing erosion and bank collapse, increasing flood risk and the silt load in the water. Their burrows displace threatened riverside species such as Britain’s water vole (Arvicola amphibius)’. They have a nasty habit of taking your line for a walk and getting caught up on the hook and bait. Suffice to say their onset, catching a swan and nothing much else quite put me off fishing. I can’t quite bring myself to catch fish anymore for sport. Watching and hearing about other angler’s experiences is the only way I enjoy it these days. The fact that anglers enjoy the countryside this way is something at least.
The incident with the military personnel isn’t the only incident I have had of threatening behaviour in the countryside. Both horses and cattle have charged at me. In Ghana, West Africa, I was surrounded by a pack of feral dogs whilst cycling out into the bush on the edge of Tamale. I kicked out at them, sending up a prayer of protection and rode on extremely fast, not looking back. Thankfully they let me go out of their focus. My heart was pounding from fear and cycling fast!
The only other time I can recall of threatening human behaviour has made me more wary of where I go. In my early twenties I was taking a walk around the flood plains of the River Hull north of Beverley near the village of Arram. It was the same day that I had witnessed my first ever male Hen Harrier (Circus cyaneus) at close quarters. I was revelling on that high! The Ordnance Survey map was not making sense to me at this point. Yet the map implied there was a path. The sign I noted appeared to be pointing me in the direction of travel. I became aware of a sound and saw that it was coming from a man. He was wielding a gun, asking me gruffly what I was doing. I did apologise and said that the map wasn’t clear and asked him to point me in the right direction. Thankfully this seemed to diffuse the situation and he didn’t take offense even as I laughed embarrassed – stupid me!
Be prepared when you go out in the countryside that it might not be all sweet singing birds and pretty flowers. There’s a raw, rough world out there.