Life of a Chalkstream: Kingfisher Wars

Life on a Chalkstream

Greetings!

We seem to be caught in the midst of kingfisher wars just now here at The Mill. The thing about kingfishers in flight is that you pretty well always hear them before you see them. It is like staring into the skies for a supersonic jet fighter flying overhead; hear the noise and look ahead.

Just recently there has been a pair who chase each other relentlessly in an apparently never-ending turf war, jinking like Spitfires over the water as, accompanied by their distinctive shrill, rat-a-tat-tat battle cry they pursue each other in close formation. I suspect this is a good year to be a kingfisher as the two past wet years have seen a huge spike in the fish population; I have never seen so many juvenile brown trout in the Wallop Brook accompanied by shoals of minnow and sticklebacks, the preferred food of kingfishers.

On Saturday I heard, then saw the battle close up, albeit briefly, as a third kingfisher joined the dogfight, the trio choosing to use the umbrella under which I lay as the pivot point in the pursuit – I could have touched them if I had stretched up my arm as they came between me and the parasol canopy. In fact, as I uselessly did just that long after they departed, I caught sight of the kingfisher scar on the back of my left hand.

Many years ago, the late Jaffa, long time resident orange cat and killer of all things regardless of colour, creed or species came into the house one day with a kingfisher in his jaws. The bird was clearly far from dead and understandably angry, eventually freeing himself and then proceeded to fly around the house, chased by Jaffa and followed by me, like a streaking ball in a pinball machine bouncing off windows as he (or she) failed to negotiate the turns. Try as I might I could not open the windows fast enough until, eventually, the bird stunned itself, falling to the floor where I scooped it up in a tea towel. For a short while it was pretty docile whilst I organised its head out of the towel, body gripped by my hand whilst heading for the nearest door. However, the bird cared nothing for my Samaritan nature for it delivered a mighty stab to my hand. Despite this I hung on, got it outside where I put the ungrateful bird on a table. For about five seconds it looked at me, looked around and then, with the inevitable flash, was gone.

As far as I can recall we have always had plenty of kingfishers here; their piercing call is one of the consistent soundtracks of living at The Mill and our many bodies of water – the lake, mill pond, brook and side streams are fertile hunting territory for them. In addition, some years ago a huge alder tree was blown over in a storm, exposing a root ball that stands at least fifteen feet high which is kingfisher nest heaven. Kingfishers are prolific nest builders, requiring a new one for each of the two or three broods each year.

Nests are tunnels, as much as three feet long, dug into a bank. The process is laborious with the bird flying beak first (I can attend to the strength of that beak …..) into the soil to break the crust and make an impression. Once there is a small ledge on which to perch the kingfisher will dig further, first with the beak and later, once the whole body is in the tunnel, use feet to kick the soil back. At the end a small cavity will be lined with the coughed up indigestible remains of the kingfisher fish diet. It is for this reason, and the fish diet for the chicks, that nests are single use only soon becoming far too fishy!

Bountiful mellow fruitfulness

I can tell you with 100% certainty that we are in for the harshest, of harsh winters. How do I foresee the future? The hawthorn bushes are laden down with red berries, branches often bent to the point of breaking such is the crop each year. Country folklore tells us that such abundance only comes ahead of a bad winter.

I can only assume for the bird and animal population that hawthorn berries are the most unpleasant of all food options. You never see any creature feeding on them at this time of year. In fact, they only start to be eaten when all other food options are exhausted in in the New Year and I suspect that will be a while coming as this has been the most remarkable season for wild berries and fruit.

Haw berries

Foraging in the hedgerows this month it feels that we are maybe 3-4 weeks ahead of any normal year; the late August English countryside has a distinct feel of mid-September, almost autumnal, with neatly all crops way ahead of the usual cadence of things. Blackberries, crab apples, damsons, elderberries and hops, to name just a few, are all in superabundance and of prime quality. I have even broken out my foragers book through with mixed success. Blackberry cordial – a triumph. Elderberry cordial – less so. Sloe syrup – a never to be repeated experiment; a lot of faff for astringency in a jar.

I have toyed with the idea of trying with the hawthorn fruit – haw berries as the books like to call them. But you know that when the most common recipe the internet gives you is a chutney, haws are probably a lost cause. I did find something from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall but when the best he can suggest is a sweet and sour recipe, amusingly (sic) called Haw-sin sauce you need to take your lead from the birds and reserve haw berries for the most desperate of times.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it is rain!

It is a bit of a shock to finally see some rain in the forecast and then to actually see something falling from the heavens, as happened to me on the Itchen yesterday. This year, as you know, is a complete volte face on last, the record rains of 2024 mercifully filling the subterranean aquifers to the brim those water reserves saving the chalkstreams from the worst of the 2025 drought though the river flow data is all over the place.

My executive summary would be that the limestone rivers, that rely on both on aquifers plus regular rain, are really struggling. On the chalkstreams it is a mixed picture with some headwaters and small tributaries suffering whilst the main rivers are fine. Here is a brief rundown from around the counties.

I'm fishin' in the rain ......

In Berkshire the Kennet and tributaries are experiencing normal flows. In Dorset flows for the River Piddle are normal but flows for the Frome are low. In Hampshire the River Test is generally normal, as is the Dun whilst the Wallop Brook is low, and as low as I have ever seen it in 25 years. It is a very similar pattern on the River Itchen though the tributaries high up the system such as the Candover Brook and Alre, which you might expect to be low, are normal. The River Meon is low until its final one third as it approaches the sea. In Wiltshire the River Nadder is normal, the Avon low above Salisbury and normal once well downstream of Salisbury. In Yorkshire the Driffield Beck is low.

Across all the counties the aquifers are at normal levels for the time of year which is reassuring as it will only take normal winter rain to make up for this dry year. I suppose the question that might be asked is whether the rain this week or in September will make any difference. For the limestone streams such as the Gloucestershire Coln or Derbyshire Dove most definitely but the impact on the chalkstreams will be helpful but not significant as generally 80% of the water you see in a chalkstream is spring fed. However, deluges are useful as they provide a useful ‘flush’ especially in summer to move on blanket weed and sediment build up on the gravel beds.