Article - Coarse
The Diary of a Lake - Spring & Storms
By Mike, added on 07/06/2008
Stardate Captains Log; 2 June 2008
Spring & Storms
The fat kid lolloping down the footpath nearly knocked me over as he waddled past. He was carrying two cans of Red Bull in one hand & a small bottle of fizzy drink in the other. It was 8.20 in the morning. No prizes for working out how he got the man-boobs then. No doubt his parents are shouting ‘the government should do more, it’s a disgrace’. So we try to change things, for the people who can’t or won’t help themselves. Then from the other side of the road, someone is shouting ‘communist… fascist’. I sometimes wonder if we weren’t human, half of the population would never survive past the spring.
The weather this spring in southern Brittany has seen few major swings in temperature but has been exceptionally wet. Through March & April the temperature has warmed steadily, but plenty of rain. Then May arrived. It has continued to warm up, some very hot, humid & sunny days have been enjoyed but wow has it rained.
All this must make influences on the wildlife & the fish populations, the science of which I think would be quite interesting. The aquatic weed growth this spring has been much slower & less prolific, compared to last year. Much less sun & much more cloud this year throughout March & April. Last March I was building a shed in my shorts most days after mid morning.
There were three pairs of everyday Mallards on the lake, each pair seeming to keep to their own territories, now we have just one pair remaining. I did not find any nests but did not go looking for them. One morning I found damaged empty duck eggs strewn across the track, then a few more scattered on the field. Shortly afterwards, two pairs disappeared with one pair remaining, but chick less. If magpie’s or pole cats were the culprits I don’t know, may be some other animal trashed the nests.
The frogs haven’t done very well this spring. The first spawn was dropped overnight in March, but then quickly went off following a sharp drop in temperature & a frosty morning. Once warmed up, the frogs had another go & dropped plenty more spawn, but the same happened again, leaving the spawn to turn to a murky gooey disintegrating mush. The two smaller pools, which are usually alive with tadpoles, remain tadpole free, for the first time I can remember. In the main lake, the second spawn drop survived & now the tadpoles have four legs, shortening tales & have started to leave the water during the rain.
Black Woodpeckers have nested in the poplars several years running now, but this year chose a different place to build. They are here somewhere, but not close enough to the gingerbread house to be able to keep a lookout & locate their spring home. Just yesterday, Matthew spotted four tiny blacks fluff balls clambering across the weeds after their mother, a success so far for some resident Moorhens. Behind the gingerbread house there is a bird table & a nesting box hung in the spruce tree. It is a job for my children to top the table up with seeds each morning. This keeps the local population of green finches, chaffinches, dunnocks, great tits & chiff chaffs contented. A male Hawfinch came down one morning recently, which is the first time I have ever seen this unmistakable finch. The blue tits were feeding young non stop, all the hours of daylight in & out of the nesting box, with flies, bugs & caterpillars. My children saw fluffy heads peering out from the small hole, but we missed them taking flight, one day they were just gone & all the relentless activity ceased.
We have received a new unknown visitor this spring. During the morning & late afternoon, coming from the tree tops has been a very tropical parrot kind of bird call. Very loud, clear, very distinctive almost yodelling. I have kept looking but have not yet seen this bird yet. Jean-Francois our rabbit farming neighbour called in for a drink just last week ‘have you heard the Oriole Mikael?’ We got out the bird book & Jean-Francois showed me the Golden Oriole – a stunningly beautiful thrush sized bird of mostly yellow with black wings. Not uncommon in France, but rare here in Brittany. If there is a pair & they are rearing young here, I have yet to find out.
Industrious nest building, constantly on guard for predators, feeding ravenous young, encouraging them out from the nest, then bang; one of them flies straight into my window. I heard the dull thrap, then found the young dunnock lying on the window sill, its eyes still open. I wasn’t sure if it had just knocked itself out cold or if was dead, so I carried on with my wall building & left it for a while. Twenty minutes later & it had already gone stiff. I knew Matthew & Ellie would be fascinated, so I took it down to the gingerbread house ready for when they came home from school. They are fascinated by nature, but like all kids I guess, especially in dead things. A few hours later, my son asks ‘what did you do with the bird dad?’. I know what’s going on in his mind, from all the previous events similar to this……will it go to heaven, what will happen to its bones, will its head fall off, will there be maggots on it etc etc etc. I told him I put it on the bonfire. I didn’t actually, I threw it on. Did I say I ‘put’ it on to make it a more pleasant end or to make me a more considerate person? If I did, why do we do this with our children? Why not just tell them the actual facts? Another debate for a different day. Remind me to tell you about the rabbit farm, I’ll have a word with Jean-Francois first.
Sunday afternoon Matthew & I went fishing. We fished the main lake with maggots on our hooks, sitting side by side, watching our neighbouring floats. We fished for perhaps two hours or so, then packed our gear up. I could see the clouds gathering in the east over the trees & it was becoming noticeably muggy. When the keepnet was lifted clear of the water, amongst the other fish, were hundreds of tiny fry which had swam through the mesh, two week old hatchlings from the carp spawning fest. Matthew wanted to put some in the fish tank, so around forty were taken to a new home in a small plastic container. Well, the fry were tipped in & something became immediately obvious as we watched them swim around. The fish had tiny short dorsal fins – they were grass carp, not commons or mirrors. Also in the tank were four three to four inch mirrors, one three inch common, two goldfish & one small koi carp – all of which happily chomped their way through the new ready meals. By nightfall about half had gone, by next morning they had polished off the lot. So much for that idea. So this begs the thought; what percentage of their own fry do adult carp eat after each successful spawning.
Back to the day, we dropped our fishing gear off in the lock up, both went back to the gingerbread house. I carried on, following the warm breeze up to the far end of the lake. They were there, several carp swimming just below the surface. Not idly like they do on bright sunny afternoons, but purposefully, slightly lower in the water. A storm was brewing & I was sure the fish were going to feed.
“Sally, I need to go fishing” I shouted up the field as I jogged to get a rod, some bait, net, mat & a light bag of necessaries. I briskly walked back wanting to get some feed in & get in position before the storm came.
I cast a bait out fifteen yards or so, just off a small patch of lilies, the red tipped float lying on its side, one BB over depth holding bottom. I sat down & waited for the storm. The wind blew up & the rain started coming down, light at first but very quickly, bigger spots started to pound the surface turning it silver. My carp mat is one of those that folds in half, with a zip round to hold it together. Many a time being used as a shelter, I had it draped over my head, which was enough to keep me dry. The thunder was getting closer & the lightening more spectacular. Sheet lightening turned to white fork lightening, striking down right in front of my line of vision. The rain lashed down, making the float bounce up & down amongst the spots. It was a good storm. It passed over to my right side, not directly overhead. Soon the rain would drop to a drizzle & I would be in with a great chance of a fish.
This did not happen, things started increase in ferocity. The rain continued to lash down, huge spots coming down like some torrential monsoon. More lightening was approaching, this time directly ahead with the strong wind blowing this second storm straight into my face. The thunder started to get angry, instead of just rumbling, it was crackling & banging simultaneously with the lightening strikes. I love a good storm & being out doors in one is one of my favourite natural pleasures. At one point I actually thought about abandoning the fishing & making a run for the gingerbread house. What if Sally came out looking for me? I figured she would know I was in my element though. I was now starting to get wet. Water was soaking through my trousers & the back of my jumper, the huge spots of rain were bouncing off the ground, soaking me & coating my trousers in wet soil & gravel.
The float cocked, jibbed & popped under. There was nothing for it, I threw back the carp mat & felt the force of the pounding rain. I made a hash of the strike but the fish was hooked & making way taking line towards the island. It was perhaps just thirty or forty seconds & I was completely saturated through to the skin. The rain was ferocious, the thunder & lightening above my head, almost continuous in frequency. I was here with a heavy carp on the end, with no coat, no hat, just a jumper & cotton trousers, torrential rain, a thumping thunderstorm & blowing water off my nose & wiping my eyes so I could see. There was nothing else to do but burst into hysterical laughter, I was participating in a magical experience. The rain was warm, almost feeling like warm bath water. The fish took me on a merry dance, but I just kept on laughing. I don’t think I have ever spoke to myself so much in such a short time, in fact at times I think I was shouting, to make myself heard over the thunder & bouncing rain. I am hopeless with a centre pin in the rain, I just can’t get braking the drum right with a wet drum & wet thumb, the water acts like lubricant. Maybe its just the combination of my favourite reel & my thumb. I won in the end though. It was a big fish but the actual size in this case I think is unimportant. I sacked it up, then walked to the gingerbread house, a shower & dry clothes. I could weigh & photograph the fish later with Sally, when the storm had passed over.
I was about half way up the field, singing with my arms held out sideways, my clothes sagging with the additional weight of all the water. There was a white flash & such a loud crack of thunder it was like a pistol shot going off, but considerably louder. My legs actually shook, I swore & laughed at the same time. This experience I know I will treasure, catching the fish in such circumstances is why we do it isn’t it?
A few days later, the local radio station & the local neighbourhood network started to inform, about the damaging effects of the storm. We had 51mm of rain dropped upon us in two hours. Local streams were torrents of water, which had lifted the Vilaine into winter flood conditions. A horse was found dead in a field behind the rabbit farm, with a badly mutilated head & upper body. Consensus was that it was struck by lightening.
Two days later & the Vilaine is still flowing brown & murky. The weather forecast is for more rain!