The River Thames between Boulters Lock and Bray Weir is a unique and special stretch of water. Many years ago the river was tapped into, to provide power for the mill at Taplow, and this created a large area of slack water that has become a haven for wildlife. One reason for this lies deep under the water, where deep living silt beds teem with countless millions of bloodworm. These tiny creatures are preyed on by tens of thousands of fish, while those that survive to hatch out provide a feast for the birds that gorge themselves on the abundance of insects struggling to break free of the surface.
In between the two cuts that lead to the mill there is a row of weeping willows. Many have fallen over and stretch their tangled branches some 40 feet out into the sheltered bay, providing us with a stunning, 60-foot curtain of green. Willows are amazing survivors, and will sprout roots all along their submerged branches. The biodiversity that sleeps, hunts, nests, hatches and matures beneath their canopy seems endless. Nearly all the river’s species of fish come here to feed on the larders of bloodworm and the many different types of freshwater snail and mussels but, more importantly, they also come here to spawn. The roots and branches are the perfect setting for those fish who prefer a slower flow to perform their mating rituals and when the eggs hatch the willows’ hairlike roots sway and rock in the flow providing the perfect cover for pinhead fry.
As an angler for more than 30 years, I have fished a vast variety of wild lakes and many different rivers but I have never come across anywhere as rich as the Thames around Taplow Mill. The life around both marinas is incredible. On a summer’s day when the river is drifting past lazily, thousands of small fish swarm away from the bow of my boat, and hundreds of pike lurk unseen, in constant residence, whatever the flow.
Only a few yards out from the sunken trees, large beds of weed thrive in the slow water created by the mill cut, stretching out into the strong current. Where slow water meets fast, this has carved out long gravel runs, providing the barbel, kings of the Thames, with an ideal site to spawn. Their offspring also head for the cover of the weed and sunken trees and the slow water of the streams.
Whatever the weather there are always millions of young fish close to the mill, attracting huge numbers of coots, moorhen, grebes and swans that fight each other for the right to mate and to defend their sites. The tango-like mating ritual of the great crested grebe is a fascinating performance. The two birds sit, beak to beak, facing into each other’s eyes. They tilt their heads from side to side, in a mirror image of each other, many times, always in perfect time. This dance may go on for several minutes, as if they are trying to perfect it before moving on to the explosive finale. Suddenly they swim away from each other quickly, then dive to the bottom at the same time, resurfacing a few seconds later carrying in their beaks a piece of bottom debris. They then swim toward each other at full speed until, just at the point of collision, they rise up together, entangling their necks like snakes, slapping their bodies together. Their momentum is such that they appear to stand on the water, necks intertwined, reaching for the sky for a split second, before crashing back down in unison.
Kingfishers nest here, a pair in each stream. Every year they fight for the right to these prime hunting and nesting grounds. If you are ever lucky enough to see these most beautiful birds in flight, you would be amazed at the ferocity and violence of their encounters. I have spent many hours trying to photograph these birds as they hunt, so far without success, but the joy of seeing them fly past with their electric blue markings or diving and returning to the same branch in a split second with a fish in their beaks is a sight I will never tire of. Their markings seem even more vibrant when in contrast with a grey winter background. Kingfishers are a protected species and may turn out to be crucial in the conservation of this area.
Away from the water, night brings another predator to the table, beautiful bats by the hundred, whose nesting sites in the eaves of the house on Mill Island are protected by law. Their habitat can only be disturbed between November and March and in that time a new building has to be built with space in the eaves so the bats can return in time for the next breeding season. The tawny owls that prowl the area of woodland nest alongside the downstream cut, where I hear their first call of the night. Then there are more intimate encounters, like my disturbing of the heron in the pitch black, each of us scaring the life out of the other.
I believe that what we have at Taplow Mill is too precious to lose. A proper scientific study of the wildlife in this area is urgently needed, before any development occurs. If the proposed development of the mill and adjacent marina goes ahead it will cut a scar through nesting sites of protected birds and bats, it will tear out huge nursery sites that provide shelter for millions of pinhead fry. The knock-on effect could be catastrophic. The local river could take decades to return to its present glory.
Change is always coming and it would be naïve to think otherwise; however, I believe that preserving the good that we have is equally important.
Des O'Sullivan
