Welsh View

Deep in the heart of South Wales runs a large mountain river which has cut deep gorges out of the landscape.

The river bank has a long-trod footpath running almost its entire length, and it is when pacing this path that you notice the secret islands camouflaged against the opposite bank.

One of these islands I know quite well. It is not far from the A40 and can be easily reached if you don't mind a five or six mile walk.

I discovered the island whilst on holiday in Wales and spent a number of hours under the pleasant shade of its trees. I descended the bank of the gorge to look for a means of getting across the river. I was lucky: a large elm tree had fallen from the main bank across the narrowest part of the gap. It had been there for quite some time as it was covered with moss and riddled with holes of numerous maggots and beatles. I carefully inched my way across, trying not to disturb a neat line of ants travelling in two directions and carrying small pieces of twig and lichen to and fro.

I dismounted the trunk onto a thick carpet of leaves; not crunchy but slightly soft and damped down by the spray of the nearby waterfall. I decided to follow the ants and found that they tried to keep to the driest part of the floor, making a winding journey to the downstream end of the island. Here I found a small ants nest, about the size of a football under a slender silver birch, which was leaning over a deep trout pool in the river.

It was here that the flooring changed from damp, brown leaves to a thick bed of ivy, all a-tangle with its own roots. This was an ideal spot to eat my lunch.

I sat down and sank deep into the roots of the ivy. I stretched myself out and started to eat my banana and jam sandwiches, specially prepared by my mother before I left.

As I lay silently in the mottled sunshine of the island, which visits that part of the gorge at midday in Summer, I began to observe all the nature text-book illustrations coming to life.

From where I lay I could see a dipper flying from rock to rock, dipping its head every time it stopped. It would suddenly disappear into the water, rise to the surface, fly further down stream and repeat the procedure. After some five or ten minutes it managed to surface with something in its beak. It flew off behind the waterfall and was not seen again.

As soon as one thing disappeared something else catches your attention. Like the yellow wagtail searching for insects in the lichens or the random movements of a bouncing swarm of mosquitoes.

It would be marvellous to spend Summer days on end among the cool, damp fauna of the island, alone with nature.

Fabian Norman-Taylor

This may be non-fiction!

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