There is always hope. Gerry Farrell, father, it might be said, of that famous river known as the Borora or Moynalte, has good news. You will remember that, after a factory fire at Mullagh on the Meath-Cavan border some months ago, ten miles of river, down into the Blackwater was believed to be an almost complete write-off. All life was feared to be wiped out or at least mortally wounded. Well, Gerry said the other day that he watched two trout rising to a fly. Two trout don't make a season, but it's heartening. And life under the stones may not be much affected. There are still crayfish. Whether the trout came down from the unaffected areas or up from the same, it's good news and not just for anglers.
Walking the same river last Sunday, just at dusk, with a slight pinkish flush in the western sky after the sun had gone down, the evening mist began to rise. So quiet, so restful; and then a crash, a rattling of branches and the angry squawk of a cock pheasant, just settling down for the night when rudely interrupted by the noise and smell of humans and a dog.
A bit farther along, there came from the other side of the river a sound as of laughing, chattering children. What could they be doing, far from the village at this time of the evening? Then the noise-makers appeared - overhead. They were swans. Smaller, it seemed in the fading light than normal, and certainly anything but mute. The expert thought they were probably Bewick's swans, which are said variously to emit a highly-pitched and musical cackling or a melodic babbling. David Cabot tells us that there are about 2,250 wintering birds scattered in small flocks throughout the country, mostly in the west and north. Maybe these were on the way north from the Meath-Cavan border. They were smallish, but the colouration could not be made out in the darkening sky.
At the other end of the trees, another crash and squawk; pheasant again. You miss the snipe which used to haunt the pools among the grassy pasture; they would feed, too, at certain spots along the river when the water was low. No hares, where daily there would be a few; and at mating time, a dozen might be seen racing over a huge nearby field. In spite of signs like "Hunting dogs will be shot", hares are nearly gone. In the fur line there are still a few rabbits, small, living in the ditches and walls. A fox is only occasionally seen, and mink likewise. Gerry Farrell says he trapped one last year. Have they just become a small, and not very damaging part of the fauna of the country?