My first glimpse of the reserve, though, caused a temporary disappointment as somebody had obviously been very busy with the lawn mower/scythe as a considerable area of the thistles, nettles, and brambles near the path had been severely denuded. This had previously provided ideal fluttering ground for butterflies and their absence would be unacceptable! I spotted a path of sorts between the remaining greenery and stumbled clumsily along, immediately feeling that most enjoyable of sensations, the burning sting of nettles scraping along my bared shins. It was worth the momentary discomfort, though, as I spied a Painted Lady (the butterfly, not a woman covered in emulsion sprawled amidst the foliage). This is a migratory butterfly, hailing originally from North Africa ("coming over here, laying eggs on our nettles....") and was a large specimen, the orange and white patches on its wings gleaming in the cleansed light. A sudden fusillade of birdsong behind me caused me to spin round - one hand feverishly scratching the nettle rash on my shapely leg, the other fumbling for my binoculars - but it had fled before I could establish a clear sighting; a Wren, I surmised.
The river was flowing gently, idly along, murmuring gently as it navigated round a boulder in mid-stream. A dog was cavorting with a stick further upstream, two lads egging it on to further frivolity. Despite being shallow, there were a lot of fish swimming in its clear waters, some quite large. That is as far as the natural history of fishes goes on this blog as my knowledge of them is sadly deficient. Similarly, there were dragonflies and damselflies aplenty but my identification skills are hazy; I did spot the distinctive needle-shaped Common Blue Damselfly, and there was a Brown Hawker around too. Banded and Beautiful Demoiselles are more delicate and intensely coloured and seemed engaged in some form of combat (or mating). I always think these delightful insects have such a primeval air about them; one can imagine them gliding around some prehistoric swamp with dinosaurs lumbering around and going extinct in the background. Sadly, though, there were no kingfishers on the river today; they must be way of exuberant youths.
I was hungry for more lepidoptera and trained my laser-like gaze at the surrounding verdancy. There were Meadow Browns in profusion, and the ubiquitous Large Whites but no Peacocks, my favourite, a quite stunningly iridescent insect. Then, another beautiful species, the Small Tortoiseshell, hove into view. This butterfly has declined a lot in the South but I have seen many in recent years so they must be fluorishing in the East Midlands. Butterflies, of course, are so damned difficult to identify sometimes without the requisite equipment; I imagined myself equipped with a huge butterfly net, flailing wildly and inexpertly around, getting it entangled in power lines or wrapped around a thug's shaven head. No, best just rely on the visuals. I was able to identify a Comma through my eyes, principally by the rather frayed, irregular outline of its wings. The UK Butterflies website correctly if rather harshly describes it as looking like "a tatty Small Tortoiseshell".
Rabbits are rife in this reserve and, sure enough, I soon caught the briefest of sights of a white scut disappearing in the undergrowth. Further along, I saw a pair of large ears sticking above the grass and a hint of staring rabbit eye. I stopped a fair distance away and pointed the binoculars in tits direction, only to be confronted with the sight of a pair of legs disappearing once more out of view. Rabbits are such a familiar animal yet I still get a twitch of excitement when I see a wild specimen - I blame Art Garfunkel.
Birds were present in numbers, as their sweet trills and melodies signified, but sightings were meagre (save a proud Whitethroat venting its song from the treetops) until, leaning over the parapet of a bridge looking into river, some indefinable commotion behind me caused me to turn round to be confronted by a Song Thrush looking quizzically at me from atop a concrete pole. Then, as I turned to move on, a flash of scarlet out of the corner of my eye before it was enfolded by the shadows. I focussed my binoculars on the depths of the bush and there was a Bullfinch, preening its feathers in the gloom, its chest puffed out like a regimental sergeant-major. A beautiful bird and well worth the admission fee, even though there was't one.
It was a thoroughly enjoyable walk, sweeping the debris of the torrid night from the alcoves of my mind. However, the new high-speed rail line, HS2, will come right through Toton and the East Midlands Hub station is due to be built near here. I hope this little patch of wildlife-rich rus in urbe doesn't fall victim to this development. As Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote in 'Pied Beauty':
