Until I read Simon Cooper's Life of a Chalkstream I didn't realise how lucky I was to live in such a rare environment (they are confined to a small corner of where I currently live in England plus a few in Normandy and one, as far as I can tell unsubstantiated report, in New Zealand. Please put me right if this isn't the case as it would be nice to find out they are more common.
Cooper's account is also gin-clear in its prose and evocation of this landscape, steeped in deep and intimate knowledge of its annual ecosystem. It probably helps to read this book if you like fly fishing (by the fictional JR Hartley or anyone else). But I'm no angler, and have no desire to become one. I just appreciate the tranquil flow of the river in quiet contemplation of a more relaxing pace of life. Then the sudden splash of ducks landing, the alarm of a coot dispute, or the gentle gnawing of a grassy snack by a water vole or, very occasionally, the brilliant flash of a kingfisher adds to the sparkle of the sun reflecting on the crystal water and my day is complete.
