XYZ

In the last post I outlined a simple way of trying put together a sensibly ordered catchment restoration strategy by scoring the underlying foundations at a reach scale – habitat, flow and water quality – working out where the deficits are, working out the feasibility of addressing each of them, multiplying one by the other and arriving at a strategic order of projects.

A few of the other slides I showed to the Test and Itchen group outlined in broad-brush terms how it might look at a catchment level with a look at the River Anton as an example. I’ll put those slides in the next post.

The first thing to look at in a little more detail, however, is the underlying foundation of physical habitat, that can be broken down into three physical dimensions that I call the XYZ. Lateral (X) and longitudinal (Y) connectivity and planform (Z). In my view, these foundational elements are THE most important thing of all, because they very largely determine whether and to what extent a dynamic, varied habitat can form (all the pools, riffles, undercuts etc).

Most chalk streams have been modified in ways that remove or undermine the XYZ.

X

X is the lateral connectivity with the riparian edge and the wider floodplain. A consistent feature of natural (unmodified) spring-creek (groundwater dominated) streams is the close relationship between the stream bed and the floodplain surface. Chalk streams are the same, or should be. Simply put, when you stand on the hypothetical unmodified banks of a spring-fed creek your feet won’t be that much higher than the water surface (summer or winter) and the river bed is not that far down below that water surface either, at least not compared to a surface-fed system with a much wider range between low flows and high flows.

To illustrate what I mean, here are some pictures of relatively unmodified spring-creeks, in Wyoming, Montana and New Zealand. You can see how these streams are flush full and in touch with their floodplains, and that they are free-flowing too: the flushness is not because they’ve been backed up in any way. They tend to be quite wide and shallow (lacking the energy to erode downwards) and they flow from and through a high-water table. Generally speaking chalk streams should look like that, but many to most don’t because they have been diverted and / or dredged.

Y

Y is the longitudinal connectivity – along the line of the channel. A natural chalk stream would likely feature hardly any major steps or interruptions in its longitudinal profile. Maybe beaver dams would create some steps, but in a undeveloped floodplain these would cause break-outs of flow around the sides, and one way or another the stream would travel unimpeded by large steps from the source to the sea.

Humans radically changed all that when we invented milling. The Romans will have blocked and impounded some of our chalk streams but we really went to town on them after the 8th century, so much so that by the time William the Conqueror invaded, we had over 5000 watermills in England and most were on lowland streams, including chalk streams, which are very easy to manipulate and dam.

To make a mill work on a lowland stream these early water engineers diverted the channel to the edge of the floodplain and ran it along a much shallower gradient than the natural valley. This built up the head of water required to turn the mill-wheel. If the valley gradient is 1:600, say, it takes 600 meters to build up a meter of head. Many chalk streams had reached mill saturation point by 1066. This is when you can’t fit any more in: the entire stream had been made into a staircase. For example, most of the natural gradient of the River Wensum, in Norfolk, is taken up by mills. This – and the legacy of dredging – is by far the most significant ecological stress on the river, even today.

To the mill diversions have been added many other forms of channel manipulation over history: navigational channels, locks, and the intricate system of hatches, carriers and catch-drains of the Jacobean to early Victorian water-meadow revolution. All of these modifications interrupt the natural slope of the stream.

Z

Z is the planform of the river, its shape seen from above. The natural, meandering planform of our chalk streams was radically modified as part and parcel of the many and various ways in which the streams were changed over the centuries, whether they were diverted to make mill leats or watermeadow carriers or ornamental lakes.

Almost everywhere chalk streams have been moved to the edges of their floodplains. If you look closely at modern stream pathways and the associated ditches and drains in the floodplain, you will see the main modern river running along one edge of the floodplain and then the other, while down the middle of the floodplain run a series of ditches that drain down to the crossing point. This was a widely practiced way of moving the river off the floodplain to make space for grazing and to lower the water-table too. In some settings it’s part of the milling and watermeadow pattern and in others, a feature in its own right.

But even when the modern river still more or less occupies the middle of the floodplain (which is rare) you will find that meanders have been straightened out, because for one reason or another the landowners wanted to get the stream out of the way and / or lower the bed of the river and improve drainage.

XYZ and the impacts of changing them

Generally speaking any of the significant ways in which chalk stream channels have been altered (mills, watermeadows, farm drainage, urban development and dredging) will have changed all the X,Y and Z dimensions in one go and the thus damaging impacts are layered and interwoven.

Take milling: to make a mill leat the channel has to be progressively raised above the natural fall-line of the valley. This robs the river of gradient and energy, isolates the river from the floodplain, divorces the channel from the water-table, and erases natural meanders. Essentially it takes a naturally dynamic, heterogenous physical structure where the river supports a mosaic of habitat niches and homogenises it in a more stagnant and imprisoned state, from which a chalk stream cannot escape.

People may wonder what the big difference is between a meandering channel and a straight channel. All the difference in the world! Meandering channels are so much more physically complex: flow spirals around a river bend, sorting sediment and substrate, depositing fines in the insides of the bends, scouring the outsides, crafting the river bed into a complex matrix of glides, pools and riffles. If the river bed and planform are intact, undercut shelves will form on the outsides of meanders at the junction between the more motile bed substrate and the more cohesive floodplain soils. These undercuts are incredibly valuable habitat for fish, especially large salmonids. The loosely triangular river bed section that evolves in a meandering channel maintains water velocities as flows lessen through the summer, whereas the uniform bed of a modified channel does not. The natural meanders therefore support plants like ranunculus and in tandem this promotes a healthy scour of the river bed, keeping fines on the move whilst creating a wide variety of habitat niches for invertebrates, benthic (eg. bullheads and minnows) and rheophilic (eg. trout, and dace) fish.

But I’ve also noticed how grazing animals like ponies interact differently with a meandering channel. The River Nar through Castle Acre was a typical straightened, modified, perched and dredged channel. Like all chalk streams subjected to these modifications it had evolved a monoculture of phragmites and bur reed along the edges (in the worst cases right across the channel) which – because they are silty death traps – grazing animals tend to avoid, nibbling only the edges, which they can reach from the safety of solid ground.

After we restored the meandering channel with river bed much closer to floodplain level, the Konik ponies that graze the common started to graze the point-bars on the insides of the bends in a different way from the more cliff-like edges on the outsides of the bends. The planform created a diversity of grazing pressure which in itself will have been beneficial to biodiversity.

It is obvious, also, that if you take the gradient out of an already low gradient stream and then massively increase the sediment loading – as we have done in the modern landscape – you will turn the stream into a silty grow-bag. When passionate river-kin types rail at the state of a chalk stream, at the gloopy silt, filamentous algae, opaque water and feeble flows, they are railing much more at its physical state than any abstraction or water quality pressure. Not to diminish the impacts of these pressures, which can be over-riding in some settings, but where there is tolerable flow (even if there is some abstraction) and water quality (even if there is some eutrophication and sediment load) the XYZ is by far the most important part of the chalk stream health. It is certainly the the foundational layer and oftentimes the easiest to sort out.

Deficit x opportunity = strategy priority. A tool for planning chalk stream catchment restoration

I’m honoured to have been asked to chair the Test and Itchen Catchment Partnership (Strategic Leadership Group) and help efforts to create a re-booted catchment restoration strategy spearheaded by the Wessex Rivers Trust and Hampshire and Isle of Wight Wildlife Trusts in partnership with all the key stakeholders, landowners, fisheries interests, water company, regulators and local groups.

These two rivers are the jewels in the English chalk stream crown (and I say that as a Norfolk lad) of iconic national and international importance. Collectively the partnership has formulated a restoration vision that is to:

“to restore these rivers to a state where natural processes, ecology and biodiversity are maximised and human impacts minimised: to create rivers and floodplains that are havens for abundant wildlife, that help manage floods, store carbon and intercept sediment, that retain their extraordinary cultural value, and that are resilient to the pressures that lie ahead”

That’s a high ambition and to use a cliché … words are cheap. Turning it into reality is the hard part. What I have learned from trying to do exactly the above (albeit at a smaller scale) on chalk streams in Norfolk is the immense value of a really good plan, one that is simple, doable and relentlessly correlated to reality.

Without a plan there are a zillion rabbit holes one can vanish down. A great deal of money can be spent doing the wrong things well, or doing the right things badly, or fixing an enormously expensive minor issue at the expense of a much more resolvable major issue. And so on.

So, I’ve been working on a methodology for constructing a restoration strategy that is simple, objective, repeatable, that makes use of existing datasets and assessments but reassembles the information in such a way as to clear signals about what to fix, where and in what order. A catchment restoration planning tool, if you like.

I sketched out the idea at the inaugural meeting of the Test and Itchen Strategic Leadership Group last week, to an exacting audience of river restoration experts, ecologists, regulators and various other key decision makers and was very pleasantly surprised by the positive reception.

I’ve set out the concept below: a) as a simple graphic and b) as a longer text explainer. I’d be very happy to incorporate feedback to help make it as useable and useful as possible.

Update on the River Stiffkey

I’ve been back to the River Stiffkey a few times over the past few weeks to see how the newly created “natural” channel is evolving.

This is a section of a Norfolk chalk streams that curls around the edge of an Iron Age hill-fort. It was radically straightened several hundred years ago and subsequently dredged into a deep culvert.

The Norfolk Rivers Trust and Holkham Estate asked me to design a restored, natural channel to take the river back to where it used to flow. All sorts of good things should follow a project like this: a restored channel will be good for bird-life, for trout and sea trout, for invertebrates and for the diversity of plant species. It should be good for flood management and carbon sequestration too.

This is a simplified overview of the design I produced, about 2km of river from top to bottom (the flow direction is up the page!)

We executed the work in two phases in 2023 and 24. Here the diggers start work:

The excavators at work in 2023.

And here we place out “large woody debris” to give a bit of structure to the new channel:

Adding LWD to the channel.

Already the changes are visible on google maps: below is a before and after of the satellite imagery. The keen-eyed will see the clues in the floodplain as to where parts of the natural channel once flowed. And now flow again.

The Stiffkey floodplain around Warham before we started work
The Stiffkey floodplain around Warham after the new channels were finished in 2024

We were lucky in that the winter flows that followed the 2023 phase were very strong and this gave the river a chance to self-adjust. It also showed the river working naturally and that vital relationship between the river and its riparian space: just fantastic for wading birds.

Winter flows and a working floodplain in the spring of 2024.

By the summer of 2024 the first phase looked radically different than the weed-choked channel it had replaced:

Summer 2023: the is the ditch-like channel choked with burr-reed that the River Stiffkey had become where it “flowed” past the Warham fort.
September 2024 a year after the channel was excavated. None of these in-stream macrophytes were planted. It’s amazing how quickly habitat develops if you restore the correct physical state.

But these restoration projects must also be seen in terms of longer time-lines and here it is really interesting to see whether trees come back to the site and if so, which species. A mosaic of tree cover and open grassland / fen will be the secret to the long-term resilience of the project. So, it is really encouraging to see some trees springing up and fascinating to discover that they are mostly … hazel.

2025 and now 2026 have seen lower flows and I have been interested to see how the habitat has developed. Unsurprisingly, the riparian vegetation has crept out over the channel but even so, there is no choking of burr-reed, because the bed of the river is a constant gradient: there are no sumps.

This photo was taken in June 26: the river looking verdant and lively in spite of the dry weather.
This photo was taken a few weeks later, as the drought deepened. We desperately need rain, but the habitat is still holding out.

River Rights & Wrongs

In some ways eco-warrior Paul Powlesland has the sort of zeal we need much more of. He cares enough about an overlooked London river to spend his own money trying to improve it. So, when the Environment Agency wrote to him warning that it was investigating works he’d done on the Alders Brook without a permit, it looked once again like a bureaucracy that had lost its purpose, persecuting someone trying to do the right thing.

I met Paul briefly a couple of years ago after he had given a talk on the Rights of Rivers, for which he is a passionate advocate. Curious about the arguments in favour, I had nevertheless been unconvinced. I couldn’t see what the granting of rights would do to improve a river’s health over and above the application of existing (or improved) environmental laws.

This kerfuffle with the Agency hasn’t done much to sway my scepticism. In fact, it begs the same question I had wanted to ask Paul as he rushed to the train station: “Once a river has rights, who will best speak for it?” A river’s interests aren’t always that obvious and the path to hell is paved with good intentions.

The story of Powlesland’s run-in with Agency has been very widely reported: splashed across The Guardian and The Daily Telegraph, featured in Channel 4 news, retold as far afield as The Times of India and all over social media. The stories all suggest that Powlesland was being threatened with prosecution for removing rubbish from a river, which on the face of it is absurd.

That didn’t quite ring true for me. The good folk of the River Wandle Trust have been taking rubbish out of that south London river for decades, without ever falling foul of the Environment Agency. They have done this work with the cooperation of the local council, who have provided lorries to take away the vast quantities of stuff that other no-so-good folk of south London insist on throwing in there: mattresses, tyres, shopping trolleys. You name it.

Volunteers on the River Wandle have been litter-picking for years without ever falling foul of the Environment Agency.

I couldn’t imagine why on the Earth the Agency would want to harry Powlesland for litter picking, and I suspected that they didn’t. I suspected, in fact, that they had taken exception to something else. The words “silt and weed” in The Guardian headline made me suspicious. The mention in The Daily Telegraph of the use of an excavator hired by Powlesland for £750 made me more suspicious. You don’t need an excavator to pick litter. So, had he actually dredged the river of “silt and weed” in the name of cleaning it up?

Sure enough, when the Agency finally relented and informed Powlesland that they wouldn’t be taking further action the letter alluded to “flood risk activity” consisting of “dredging, raising or taking of any sand, silt, ballast, clay, gravel off the bed or banks of the Alder’s Brook”. Somewhere on the Roding Trust Facebook feed there is a film of a digger slubbing mud out of the channel. Harmless enough, perhaps, but ordinary mortals do need consent for that kind of work, so to just crack on without it and post the evidence …

Clearly, Powlesland is very much motivated to do the right thing. Clearly, he is frustrated by what he sees as petty-fogging bureaucracy standing in his way.         

But so was John Price, a farmer who was jailed for 12 months for taking an excavator into the River Lugg and dredging the bed of that highly protected river. John Price’s crime was far, far worse than Powlesland’s intervention, but the point is … John Price thought he was doing the right thing too. He thought he was protecting the village from flooding. And the media, en masse, portrayed him as a Robin Hood hero. He wasn’t. He badly damaged salmon spawning grounds, and if anything, his tidying up of the River Lugg will have made the flooding worse.

Powlesland’s work on the Alders Brook won’t have done either of those things, but if he dredged silt out of it he may have temporarily stirred up pollutants and caused oxygen depletion downstream. Besides, dredging silt out of the Alders Brook is also a Canute-like exercise.

The Alders Brook is not a tributary of the River Roding, as described in the newspaper reports. It is the natural course of the upper reaches of the tidal River Roding. Further down the valley the same relic natural course was once called The Back Water and is now almost entirely erased. The first edition Ordnance Survey marks the head of the Alders Brook where it leaves the diverted course of the modern River Roding, with the words “Ford. Ordinary Tides flow to this point”.         

The Alders Brook is part of the estuarial River Roding, naturally tidal upstream as far as the ford.

The diversion of the modern river course flowed from there to a paper mill in the village of Great Ilford. No doubt the paper mill is long since obsolete but the modified course and its impact on river morphology remains. The Alders Brook is not a free-flowing stream, rather a part relic of a tidal estuary. Once it would have drained under gravity twice a day, and this would have kept its main channel free of accumulating sediment. But estuaries are, by their nature, muddy places where any interruption to gradient will gather silt and mud. The upper parts the Alders Brook have natural gradient, but the lowermost reach takes a sharp, unnatural turn to the east, and if anything, the river is trying to climb uphill as it rejoins the much diverted and much modified main Roding. It is, therefore, a sump and will always fill with silt.

A LiDAR image of the Alders Brook – the thin, meandering line in the centre. Its ability to transport sediment is now severely compromised by a railway line and diversion at the downstream end. The railway and the infrastructure around it form what is, essentially, a dam across the valley floor.

Throughout eastern England, we’ve done stuff like this: we have boxed in estuarial reaches of rivers and reclaimed the land either side of them. Now, they can be miles from the sea with all vestiges of that transient landscape buried under trading estates, retail parks and railway lines, and the expectation is that these meandering courses should behave like rivers. They can’t.

Removing accumulated silt may look like restoration, but unless the free-flowing tidal processes that once maintained the channel are also fully restored—which, in urban east London, is impossible —the exercise becomes one of perpetual maintenance.

None of this is to question Powlesland’s motives, which are clearly driven by a passion to improve his local river. But that doesn’t mean every enthusiastic intervention should simply be waved on through without the troubling business of conforming to the consenting process.

And it does beg a question about river rights. In the few places these have been enacted they’re just too vague to be meaningful: “the right to flow” “the right to be free from pollution”. For all our failures to actually impose environmental laws, these laws protect rivers in terms that are generally much clearer.

Rights would require somebody to speak on behalf of the rights-holder and who is best going to do that when one person’s idea of an improvement may be another person’s idea of environmental damage? A river that looks untidy may actually be a haven for wildlife. A fallen tree might look like obstruction, when it’s actually habitat. Silt looks dirty when it might be the stucture of the channel. Weeds look like neglect when they are vital to the flow, temperature, oxygen and nurient levels.         

Passionate river guardians standing up for vague rights and emboldened to act unilaterally without consent because they feel that right is on their side: that could just as well become an army of John Prices, as an army of Paul Powleslands. We should be careful what we wish for.

The Roding Trust volunteers go out in all weathers and do hard work to make their corner of the planet better. We need their passion, for sure. The Environment Agency were a bit heavy-hoofed in this case, and that didn’t sit well in the context of their reluctance to prosecute much more obvious and damaging environmental offences. Powlesland has described dozens of illegal discharges of raw sewage upstream on the same river: Theydon Bois works, for example, spilled 85 times in 2025. Not all of those can have been in “exceptional weather”.

But right now, if I want to restore a river I have to draw up a plan, back it with evidence and apply for permission. The application procedure is frustratingly slow and sometimes the edicts from the folk granting or denying permission feel baffling, or obstructive. I wish the process could be better and argue that it should be. But on the other hand, if we want the Environment Agency to protect rivers, then we shouldn’t object too hard when it does.

Coda.

So, if the Roding Trust can’t meaningfully restore the estuarial Alders Brook because there’s just too much of London in the way, what could they do to revive it and create a lovely waterscape? I seriously doubt the brook serves any flood relief function nowadays: so, bearing in mind it can’t become free-flowing again and will always be a silt trap, I’d cut off the inflow and outflow and turn it into a meandering still-water. This way, silt would take much, much longer to accrete and could be carefully removed once a decade by suction. It would be clear-watered and full of life and pretty enough— one hopes— to shame even the worst of litterbugs.         

The project would require consent, however.

A once tidal creek that is now a meandering, freshwater pool: an example of the best possible outcome for the modern Alder’s Brook?

Restoration Drama Continued

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From Faden’s 1797 map of Norfolk showing a meandering upper River Nar

The second in my mini-series on our (Norfolk Rivers Trust) 2014 river restoration projects begins in the headwaters of the River Nar. You have to go back to Faden’s map of Norfolk to find the upper River Nar drawn with a wiggly line. It seems as if the river meandered in 1797, but was dead straight within fifty years, when the first OS series was drawn. The straight channel was progressively made deeper by maintenance dredging through the 20th Century until the upper quarter of this Norfolk chalk-stream had become more of a drainage ditch than a stream.

So, this project, like the one I described in my previous blog, was also aimed at re-meandering a much canalised river, this time in the headwaters. Only here we had no relic channel to restore, and not much in the way of reference reaches to use as a model. The entire upper river has been straightened and only in a very few places can relic meander sequences can be found:

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There’s a relic meander in the wood in the centre of the map: only a handful of these exist on the entire upper river.

These, however, give an idea of the meander pattern the river once had. More indicative were the more continuous meanders on the nearby Upper Tat, an almost identical size and type of stream.

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Natural meanders on the River Tat

But we had to dig deeper than maps to find out what the river may once have looked like and also where it once flowed. LIDAR (a satellite derived map of land level) revealed a bit more information: in the image below you can see a darker line meandering down the valley, sometimes north, sometimes south of the straight ditched course of the river. This darker area marks the true low point of the valley. The river would have meandered along this course. But in the upper reaches of the project LIDAR asked more questions than it answered. In the triangle of land in the upper right corner of the image the course of the river is invisible. There is only is a low-lying, almost marshy area furrowed with drains. This area is also marked by strange channels on the Faden map.

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When I went to explore this patch of land, instead of finding gravel 50 cm below the level of the peat, as we normally do on the Nar, my steel pin sank time and again into the peat without once touching anything solid. I began to suspect that the very upper river was once more a series of marshy ponds than a distinct channel, kind of like the landscape I saw out of a helicopter once when crossing a wilderness landscape in Canada.

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Not a chalky landscape, but swap the fir trees for alders, oak and willow and perhaps parts of the upper River Nar looked a little like this: a series of marshy ponds with a stream meandering through them.

And not unlike some parts of the river as they are today:

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The River Nar morphing from a stream to a pond to a stream again

It would have been great to peel back the edges of the ditch and create a similar landscape, but our budget and consenting authority permissions allowed only for the creation of a new channel. We decided to leave that strange corner of the river to become another project sometime in the future.

Instead, basing the meander pattern on those reference sections of the Tat, I started to plan a new meandering channel starting where the gravel came towards the surface of the floodplain … as you can see on the sketches below.

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Re-meander Plan1: the direction of flow is from north-east to south-west. The channel starts where the gravel came back towards the surface of the floodplain.

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Re-meander Plan2: a continuation of the river from Plan1.

Gradient was the real issue: in spite of this reach being the headwaters of the river the landscape is very flat. Our new river had approx. 1 meter of fall in 1000 meters of distance run. In part, this was also because the new meanders made the stream much longer: 1200 meters of stream replaced 800 of ditch; and also because we kept the river bed about 50 to 60 cm below the floodplain when the bed of the ditch was as much as 1.5 meters lower. It would have helped to steal those extra centimeters of fall and return the river seamlessly into the bed of the ditch at the lower end. But that would have been cheating. As it is the lower end of our new channel will flow easily into an extension of this new “natural” channel – should the Government ever fund this scale of landscape restoration again – and in the meanwhile the river returns to the bed level of the ditch through a series of shallow (so fish can get up them) steps which we constructed using buried limbs from a fallen oak tree.

The basic river is now cut and is flowing. The rain has come and the landscape is suddenly sodden and the whole project needs to consolidate and settle. When it has we’ll add gravel to the bed of the channel to create shallow riffles and we’ll deepen some of the pools. We’ll harrow the ground and sow with an appropriate seed-mix. We’ll plant alders and oaks. Within a year I hope the place will be a new kind of watery paradise for the wildlife of the upper Nar: a meandering river with the planform and cross-sections I like to think it once had, in touch with its water-meadows. A better way entirely for a chalk-stream to start its journey to the sea.

Thanks to all those involved: the land-owners and the Common Trustees, the Norfolk Rivers Trust, WWF and Coca Cola, Natural England, Norfolk Rivers Drainage Board, Richard Hey, Tom Moore, Acorn Tree Services and of course Jason Lovering and Jonah from Five Rivers Environmental Consultancy who worked long days for four weeks to get it all done before the rain arrived.

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The old ditch which formed, until recently, the headwaters of the River Nar. It was arrow straight and divorced the river from the flood-plain.

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Another image of the upper River Nar in its 19th Century ditch.

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It was hard to find reference sections on the old ditch, but Richard Hey showed me how the slightest of bends will create an emergent shelf within a dredged channel, which can then be used to estimate the ‘bank-full’ cross section of the natural river.

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The project begins: the ditch is to the right (temporarily backed up by the works) the first turn on the new meandering course is to the left. That’s Jason Lovering of Five Rivers at the controls.

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Setting the level: 48 AOD at the start, 46.5 approx 1200 meters downstream. In the upper reaches the channel is approx. 1m wide and 30 to 40 cm deep. Lower down 1.25 to 1.4m wide and 40 to 50 cm deep.

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The new channel starting to take shape: the ditch is to the left.

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Another view of the emerging channel.

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The line of the ditch is to the left, the old course of the channel runs through this meadow ahead just about discernible in the low ground.

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The same view a few days later: it looks drastic (and waterless) right now, but should look fabulous in 12 months time!

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The same view looking back upstream

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The new channel with water in it a few days later.

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The lower reaches of the new channel, over 1km downstream from the starting point. The grassy tussocks in the meadow were a good indication of where the original channel had once been.

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The old ditch has now become a series of linear ponds backed up by each crossing point of the restored river channel, and these ponds will become a habitat feature in their own right.

 

 

Trees in Rivers

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Monday morning 4th August and the next phase in the restoration of a small Norfolk chalk-stream begins. 3.5 km in two months, all being well.

Last year we (the Norfolk Rivers Trust working with Cain BioEngineering) took on a similar length – 3.5 km of straight and over-wide channel and did our best to replicate in two months what would have taken hurricanes and beavers (if we had them) two hundred years. You’ll get the idea from these before and after pictures: we felled trees and used them to rebuild a more natural, meandering channel.

It sounds simple enough. But why bother? Over the centuries chalk streams have been straightened, deepened and widened: for milling, for navigation, to construct water-meadows (a 17th Century technique for boosting farm productivity by flooding the floodplain) or to make them into drains (a 20th century technique for boosting farm productivity by draining the floodplain). The cumulative impact of all this modification has been to change our chalk-streams from the naturally meandering rivers they once were into uniform, over-wide and over deep canals.

Using trees to rebuild the meandering, low-lying riverbanks that a chalk stream should flow within brings a host of improvements to the habitat and eco-system. In the restored channel the water flows more quickly. The swifter flows scour the bed of stream so that there is clean gravel instead of deep mud. The faster flows favour weeds like ranunculus and starwort which help maintain a cleaner river, and provide better habitat for fish and insects. Along the shallow, wet margins reeds and grasses flourish and these also provide habitat for insects, birds and mammals. Selectively felling trees helps too, especially in the sort of semi-commercial forestry that borders a lot of our rivers: the ideal is the dappled sunlight and shade you’d find in a natural, mature flood-plain wood.

Altogether this carefully choreographed imitation of a small hurricane can absolutely transform a chalk stream, as these photographs show. The changes illustrated here have taken less than a year to evolve. In five or ten years the woody banks will have disappeared beneath trapped silt and vegetation and flowing through the middle will be a smaller and much healthier river.

 

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