THE RIVER'S FAMILY
When I bumped into Jo for the first time at Heartlands, I knew almost immediately that she’d be great to work with: enthusiasm coupled with a bit of mischief, and a lot of emotional care. She’s a key member of the Red River Rescuers, a group of volunteers who work to improve the biodiversity of the river through careful interventions in the landscape, usually involving the hard, never-ending task of scrub clearance. She whispers to me (quite by accident I’ve stumbled across another arts project getting off the ground and the artist involved is in the room) that the artist she’s here to talk to doesn’t think they should be doing anything to the river: but so much would be lost if we did nothing, she whispers. We’ve hit on a crucial question that interests both of us: to leave alone or to restore? And if restoring, restoring to what ideal state? We exchange details and arrange to meet with two other Rescuers.
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A gale is ripping across Cornwall, rain ramping off the repurposed mining buildings at Heartlands, part of the old South Crofty Mine site. I’m in the cafe with the Rescuers: Jo (butterfly enthusiast), Gary (pyromaniac scrub burner), and Steve (dragonfly expert and Red River native). I love the provocativeness of Steve’s idea: he wants to restore parts of river to the state they were in just after it was abandoned by the mining companies. Wow! But then Steve, says Jo, loves rubbish—you two have a lot in common. We have: my last collection of poems was called Landfill. Steve grew up in Brea, a small village outside Camborne and towards the upper end of the Red River valley; he has hands-on knowledge of the place. He tells me: we used to dig up the tailings and throw them at each other; I can remember getting so lagged with mud—and the red tailing stuff doesn’t come out too easily— that we would put all our clothes through the wash at friends house before we went home. He can remember the day the scrappers came to take away the old iron water wheel at Brea adit, which they used play in like hamsters in a wheel. He can remember ‘Troon Zoo’ with its lamas, and the Kodiak bear the photographer Jem Southam included in his Red River photo story of the valley back in the 1980s.
© Steve Jones
Steve holds so much of the river in him. I open up the OS map and we work our way down the river’s length, stopping at significant sites. There, they had a small farm diary: he points to the map near Newton Moor. As he grew older, Steve made himself an expert in the invertebrates of the Red River valley, and in particular the dragonflies that had found a niche among the settlement tanks and the scant vegetation on hot acres of shattered stone from the tin-extraction processing: it was the perfect habitat for them. Back in the 1980s, when he was his early 20s, Steve had fought to get a company seeking to recover tin from the settlement tanks to shift their access road away from ponds where dragonflies were breeding. Despite letters to the council, attending planning meetings, and stories in the local paper, the access road was driven through the ponds and tanks and 13 species of dragonflies were lost overnight. The company involved subsequently went bust. What a pointless, thoughtless waste. But Steve was so keen on saving habitats for dragonflies that he took bin bags from his mum’s kitchen and filled them with sand to try to repair the tanks and ponds. Jo says, Steve taught me to see the landscape differently; it’s such a rare one. I’m guessing she won’t be the only one.
We chat on and they tell me about their work and the 17 species of dragonflies that can still be found along the river, and the 120 species of moths they’ve identified at the Red River Nature Reserve they manage near Menadarva. Gary is so helpful with all his contacts and suggests for people we can involve. It’s crucial, low-key work, which quietly transforms places and lives. I keep coming back to the word care: it’s moving how much they care about a landscape that has been treated so violently in the past. When Steve describes a Golden-ringed Dragonfly (Cordulegaster boltonii, a stream-dweller with a larval life span of up to five years) emerging from the river at Tuckingmill Valley park, it’s thrilling—it confirmed his long-held belief that dragonflies were not necessarily indicators of water purity! His excitement must have communicated itself to the rest of his family because he shows me an image of a tattoo on his son’s forearm of a Migrant Hawker Dragonfly from the river, based on one of his own beautifully accurate drawings. His son has the Red River on his skin! From river to father to son: it speaks so much of Steve’s love of the river and his son’s love for him. It’s a family thing; and with the Red River Rescuers, if you care about the river, I’m sensing you can join the river’s family—count me in.
If you want to find out more about the work done by the Red River Rescuers and how you can help them go to their website.
© Steve Jones
