{"id":20161,"date":"2022-09-30T07:05:54","date_gmt":"2022-09-30T05:05:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.countryfile.com\/?p=123094"},"modified":"2022-09-30T07:32:13","modified_gmt":"2022-09-30T05:32:13","slug":"new-nature-writer-of-the-year-2022-runner-up-1-a-healing-river","status":"publish","type":"rss_feed","link":"https:\/\/c01.purpledshub.com\/bbccountryfile\/rss_feed\/new-nature-writer-of-the-year-2022-runner-up-1-a-healing-river\/","title":{"rendered":"New Nature Writer of the Year 2022 runner up 1: A healing river"},"content":{"rendered":"

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By Joe Pontin\n \t\t<\/p>

Published: Friday, 30 September 2022 at 12:00 am<\/p>

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Describe a special place, we asked \u2013 somewhere nature thrills you. Sure enough, entrants to the 2022\u00a0BBC Countryfile Magazine<\/strong>\u00a0New Nature Writer of the Year Competition\u00a0<\/strong>soon filled our inbox with beautiful, lyrical writing. Many, including our winner,<\/a><\/strong>\u00a0celebrated rural places, but some \u2013 including our first of three runners-up, Rhiannon Law \u2013 described thrilling encounters with nature in urban settings.<\/p>\n

Rhiannon lives in Glasgow, where the startling encounter described below took place. Read more about her below. First: her moving entry about the power of nature to lighten a mind weighed down by guilt and to help put problems in perspective.<\/p>\n

By the way, Rhiannon is also a talented photographer \u2013 she even sent us a beautiful shot of the creatures she spotted on the morning that inspired her story.<\/p>\n

BBC Countryfile Magazine New Nature Writer of the year runner-up 1<\/h2>\n

Bridging<\/h3>\n

by Rhiannon Law<\/h4>\n

Bad news hangs heavy over me, like the tangle of leaf-laden branches partially obscuring the path ahead. Guilt is the crow that bounces behind me, cracking and cawing the reminder of its presence. Thankfully, it only takes a few minutes to walk the length of the football pitch and reach the shadowy river bank that runs along the edge of the park. There is nothing special about this place, but the bridge at its heart provides a shortcut to greener spaces.<\/p>\n

I stand halfway across the small structure, only wide enough for two people to pass, rest my elbows on the steel and bury my head for a moment; cold comfort. The usually shallow burn is swollen with recent rainfall, obscuring the human detritus. Although I can\u2019t see it, I know that the bright yellow road sign rusting on the river bed says Cogan Rd and the arrow points towards home, a five-minute walk back the way I\u2019ve just come. The surface current and the salt water in my eyes ensure it is a blur today. Creaking tree limbs emit high pitch squeals when a gust of wind blows through them. As they sway above, the dapples of hot and harsh mid-afternoon sunlight find me; shining searchlights on my arms. I turn to leave. There\u2019s no point going for a walk if you\u2019re not going to move forward. I must get over it.<\/p>\n

A couple of steps away from the end of the bridge, there is an audible splash. I turn to see a male blackbird hurtle past and land on the bank a short distance away, hurling obscenities from his new perch. Looking back up the river to see what has provoked this outburst, there is movement in the water. Something shiny, sodden, shifting out of the river and into the undergrowth. Hopeful. Silence. Nothing. Get over it.<\/p>\n

I am making my way towards the road ahead when there is a commotion in the bushes, and the branches nearest the river shake violently. In my head, I quickly run through the lineup of local wildlife suspects large enough to rouse this kind of ruckus. Maybe a dog is running loose. Then more than one brown body glistens in the greenery. A familiar face pops up from the water. It\u2019s a whiskered wonder from books and TV programmes but never seen in the flesh before. They are otters \u2013 a mother with two cubs. I have waited many years to see just one and a whole family have arrived.<\/p>\n

having yearned for this moment, I find myself woefully unprepared for the adrenaline rush. I am holding my breath, fearful that simply exhaling will prove the otters to be a mirage <\/blockquote> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n<\/div>

Cleaner water has meant that you can get lucky and spot an otter in Glasgow, but they still have a somewhat mythical quality. Someone always knows someone else who\u2019s seen them. Too nervous to walk alone in the city at dawn or dusk, crepuscular creatures like these usually elude me. So, having yearned for this moment, I find myself woefully unprepared for the adrenaline rush. I am holding my breath, fearful that simply exhaling will prove the otters to be a mirage.<\/p>\n

No, they are real. Emerging from the shelter of the bank, they swim confidently against the current towards the bridge. The female watches me calmly while her babies swim circles around her. The smallest cub paddles to her back and climbs aboard, its head appearing on top of hers. The battle for king of the castle begins, and the siblings quickly submerge their mother with their antics. After a couple of minutes of frolicking together, she decides that playtime \u2013 and our encounter \u2013 is over. They dive in unison. Ten out of ten for synchronisation. Their chocolate bodies melt into the river and become indistinguishable shapes flowing downstream while a lump surfaces in my throat. One sob shudders from my chest. Then more come in waves, crashing through me. Surprise. Joy. Release. I struggle to get over it.<\/p>\n

\"""\"<\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/source><\/picture><\/div>
Rhiannon had time to photograph the otters she spotted that morning \u2013 here they are!<\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Clinging onto the metal rail for support, I turn my wet face left and right to see if this was a shared moment, but no one else is around. There is just the blackbird for company, while the protective arms of the trees along the bank shelter me from scrutiny. There is something special about this place.<\/p>\n

Before heading home, I lean over the bridge and peer downriver. The otters have moved on, but solace has seeped into my bones, giving me new strength. I know I can get over this.<\/p>\n

Words by Rhiannon Law<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

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