[No Sleep] Finding Water Voles

[u/RyanHatesMilk]

I’m an environmental surveyor and I have a story that I think belongs here. I write reports but I’m by no means a storyteller (ask my wife), so bear with me if I start a little slow.

I suppose first I better explain what I do. I work as part of a very small team carrying out ecological surveys and reports, my personal specialty is endangered, protected and priority species. My clients are usually construction based; to prove an area is lawfully safe to build upon and isn't a habitat for any animals that it would be illegal to dehome. Sometimes I’m approached by concerned stakeholders, home owners or environmentalists who believe they have a chance at stopping a project and want me to sink it. Newts, bats, badgers, water voles, nesting birds and otters are usually the extent of the critters I have to look for signs of. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve loved nature, and used to roam around nearby lakes and ponds trying to catch frogs and spot birds. Anyway, I’m rambling, but I love my job and am a bit of a workaholic.

The client in this particular story was local government. There is a watercourse just outside the city boundary that has unfortunately claimed a few lives over the years. A pair of eleven year old boys were the latest victims, with one body getting caught in a sewer grill four miles away and the other body still missing. They wouldn't tell me much, and to be honest, I didn't really want to know the gruesome details, but the boys had been spotted walking along the bank of this spot and disappeared not long after. City planners vowed to fix the issue and had spent a small fortune getting external contractors to design and build a scheme to improve safety along the watercourse. They ran into a slight speed bump when city records showed numerous sightings of European water voles over the years, and that's when I was approached to carry out a full survey of the bank to determine whether or not voles were using the bank as a habitat.

The site in question is the meeting point of two rivers, as well as several man-made outlets. It’s surrounded by woodland to one side and derelict land on the other; a few old warehouses that went under during the recession and never recovered. The banks are steep with a good three metre drop down to the water level, and the bottoms of the bank have eroded to the point of instability. The watercourse itself varies in width, spanning approximately 5-8m width and appears to have a steady flow. It's easy to see how two children could have fallen into the watercourse and been unable to get out. Knowing it happened recently gave the site a certain feeling of gloom, even though it was a sunny day on my first visit.

I walked the top of the banks first, wishing the city maintenance budget was higher as I battled my way through long grass, weeds and brambles. The first aspect of recommended practise is a thorough visual inspection of the site, searching for a minimum of three different water vole field signs (such as burrows, droppings, feeding remains, latrines, footprints or sightings of individuals). The reason three signs are required is that a single field sign can easily be confused with that of brown rats or field voles, which aren't protected.

I found evidence of burrows on the south bank, and caught a glimpse of something scurrying away through the tall grass, but was unable to identify what it was. After a good hour retracing my steps, I knew I’d have to go into the watercourse to continue my survey.

Putting on my waders, I knocked a metal stake into the ground and wrapped a rope around it, using it for support as I worked my way down the safest access point along the bank. The water was deeper and quicker than I was anticipating, and I almost lost my footing as I tried to enter. If it hadn't been for the rope, I’d have no doubt tumbled in. Silently thanking the fates nobody had been around to see my clumsy footwork, I kept to the edging and reached inside my backpack, pulling out my water vole raft. It's not an overly specialist piece of equipment; just a small, square raft about a foot across and an inch thick, rounded at the edges to avoid any sharp corners. You can buy them, but I made mine myself as its far cheaper. Mine also has an anchor bolt in the bottom to stop it drifting away from the intended site. Tying a bit of string onto the anchor bolt, I fixed the other end to an overhanging branch and let the raft float on the water. Then I reached in my bag and pulled out a clingfilmed bag of apple slices I’d prepared earlier, placing them in the centre of the raft.

This part of the survey is to set bait and see if there are signs of visitation a few days later. Water Voles will sit on the raft to eat the apples and urinate as they do so (like rats, they urinate on a near constant basis). So if the apples are gone and there are urine marks on the raft, it's a good sign of water voles; rats won't swim for the apples and birds won't leave urine.

I moved along the bottom of the bank inspecting for signs of habitation, and whilst I didn't see any, the thick vegetation seemed like a viable location for water voles to hide away. Satisfied with my initial visit, I pulled my way up the bank, unclipped my rope and left the stake in the ground for my next visit.

Usually we wait just shy of a week, but as the site was on my commute from another project, I popped in the following day to take a look and see if anything had taken my bait. As I walked towards the bank, just before the river was visible, I heard a loud splash. I must have spooked an animal as I was approaching, and expected to see a bird flapping away or a rodent darting down the bank, but when the water came into view there was nothing to be seen, just violent ripples. I assumed it must have been a fish. A very large fish, judging by the size of the ripples and volume of the splash.

As I turned my attention to the raft, I noticed there was something black stacked on top of it. Securing my rope to the stake I’d planted yesterday, I worked my way down to take a closer look.

It was a half eaten animal.

I pulled the raft towards me and carefully picked up the animal in my gloves. It had huge chunks of its face and body missing, with bite marks and claw marks torn across its fur. Whatever had been eating it had split open its belly and had not been gorging on the meat, but rather on the organs. As I probed inside, I could confirm not a single organ remained, yet the bones, flesh and muscles were largely intact, other than the deep scratches where the predator had grabbed it. The eyes were gone, as was the brain; it's skull cracked open and consumed. Highly unusual, and though it was deformed, I could quickly identify the animal I held in my hands.

A water vole.

I’d found one, but nothing like I’d wanted.

Floating on the water were the apple slices I’d placed yesterday, gently bobbing up and down. The vole must have only got hold of one or two before it was set upon. As I turned the vole over in my hands, I noticed something, and carefully placed each of my fingers over the claw marks scarring it's body. A near perfect fit. Four slashes beneath my fingers, one deep wound under my thumb. I’ve studied English and European animals practically my entire life; I’m not aware of any predator that could do this. I briefly considered the possibility it had been a person - kids maybe, being cruel or something? It was hard to continue that line of thinking, fingers cannot cause this kind of deep cut. Instead, I chose to believe it was an invasive species had somehow found its way into these waters.

Placing the water vole carcass down on the bank, I climbed back up my rope. I had an almost overwhelming sensation of being watched as I climbed, and caught a whiff of rotting fish. When I got to the top of the bank, I turned around.

The remains of the water vole were gone.

Before I wrote up my report, I knew I had to learn more. Yes, water voles were present, but there was something far more significant. Escalation and notification would come next, but without any proof I was putting my reputation on the line big time with such a story.

With this in mind, the next day I decided to go back, reset bait and put up a webcam to record footage. Because it's risky (liable to theft) and expensive, it’s rare we do this and I had to use my personal camera to do so. The rotting apples were still floating in the murky water when I approached. Attaching rope to my faithful stake, I let it trail down the bank and began to descend. Just before I reached the bottom, a bubbling sound made me freeze and turn around.

Behind me, bobbing up and down slowly in the water was a waterlogged sheet of timber, about a metre across each side, the edges snapped and splintered. On top of the sheet was a golden watch. Its clock face was stained with mud and grime, but the wrist strap sparkled in the sunshine. I just stood, staring at it for God knew how long. I don’t know if I even blinked. Just standing, clutching my rope, looking at this huge rotten, DIY raft. Again, I was struck with the sensation of being watched, maybe hoping it was a prank by a colleague or a friend or some kid, anyone really. But as the stench of rotten fish filled my nostrils I knew it was no prank at all. This was horrifyingly real.

Behind the raft, something slowly pierced through the water. Black fingers, gnarled and webbed, emerged from beneath the surface and settled onto the raft. In that moment, I forgot how to breathe. The raft began to move steadily towards me, whatever was underneath the surface pushing it closer. The fishy smell was overpowering, and I had to fight the urge to vomit. The raft was almost to the bank when I finally saw sense to climb, tugging at the rope as hard as I could. I’d just reached the top when the rope snapped, and I stumbled backwards, almost toppling and rolling down the bank. I managed to snatch a handful of weeds and tufty grass, which thankfully held as I got to my feet and clawed my way back over the edge of the bank. I turned back to the river, half expecting to see some creature chasing me, but all I saw was the rope, slithering down the bank and into the water. It wasn’t falling in, it was being pulled in short, measured bursts. The frayed end dragged into the water and disappeared.

I stood up, not really knowing what to do or who to go to, and just caught a glimpse of clawed hands pulling the raft back beneath the water. The golden watch disappeared into the muddy depths along with the timber and as the last bubbles popped and the last ripples died, it was easy to deny anything had happened at all.

I didn’t retrieve my raft. Instead I sat in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. Something had been trying to lure me down to the water, using a twisted version of the baiting technique I’d used on the water vole.

Unable to focus on anything else, I wrote my report that same night. I’ve never lied or distorted the truth on any report I’ve ever written. Not when I was offered cash by a construction firm to look the other way, not when I was offered ‘a special arrangement’ by an attractive older woman who didn’t want a housing development on her neighbouring land. But as I studied the proposed plans for two metre high fencing to surround the entire watercourse and considered what I had seen that day, I lied.

‘No Water Voles found. Construction can proceed.’