I was excited to hear that my first ‘Telling Our Story’ article I would be to accompanying Chris Watt, River Restoration Assistant for the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust, to Eskdale in the North York Moors so that he may survey the landscape for future restoration work. I couldn’t wait to get out into the field and see, first-hand, the techniques that the Trust are using to conserve this special landscape.

I made my way to Malton from York to meet Chris, albeit for the second time. He guided me towards his car, and we set off for the Moors. The drive from Malton to the site in Eskdale would take us around 40 minutes, so Chris told me some specifics about the location. I found out that we were going to Little Beck, one of the many tributaries of the River Esk, which carves its way through the North York Moors from Westerdale in the west to Whitby in the east. Little Beck is a river that runs through the diminutive hamlet of Littlebeck (quite aptly named), which is around 6 kilometres south-west of Whitby. More specifically, we were going to be surveying a smaller tributary of Little Beck, that only runs for about one kilometre before being intercepted.

Chris explained to me that very little was known about the Eskdale river basin and the surrounding tributaries - and that by conducting these surveys he could gain valuable information about the condition and ecology of these river systems. This would allow the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust to take more focused action on areas that might be vulnerable to flooding, pollution, or invasive species, thus protecting key native habitats, and the species that live within them.

During the car journey, I got to know Chris a bit better, and I revelled in the coincidence that we share the same last name and that we both hail from Scotland. Once we had made it further into the North York Moors, we both marvelled at the deep purple that exuded from the heathland either side of the road.

After a couple of stops, including one for coffee and one for my lunch, we parked on an inconspicuous grass verge just beyond the collection of houses that was Little Beck. With my camera by my side and my backpack on, I followed Chris down a one-way road that led into the valley. Disorientated by the various paths and snickets that led off from this central path, we suddenly arrived at a ford that stood above the water level.

Chris then invited me to look at the clipboard he was holding, and on it was a table with various characteristics that he was going to survey on both the left and right side of where he was standing. These characteristics had differing degrees to which he would have to survey, such as the density of sediment on the riverbed, the types of trees surrounding the river, or whether the water seemed polluted or not. These degrees were either on a 1-3 scale or using a description, on both the left and hand side of his viewpoint to get a representative picture of the water environment.

After leaving the first site, we headed back up the one-way road for about 100 metres before dropping down the side of the road through a clearance in the trees, towards the river again. All the meanwhile, I tried to keep my camera from being scratched or damaged by rogue twigs, or my own clumsiness. After navigating rotting branches and sodden slopes, we stopped at some rocks just above the water. Chris took a second reading, once again looking both left and right, and led me further down the beck and deeper into the labyrinth of fallen trees, some of which had dense sheaths of moss and an array of toadstools protruding from the woody underlayer.

Chris took more observations, and the further we trod into the forest of oak, ash, and alder, the darker the light grew as great billowing canopies burst thicker above us. In those areas where light broke through, masses of midges and hoverflies aggregated in the warmth.

We broke out of the forest and into a grassy field and just as we were walking towards the next survey location, a tawny owl passed, ghostlike in its movement, through the tree canopy that ran parallel to us. It swooped between branches and then disappeared, lost to the swathes of leaves that blew wildly in the wind. After Chris had completed his next survey, we moved from the field to the road, after squeezing between two wooden posts next to a gate that guarded the unkempt grassland.

Wasting no time, we made our way to the next location. However, there was no apparent way for us to get there until Chris found an opening in some blackthorn trees by the side of the road. Even though we must have only travelled for a couple of metres through the belt of trees, their thorned tendrils constantly hooked their way into us – luckily avoiding my camera – making it seem a much farther distance than the reality. When we did break through the grappling trees, we had only moments of respite in a farmer’s field before we were plummeted into a lattice of curled barbs again. After that, we gave ourselves a chance to recover after hunching through our handmade tunnels. Pressing on, we started to make our way down to the river again, stopping to appreciate the diversity of passerine birds (blue tits, great tits, coal tits and treecreepers) and for a survey or two.

We spent only a little time down by the river after our journey through the gnarled thicket, and eventually we made our way into another field. This field was unlike the last, as there were flocks of sheep dispersed across, like flecks of dust. Some glared, as sheep do, where others seemed not to have taken notice, as they continued to gnaw and ruminate the tall grass. Trying to keep out of their way, we darted around the side of the field closer to the river. Chris pointed out a dried-out ditch that they had been considering for conservation work, by which they would work with local farmers to plant trees along the side of the gutter to provide easier drainage of water, which would stop flooding of the field and thus the river that it connected to. He took another survey beside the field and returned to me, where he proposed lunch (to which of course I was happy to accept).

Once lunch had been eaten, we carried on towards the source of the river. To get closer to the stream, we had to clamber over a wire fence into a forested area. The forest was of ash and oak, with an understory of ferns and brackens. Trees condensed around the tributary and followed its path, making it easy to locate the course of the river. We met the brook at the bottom of a hill and looked upwards. The tributary trickled down the slope, its speed broken by large mossy boulders that sat acting as a path for the water to stream down. Making sure to keep our footing, we clambered up the rocky shelves, to the source of the water. Chris took some more observations and led me towards a wooden fence that bordered the forest. He managed to make it over, almost toppling over in the process due to the fence’s saturated and decaying planks. I had to look elsewhere but soon joined him as we headed out of the trees and towards open ground. Before us stood thick walls of gorse – with narrow networks of gaps between the biting shrubs – that stretched across much of the lower moorland. This was a challenge I had not foreseen, but was willing to take up, nonetheless.

Chris took the lead and guided me through the serpentine recesses between the bushes. My legs, despite being covered, felt the sting of needled branches claw into my skin as we passed through. We marched through the gaps, noticing blackened patches on the ground, suggesting fires may have plagued these hills during the heat of summer. At long last, we spluttered out of the fleet of gorse bushes and onto heathland.

Heather and bilberry dominated the landscape, with rowan trees loosely scattered across the hill. Now, no longer occupied by the gorse, I glanced behind us and saw the Yorkshire coast open beyond. Before me lay Whitby, with the obscure silhouette of the Abbey standing out against the red-tiled roofs, leafy hills, and faded sea. Turning back to the moorland, Chris had already begun to trudge through the stunted bushes of heather, and so I followed suit. Chris led me across the hill for some time until he suddenly stopped and Sat before him was an adder! He called me to see it and just as I peered round him, I glanced its slick shape dart into the bilberry bushes to our left. As we carried on, I felt privileged to have seen, even if for a moment, one of the UK’s few native snake species.

Eventually, we made it off the moor and onto solid ground again. Chris led me back to the car, but we still had plenty of time to kill before I would have to get my train back to York. He suggested we take a detour, to which I obliged.

After driving for a small period, we stopped by the side of the road seemingly in the middle of nowhere. We hopped over a stile next to the road and walked up towards a stone monument at the top of the hill. We passed the column and over the other side of the hill. Chris told me that he thought this would be a great conservation area for the Trust, and pointed to the basin below, showing me the bogs nestled within it. Natural wetlands are becoming increasingly difficult to find in the UK, due to invasive species, agricultural runoff and development, and climate change. Chris highlighted how important it was to maintain these sorts of environments for our endemic (and now rare) species, such as sphagnum mosses and heather. He also said that if any of these conservation efforts were to come to fruition, the Trust (and many others like it) would have to work with agriculture and not against it, which Chris has already been doing. He had been in conversations with farmers in Eskdale to back the Trust in making such an agrarian landscape to one in which nature could flourish. Checking the time, we realised we should return to Malton, if I was to catch my train.

As I was traveling back home, I had three things on my mind; one was what my step count would be, the other was sleep (after all that time outside), and the most important was that I got to see behind the curtain of current conservation in action. It amazed me how Chris and many others in the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust go out into the field, onto the damp soils, through the thorny vegetation, and across the boggy hills, all for the benefit of reviving habitats that are now fragmented in the UK, which has inspired me greatly to do more for my area. Even if it’s just placing water outside during hot summer days for garden wildlife, or planting trees and wildflowers in parks and woodland, we can all play a role to make a difference.

You can find out more about the Better Estuaries & Coastal Habitats (BEACH Esk) Project, a three-year landscape-scale project, funded by the Environment Agency, and focused on improving water quality and habitat in the Lower Esk Catchment by following the link here