I know they’re down there somewhere, tucked in among the stones, as the muscular flow flexes around them. Their world has darkened and distended since the last time I visited. In May, after prolonged dry weather, plentiful small brown trout held within the narrow confines of this Dartmoor leat were easy to spot on the gravel bottom as the current ran clear and low. You could make out the attractive red ellipses patterning their speckled flanks.
Recent rain has now replenished the River Tavy, which feeds this old channel that once served nearby copper mines. The peat-stained river hurtles down the steep wooded valley, cascading over boulders, frothing and fizzing like cola. But water that is cleaved from the torrent and finds its way into this slender leat rapidly slows as the gradient eases. Within a short distance the surface is smooth as polished marble.
