Dusk. Along the bank there’s a trail of worn grass beaded by patches of bare earth, where the fishermen stand and wait. “The tug is the drug,” says Jim Gregg, of the Six Mile Water Trust. This charity was formed in 2008 to protect the river after a catastrophic fish kill, when tens of thousands died. The anglers speak in wondering tones about the river’s recovery from that still unsourced pollution. “We call it the Phoenix river,” says Michael.
There have been other fish kills since. And now there’s more bad news downstream, where the Six Mile Water disgorges into Lough Neagh. For months, that freshwater “inland sea” has been laced with toxic algal blooms. Here, however, as darkness closes in, it is possible to believe that all is well. The river flows like black silk. A delicate V-shaped wash is agreed to be an otter on the move. Overhead, the flitter of a Daubenton’s bat snatches my gaze.
