Battle of the swans

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Battle of the swans

Catching callies has never lost its charm and a recent visit to a favourite spot on the banks of the Blackwater with my grandson turned into a memorable occasion.

Jim Lysaght

Thursday, 25 July 2013
2:20 AM GMT



On one of the finest days of our recent heat wave I took my grandson to our favourite spot on the river catching callies. It was a perfect day to be out, colourful dragonflies chased each other between the rushes and swallows wheeled overhead in pursuit of flies. The flies, which we as children called blind doctors, were buzzing around the cow-pats –

their vicious sting can draw blood, but this day they left us alone.

Near here there once was a ford, which in living memory was used by farmers living in the Cregg-Knockananig area, to cross the river and bring their cattle to Fermoy Fair. Local lore says that it fell into disuse when a postman drowned there while trying to cross the river, but this day all was peaceful and serene.

Suddenly the air was filled with the whirr of beating wings, that unmistakable sound of swans in flight, with a whoosh, a pair landed in front of us, their strong webbed feet acting as brakes to slow them down. They patrolled up and down in front of us for a while, but they seemed to be uneasy, we soon saw the reason why - majestically down the river came a cob and a pen with their three small cygnets. The male swan took the lead, while behind the three downy little ones clung to their mother, these were mute swans, but they can make a noise, especially when they feel threatened. The cob, with his feathers puffed up to make him look almost twice as big, began to thrust himself at the two intruders; they took off in a hurry, but wheeled about over Castlehyde and returned to resume battle, this time there was a clash of wings. The pair was no match for the cob who obviously would die in defence of his mate and his little ones, and the intruders were put to flight, this time they did not come back.

Peace once more descended on the river, and soon the three cygnets were resting on a little mud-bank in the middle of the river, while their parents, feeding among the weeds, kept a wary eye on them. We felt very privileged to have witnessed this display of bravery, I feel a certain affinity with this family, having seen the pair and their make-shift nest on a small island a little further up the river earlier in the summer. Mute swans are well known for being highly territorial, and mating for life, there is no sadder sight in life than a swan that has lost its mate.

Both parents are very protective of their young and there is many a fisherman who will testify of being attacked if they venture too close. Swans are surrounded by myths and legends, our own The Children of Lir is one of the most lyrical, telling the story of King Lir, who after the death of his wife, Fingula, married the wicked Aoife, who through spite and jealousy transformed his children into swans. They were doomed to live as swans for centuries, and it was only when the first Christian bell rang out over the waters that they became transformed into humans again.

Another legend says that swans sing before they die, probably not true, but a story is told of a Canadian hunter who shot a swan in flight, as the wounded bird came sailing down from the sky, it began a strange, musical sound until it hit the water dead, over half a mile away, the hunter never again went shooting.

And so ended our day on the river, my son caught callies, my small grandson caught callies, and I, much to their amusement, caught nothing, and, all the little fish were returned alive to the river, it was a day to remember.



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