Wandering a little further upstream from the weir on the River Plym and out of sight of the viaduct, I heard a noisy warbling bird that I didn’t recognise and tried to catch up with it. I crept closer, but by the time I got near enough to see, it had flown off. So I sat on the edge of the river and watched as leaves floated by, supported gently by the surface tension of the water.

My patience was rewarded and it wasn’t long before it was back and I learnt what all the fuss was about. It was in fact a singing dipper, something I have never encountered before, and closely following behind was a second. Whilst I watched in awe, one sat on a rock singing and flapping its wings, whilst the other flew close, then away and then back again, seemingly unsure if it was interested or not. I enjoyed my front row seat to the dipper’s courting ritual so much, that when the heavens opened and rain began to fall, I continued watching but with a drybag draped over my head.

For a while the sun continued to shine, setting every droplet alight. The mirror surface of the river disappeared, replaced with thousands of dancing dimples, each one echoing the falling rain. Gazing through this sparkling shower, I started to see colours dancing across the river in the form of a rainbow, stretching from one bank to the other. My eyes were drawn to the far side where, with heads tucked tightly in their feathers, mandarin ducks slept unperturbed by the rain.

I found a path that took me up onto the old railway, and walked along to the next viaduct, this time peering down through the viewing grates at the long drop to the waterway below. Then I made an about turn and started marching back along the all-weather multi use path, taking care not to get run over by cyclists.

Walking on the old railway is like walking on a treetop walkway. With the path so elevated, and steeps drops on one side or the other, you can peer right into the canopies of the trees below. Being near the end of winter, I could see the buds on the trees starting to bulge, and there were pairs of birds flitting fearlessly between the branches distracted in the pursuit of their mates.

With the rain passed, I decided to stop for lunch, and I found a lovely spot off the cycle path overlooking the river which to my delight, was directly above the courting dippers.

Having returned to the first viaduct again, I decided I’d had enough of dodging cyclists, so made my way down the steep steps to the riverside path on eastern bank. As I descended, I marvelled at the most amazing display of catkins on a large hazel bush growing near the foot of the viaduct; the catkins glowed yellow all lit up by the sun. On closer inspection I could see the Hazel’s female flowers; a tiny splash of red which is easy to miss if you are not looking. Nearby the river blazed with colour as the dappled sunlight shimmered through the flowing water and reflected off the vibrant rocks and pebbles on the river bed.

On this side of the river, an old canal that predates the railway diverts away from the river and once ran from the nearby Cann Quarry along a 2 miles route down to Marsh Mills. Much of the canal is still visible and I followed the old towpath that runs alongside. In places the path was cobbled and paved and I imagined horses plodding along as they pulled laden barges.

Some movement and a flash of blue caught my eye as a kingfisher flew past and landed on a branch crossing the canal. We stared at each other for a bit, before the kingfisher flew off into the woodland. So often all I see of a kingfisher is a blue flash, so I was grateful that this one sat stationary for a while.

Nearing the end of my walk, I followed a path back down to the river banks where I spotted a crow on a rocky island in the middle of the channel. I often feel sorry for crows as I don’t think there are too many people who get excited about seeing them, but I enjoyed watching this one splashing about, cleaning its feathers.