Free Gathering the Water by Robert Edric Page A

my part where other, more honest courses still remained open to me. I acknowledge it here, though I daresay, like all those other small failings, it will be ignored elsewhere, lost to the water like a splash and afterwards of no consequence whatsoever.
    Following almost two months of weekly dispatches to the Board, I received a communication from themsuggesting that all my various reports might be more easily understood and appreciated were they to be gathered together, abridged, and presented as an overview of the scheme as a whole. As a sop to my standards and dedication, however, it was suggested that the individual points of interest within these overviews might then be developed by me in greater detail, ready to be inspected should anyone reading the shorter summary wish to do so. I received this communication – only the second since my arrival here – following a long day’s surveying, and it might easily be imagined how quickly my delight at seeing it on my floor turned to anger at its suggestions. I mention all this here only to make clear how unremarkable my error will remain and that it has acquired significance in my own mind only.
    Five days ago I visited the far shore to determine the extent to which the streams debouching into the reservoir on that side were also depositing their silts into it, and also to see what new land was being claimed by the backing up of their courses. In my initial instructions it was pointed out to me that should any of these lesser courses be radically affected by blockage or change of direction as a consequence of the rising water, then conduit channels might afterwards need to be dug to cope with any wayward over-flow. It was common practice elsewhere, especially where the slopes of the feeder streams were not so steep. It was also suggested that I pay particular attention to the faster-flowing tributaries which entered closer to the dam. These, I was unnecessarily reminded, carried the greatest load of silt, and this would be laid down in the deeper water against the foundations where the flow was at its slowest, allowing sediment to build up where it was least wanted.
    I left early in the morning. The most direct route to have taken would have been to walk down to the houses and across the dam, thereby surveying the most important of the feeders first, afterwards crossing the lesser streams on a long walk back up the valley. But I chose to avoid the dwellings, and went instead to a point two miles above my house where the river, though now slowly widening, was still easily fordable. From there I turned downstream, making my notes, drawings and judgements as I went.
    I was midway through my work when, fording a particularly stony tributary, I stumbled and twisted my ankle. The pain initially was severe, but quickly subsided. I took off my boot and bathed my foot in the numbing water. There was some bruising, but not much, and I soaked a handkerchief and bound my foot tightly. Replacing my boot, I rose and found that, though there remained some discomfort, I could still walk, and so I continued downstream.
    After a further half-hour, however, the pain increased and it became clear to me that I would be unable to complete my survey. Nor, at that reduced pace, would I be home before dark. The cloud that day was dark and high, resembling beaten pewter, and the day remained cold.
    An hour after my fall I found myself opposite my house. There was no longer a ford where I stood, but I knew that by switching from channel to channel and negotiating the low shoals between them I would be able to cross with the water no higher than my knees.
    Upon entering it, however, I found the river to be faster and deeper than I had anticipated, and I made several miscalculations before reaching the far bank. The pain in my ankle was again considerably lessened by my longimmersion. I sat on the bank and rubbed the feeling back into my calves.
    After a short rest I resumed my journey. The