Healing waters

An insight into land management at Heal Somerset, written by regular volunteer and ecotherapy practitioner Simon Woodward (excerpt only, link to full blog at bottom of page)

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Leaky dams and soggy socks (autumn 2025)

Guarded by blackthorn and bramble, water the colour of old-gold ochre runs inside many of the field's ditches. I have waded and shuffled through many of them, hunting lines of hidden barbed wire. Once, I was caught out by an old gushing field drain that filled my left boot. I was not immediately aware of the water until it seeped through two pairs of socks. However, the initial cold feeling was eventually converted to a warm sogginess as my body heated the water.

On the same day, I had my first experience of building a leaky dam. I was delighted to discover that its construction was to be inspirated by the beavers' instinctive methods. Wooden shafts are driven into the mud in the same direction of flow as the water course. Initially, this was counter intuitive as I expected the branches to be placed across the flow. But with the beavers' method, the stakes are driven further into the silt by the water pressure. The dam’s construction is enhanced by clods of clay and mud which I understand the beavers, walking upright, carry to the forward edge of the dam. 

Image © Simon Woodward

Robot arms of excavated drainage (winter 2025)

Heal also excavated several neat pits to test whether the ground water levels are consistent enough to support great crested newts all year round. I have helped to erect fencing around them a couple of times to prevent the pigs, seeing an ideal watering hole, plunging in and not being able to get out again.

All over Heal, water flows under the fields through secret drains. Dan’s delighted talk about drain-smashing conjured up images of old terracotta piping. However, the modern reality is miles of yellow corrugated tubing. The piles deposited in one of the barns look like the discarded robotic arms from nineteen-sixties sci-fi TV.

Whilst many, understandably, have cursed the rain, the excessive moisture has been welcomed at Heal as it has transformed the landscape. The leaky dams and scrapes engineered across Heal have begun to fill with water. The land begins to resemble the wetland of old Somerset.

I understand from the Heal Highs newsletter (I initially typed newswetter!) that various wetland-loving birds have been on site including snipe, water rail, teal, mallards, lapwing and (we think) redshank. On the higher ground of the northern fields there is less water. However, I understand Oli has been out in the excavator cutting arcs into the contours of the land – the water collecting in concentric grey crescents. From one ditch we removed great lengths of old aluminium piping. Ironically, it was used to supply water to livestock that had no immediate access on the well-drained fields.

As the autumn rains continued, I was shocked at how soggy parts of the Southern Fields had become. It’s the sort of ground that historically I would have avoided. However, my new(ish) Wellington boots have given me a new relationship with the ground as I squelch and wade through the emerging wetland. The pigs too have contributed through their rootled divots.  I still get a rush of excitement when I see a lump of ochre clay and cannot resist removing my gloves to roll the sticky mass between my fingers. (The clay-lined garden pond has retained its water so far.)

Dam building and busting (February 2026)

In early February we concentrate on the fields closest to Witham Friary. My first visit brings sunlight streaming between great towers of white clouds. To the south, air laden with moisture lumbers over the horizon; dense sweeps of grey silhouette the wooded ridge. The stillness and imminence of rain is broken only by the neighing of a nearby horse and the persistent buzz of an aircraft practicing banking rolls. 

We are here to remove more barbed wire but also to build another leaky dam within the hedgerow ditch. With six of us on the team, we split into two groups to start removing barbed wire. However, after a short while of clambering through hedges, my group consisting of Dan, Oli and I started work on the dam. We locate a gap in the hedge with the adjacent southside already soggy. It was evident that the slight slope on this side was feeding water into the ditch. On the north side we removed a crescent of grassy sod to expose a rocky soil that would hopefully fill with water once the dam had been constructed. I volunteered to cut back some of the bramble and blackthorn to make the construction easier.  Oli took charge of the dam construction, heaving spadefuls of earth over layers of willow that Dan had cut from further up the hedge line. (As we worked, I had the famous tune from the 1955 Dam Busters film bouncing around my head.) By lunchtime, the waters had begun to swell, creating a watery crescent on the north side.

Image © Simon Woodward

Luckily, we remained unbothered by rain all morning. In fact, the sun’s warmth and the physical exertion meant losing a layer or two of clothing for a while. It was only at lunchtime that the clouds began to thicken, and the falling temperature signalled the arrival of rain. Over lunch, the six of us stretched and turned, peering in to the sky, looking east and north at the gathering clouds. Being weather-obsessed British, the rain’s arrival time was enthusiastically debated. I had to leave after lunch, but within five minutes of being in my car, fat drops of rain began to explode on my windscreen. Secretly, I felt glad to be out of the rain and on my way home.

Read the full story on Simon's blog Rewilding Together