An Ice Age Lake
Pantaniella National Nature Reserve, with the lake in the middle distance
A golden eagle mingles with the puffy summer clouds and glides across the smallest National Nature Reserve in Italy. It flies over the two hectares of the reserve without even beating a wing. It glances at the 12,000 year old Lago Pantaniella, a glacial lake formed during the last Ice Age, and disappears over Mt. Greco, a fortress of a mountain. Then comes a peregrine falcon, ruling a straight line from a cliff across the lake and over my head to be lost in the sun, followed by a mountain biker racing up the track, whose eyes are fixed on the path ahead of him. He does not see the birds, and probably would not see the wolves and the bears said to wander around here, unless they passed two metres in front of his wheel.
The lake, which looks green from the ridge where I’ve stopped, is said to be the second largest in the Apennines. I ride towards it and when the track runs out, stop, leave my bike and continue towards a small section of open water on foot. The water from the boggy shore seeps over my shoes. The green fuzz of the lake is still many metres away. I dip my hands through the surface vegetation in the hope that I’ll find what I’ve come for.
I don’t.
I wade a little further, my shoes sinking into the unseen, sodden peat.
I am here to find a friend. Well, a friend is a bit strong, but I read the other day, that living in this lake are Gammarus Lacustris, a fresh water shrimp which has been stranded here since the last Ice Age, over 12,000 years ago. On reading this, I felt sorry for the creature and resolved to offer a hand of friendship and empathy to one so stranded. Imagine, I thought, being stuck in the same old pond for thousands of years with no hope of escape.
Gammarus lacustris courtesy of By User:Jānis U. - lv wiki, http://lv.wikipedia.org/wiki/Att%C4%93ls:Gammarus_lacustris.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12387438
The water is up to my shins, and through the deep green vegetation covering the surface of the lake, I scoop handfuls of murky liquid for close examination, whilst anthropomorphising a shrimpy conversation;
- I think we’d better leave, says a member of the Gammerus tribe to its elder, 12,000 years ago - the ice has receded, and there’s now very little water running out of our lake, don’t you think chief, that we should head off down the valley now, whilst there’s still water in which to swim?
- Oh, let’s leave it for another day shall we? Let’s see what tomorrow brings!
Then I begin to think of the cross breeding that has going on millennia!
The Gammarus lacustris - sometimes known as scuds or side swimmers - stranded in an Ice Age lake or not, were some of the first colonisers of the late Pleistocene landscape when the ice cover retreated. It is a detritivore, meaning that it clears up the rubbish which falls to the bottom of the lake. This keeps the waters clean. The males may grow up to 21mm and they live between 1-2 years.
I scoop and scoop, bringing each handful of water and detritus near to my face for close examination. Water dribbles down my arms and wets my jersey and shorts. Then on the umpteenth scoop, just when I am tiring of this game, there in the palms of my hand is the critter, almost translucent, about 12mm long and strangely flat, with two long antennae. It seems as if it was squashed by ice all those thousands of years ago. It is not appreciating this sudden examination and it squirms some more, and finding a flow of water through my fingers, escapes.
Salamanders, newts, wolves and bears; they all grab the headlines in these parts, especially here in this reserve. A noticeboard speaks of them, but it fails to mention the shrimp - which has been here, for millennia and long, long before any iconic wolf turned up on the soggy shore. Perhaps the Gammerus lacustris does not seek fame. Perhaps if it were to read this, it would bury its head in the lake’s detritus and pray that no more feet and hands waded into the muddy depths.
Even if this was so, I feel obliged to give it its minute of fame, this creature stranded here, in Italy’s smallest National Nature Reserve for over 12,000 years.
To ride this route, or to read more about this delightful ride into the empty heart of the Apennines, click here.
Valle di Chiarano, with Mt. Greco in the distance
Have you ridden this ride?
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