It sounds an impressive amount of money, but the season is short and the work is hard. Unlike her predecessors, who opted for outboard motors in more recent years, Felicity chose to hand-steer her punt with a long pole "I'm a romantic. I don't like the noise and kerfuffle of motors: you can't hear yourself think on the river."Anchored up, she sharpens her blade, deftly cuts the rushes without destroying the roots, then gathers the unwieldy bundles (up to 10 foot long) and bangs them hard (an action known as "tonking") to remove the weed. She also receives a blessing for her rushes from the local vicar, who holds the annual ceremony in the nearby Ferryboat Inn.Rush-cutting is gruelling work, requiring balance and stamina. After a two-hour lesson from 69-year- old Jack Arnold, she took to the river. Even now, during the harvest, he awaits her return to see how much she has cut."He thinks I'm a real grafter.

I've surprised him that I've continued with it and surprised him how hard I work." Felicity maintains the Arnold family tradition, beginning the harvest on 1 July every year - the birthday of Jack's rush-cutting brother Tom, who died in 1994. Her mother, who runs an antiques business, taught her to restore rush furniture and in 1992 Felicity set up her own business and moved on to creating her own designs.She started cutting the rushes herself when the last members of a family that had harvested the Ouse for hundreds of years finally retired They persuaded her to take up the trade. For the last three summers she has propelled her wobbly 17-foot punt alongside the river banks, chopping the clumps of dark-green bullrushes with a seven-foot scythe. Only decades ago, more than 20 punts used to harvest the river by Holywell in Cambridgeshire during July and August - now Felicity steers the only one. A trained actress, she made a serious career switch after she broke her back in a car accident in Australia in 1990. Felicity Irons has grown used to attention during the summer bullrush harvest.

At six foot, the 29-year-old actress-turned-furniture maker cuts a striking figure among the pleasure boats on the Great Ouse. "People call me the wild woman of the Fens," she laughs, before shouting at passing river day-trippers to slow down. "Wouldn't it be excellent to see the return of reedbed birds to the South-west - and to hear bitterns booming again in Somerset, as they did in the 1970s?" she says.. Reed in the 25 hectares of phase two, planted this year with the help of 120 local school children, is already several inches high.Sally Miller is full of hope for the future.