You are welcome to join me in this third of a series of articles taking a look back over my shoulder at some sightings that have not only delighted us but startled and surprised us.
Sometimes good things come in twos, and this was never more true than on a freezing cold day in November in 2017 on the Isle of Islay in south-west Scotland. We decided that instead of walking along a section of coast and keeping two pairs of watchful eyes open for otters, we would choose a site and sit quietly and keep watch for them. We chose a rocky promontory that we knew formed a rough boundary between the territories of two female otters. How did we know this? Because we had been fortunate to see at the same time a female with 2 cubs in the sea on both sides of this promontory on a previous visit. This seemed to offer double the normal chances of seeing an otter, or possibly a mother with young, so we trekked to the site and hunkered down out of the bitterly cold wind behind a tall rock formation, me with my SF10x42s and Aileen with her Ultravid 8x32s, and settled down to wait.
How long was it before we began to think this was a big, freezing mistake? I can’t remember because my synapses were frozen to my sinuses, but for sure, we waited at least a good 2 hours as the tide changed direction and began to rise. We had timed our visit to coincide with low tide because while we have seen otters fishing at all states of tide we have seen more at low tides, and our theory is that at low tides the shallower column of water allows the otter to dive down to the tangles of seaweeds and rocks where they hunt, with less effort and less exposure to the cold sea. So when the tide started to rise, after a while we took that as a sign that we should warm up with a cup of tea from our flask and then retreat, beaten by the temperature and the uncooperative otters.
We finished our tea and then nearly swallowed our teacups in astonishment when we noticed that the rising tide had lifted up the necklace of seaweed surrounding a nearby rock, and on this rising bed of seaweed were two very young otters. They had been asleep, probably having been fed by their mother before she went fishing, and waking from their slumbers they briefly staggered around before pouncing on each other and starting a frantic session of mock fights and chases.
This went on for some time until the rising tide pushed them off the rock and they swam to the nearby shore and began exploring the tangles of boulders there and the dark places underneath them, interspersed with episodes of mad pursuits and pouncing. At this point, and mindful that their mother would be coming back soon and would need to be able to feed them, we decided to withdraw.
Before we departed we took a couple of photos with our macro lenses, which aren’t really suitable for this kind of work, but to us they are a wonderful reminder of how a failing and freezing day can be turned upside down and into a joyful experience. I have attached one of the photos and I hope it will make you smile too, so please don’t be too critical of it because these were two terrific surprises through my Zeisses.
Lee
Sometimes good things come in twos, and this was never more true than on a freezing cold day in November in 2017 on the Isle of Islay in south-west Scotland. We decided that instead of walking along a section of coast and keeping two pairs of watchful eyes open for otters, we would choose a site and sit quietly and keep watch for them. We chose a rocky promontory that we knew formed a rough boundary between the territories of two female otters. How did we know this? Because we had been fortunate to see at the same time a female with 2 cubs in the sea on both sides of this promontory on a previous visit. This seemed to offer double the normal chances of seeing an otter, or possibly a mother with young, so we trekked to the site and hunkered down out of the bitterly cold wind behind a tall rock formation, me with my SF10x42s and Aileen with her Ultravid 8x32s, and settled down to wait.
How long was it before we began to think this was a big, freezing mistake? I can’t remember because my synapses were frozen to my sinuses, but for sure, we waited at least a good 2 hours as the tide changed direction and began to rise. We had timed our visit to coincide with low tide because while we have seen otters fishing at all states of tide we have seen more at low tides, and our theory is that at low tides the shallower column of water allows the otter to dive down to the tangles of seaweeds and rocks where they hunt, with less effort and less exposure to the cold sea. So when the tide started to rise, after a while we took that as a sign that we should warm up with a cup of tea from our flask and then retreat, beaten by the temperature and the uncooperative otters.
We finished our tea and then nearly swallowed our teacups in astonishment when we noticed that the rising tide had lifted up the necklace of seaweed surrounding a nearby rock, and on this rising bed of seaweed were two very young otters. They had been asleep, probably having been fed by their mother before she went fishing, and waking from their slumbers they briefly staggered around before pouncing on each other and starting a frantic session of mock fights and chases.
This went on for some time until the rising tide pushed them off the rock and they swam to the nearby shore and began exploring the tangles of boulders there and the dark places underneath them, interspersed with episodes of mad pursuits and pouncing. At this point, and mindful that their mother would be coming back soon and would need to be able to feed them, we decided to withdraw.
Before we departed we took a couple of photos with our macro lenses, which aren’t really suitable for this kind of work, but to us they are a wonderful reminder of how a failing and freezing day can be turned upside down and into a joyful experience. I have attached one of the photos and I hope it will make you smile too, so please don’t be too critical of it because these were two terrific surprises through my Zeisses.
Lee
