I didn’t expect to see an otter in the woods. Round here, I thought they confined themselves to the sea and shore. But the wood is just across the road from the shore, I suppose.
I know that there are sea otters that “rarely go on land”, according to yonder internet, and freshwater or river otters. There isn’t a river round here but there is a substantial burn near the forest that almost qualifies as one after heavy rain.
It was odd because I’d watched a YouTube vlog by The Cottage Fairy in rural Washington state – a beautiful mountainous place that bears comparison with Skye – and she advised us to get out in the wild and make eye-contact with wildlife. She herself had recently enjoyed a staring contest with an owl.
But I thought: ‘Fat chance, you never see anything when you’re oot.’ I’ve written about this before. There really isn’t much wildlife left any more. True, I also saw a roe deer and a heron on this particular half-hour traipse.
And, earlier in the afternoon, I’d enjoyed the company of the garden robin, who’d perched on the roof of the shed to watch as I painted it. Fine little fellow, though he vexed me when, twice, he said: “You’ve missed a bit.”
As for herons, they fascinate me. Do they ever catch anything? I see herons nearly every day and have never once seen them with any reward for their incredible patience. They just seem to stand aboot, periodically saying “aye” in a resigned voice. It’s a job, I suppose.
It was dusk when I hied myself through the woods, where the path was churned up with mud after the rains. I rounded a corner when out of another corner – the one in my eye – I caught sight of a long, sleek dark shape skedaddling through the undergrowth.
At first, I thought it was a particularly long cat up to evil with birds but, nope, it was an otter and a right big one too. There was a little burn nearby, and I guess it was heading towards that. The burn runs down nearly to the road, which is a short distance away and, beyond that, there’s the seashore.
The beastie disappeared behind a tree. Cautiously – some might say intrepidly – I approached from the far side and peered round the tree. Nothing there, of course. Mind you, I wasn’t expecting it look up and say, “Boo!”
I waddled round the general area, hoping for another close encounter. And, though I kept my hands in my pockets and my habitual glaickit expression on my face, to show that I was harmless, I didn’t get another glimpse.
I wish wildlife would quit disappearing like this. It’s not as if we’re going to eat them. That said, I daresay otters have memories of being persecuted by humans back when we were less evolved.
Still, I was glad to have had the brief encounter. That sort of thing can lift your day. It’s out of the ordinary, and we all need a bit of that from time to time. I bet the otter felt the say way. I wouldn’t be surprised if it had penned an article for The Scurrier’s weekend magazine telling an astonished readership about “the day I met a Rab”.
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