Embarrassment of Riches

Almost every time I go to the river I hope to see an otter. I know I can count on the birds; even during the quieter seasons of fall and winter, the ravens, turkey vultures, jays, wrentits, and towhees are around, and keep me smiling. But a glimpse of an otter is a rare treat at any season and most of the time a glimpse is all I get. Sometimes, all business, a lone otter swims by on the express route to who knows where. Other times I am too slow to catch on and the otter or perhaps a pair of them are already past me before I even realize they were around.

For seven weeks this past summer I was unable to visit the river as I was recovering from hip surgery, so when I finally made my at long last pain free way to my favorite spots beside the water I had a bad case of otter yearning. I try not to indulge unrealistic expectations so when I got glimpses on a couple of those first occasions I was overjoyed.

However, what I was treated to yesterday morning was likely the longest session I have ever had viewing this animal. At first I detected some splashing a hundred yards downstream. The big slow ripples in the water rolled toward me like an overture. I stashed myself under a stubby willow along the shore, thinking I was invisible, gleefully anticipating the show as not one but two otters slowly made their way toward me. They were on the other side of the river and were diving for food as they moved along.

Directly opposite where I crouched is a small deep pool where I see fish jumping all summer long. I have always wondered why I don’t see otters in this place because the living looks pretty easy there. Sure enough, when the pair arrived at the pool, the fishing for breakfast became serious.

I soon realized the otters were well aware of me as between dives they glanced over and on occasion they even paused to stare me down.

I could hear them huffing and puffing as they came up from an unsuccessful dive, plunging back down almost immediately. I noticed that major splashing close to the surface seemed to happen when a catch was being made. I couldn’t tell what kind of fish they were getting, but pikeminnow is a good bet.

*Sometimes otters conceal themselves while eating, eliminating competition*

Time and again an otter surfaced with a fish in its jaws and swam to the shore, sheltered by a long dead tangle of old willow still rooted into the bank, to crunch down the prey. I think I was seeing a mother and pup. The slightly smaller otter was a less proficient hunter but did seem to get plenty of breakfast. Mom, if that’s what she was, did not share her bounty.

After consuming several fish each it was time to groom and scratch, the bare willows and other rough surfaces of dead brush providing plenty of friction at every imaginable angle to quell the itches of thick damp fur. The otters chewed on their feet and twisted into pretzel shapes to gnaw their bellies and flanks. I wondered what kind of amphibious parasites they might have.

*Both otters were scraping their bodies from head to tail on the jagged root balls and dead willows*.

Next, the two disappeared out of sight up the bank into denser brush, presumably for a nap. I realized I had been watching them for nearly an hour. Almost grateful for the relative calm they left behind I watched a Kingfisher patrol up and down the river, a few Spotted Sandpipers flew by, and a big group of at least 25 Common Mergansers zoomed by so fast that the sound was like a gale force wind. Fluttery flocks of Cedar Waxwings sparkled from tree top to tree top. The soft calls of Western Tanagers and staccato chips of Common Yellowthroats could be heard between loud chattering scolds of Steller’s Jays. Ravens were getting up to something, a couple turkey vultures tipped side to side high in the sky. The fish in the pool resumed their jumping, the big ripples on the water flattened out.

This is a 5 minute video that shows diving, consuming fish, scratching, and grooming. There’s an unedited 10 minute version on YouTube if this only whets your appetite.

The two otters reappeared from their siesta about the time I had to head home. They made a few non-committal dives into the pool, and then moseyed upstream out of sight. Brushes with wildness lift my heart on the most uneventful days. But to watch and be watched by these vibrant creatures, the edges of our worlds overlapping for a spell on this last morning of summer, made nature’s way of connecting us all viscerally palpable.