Earlier this year, with country-wide lockdown in full swing I took part in a weekend of surveying for the somewhat elusive - Eurasian otter, Lutra lutra. The only time I had previously spotted this majestic mammal, was back in June last year on the Scottish isle of Colonsay. This was without a doubt one of those life-altering experiences, which will be forever etched in the memory. For some time, I was able to sit about twenty metres away with my bins fixed on watching a mother and cub dive, swim and catch salmon on the shores of Balnahard beach. Truly one of those unforgettable wildlife encounters, and a stoic reminder that UK wildlife is anything but boring! As some may suggest.

With all that being said, one thing had always bothered me. I was still yet to see an inland otter, coursing through our rivers, and for someone who generally spends a lot of time on riverbanks exploring its sights and sounds, this was now becoming be a real bugbear of mine. I have always been drawn to riparian and woodland carr habitats for the tranquility and green vibrancy that they bring, and hoped one day to couple it with an otter sighting. The perfect pairing of landscape and beast.

After taking part in regional otter ecology and field signs training, I was then able to partake in surveying a patch on the Ouseburn, my local river. The idea was to survey at the same time on both days of a weekend in late April, to produce a snapshot of otter presence in the north east, with many volunteers taking part. I chose six individual sites on the river, with likely ‘otterish’ features. This could be rocks protruding the water surface, bank sides, cavities under trees and rocks under bridges, as otters love to mark their territory here with spraint due to its protection from the elements, ensuring it lasts for longer.

Rising at the crack of dawn, I ventured out in anticipation of a rare sighting. I mapped out the sites, took photos, checked everywhere for signs of jasmine scented spraint (true story), tracks, feeding remains and yes, anal jelly. Nothing. Not a jot. Even though for me, the area looked pretty perfect condition-wise, with good water quality and surrounding habitat. They are seen fairly regularly along this stretch. By otter standards anyway! Alas, it just wasn’t meant to be. So, I left that Sunday morning feeling disappointed, but in all honesty not surprised. I recorded my negative presence data and that was that. Or so I thought.

That afternoon, I decided to go for a walk at work. The site was closed to the public due to lockdown, so bar one or two staff I was quite literally a lone ranger. Normally when I venture in on my days off, I subconsciously direct myself to the riverside walk. Thinking nothing of it, I took my usual route hoping to see some of its regular inhabitants - dippers, kingfishers, grey herons and with a bit of luck the occasional mandarin duck.

Out of nowhere, I heard a huge splash in the nearside margin of the river. Half thinking it would be the usual mallard or perhaps even the much maligned American mink. Nope, not this time. As I rushed over, the otter briefly resurfaced, before rapidly submerging and swimming right past me just under the waters surface, twisting like a corkscrew. I managed a great glimpse of its webbed paws as it did so, but that was about it. Nothing could be more typical of this aloof animal, than to carry out hours of surveying the whole weekend long, capturing nothing, then go on a spontaneous walk and see one straight away without even trying. It made my day, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the good fortune. A reward for my efforts perhaps? Maybe, but I still left feeling slightly frustrated that the opportunity to sit and watch otters on a river at my own pace hadn’t yet presented itself.

Keep the faith I reminded myself.

Nature never disappoints in the end, and I find that perseverance always prevails.

It was now well into May, and my place of work was still closed to the public. It was a scorching day and I was carrying out my regular site patrol loop. I parked up my vehicle on the woodland edge and started meandering down to the river, past my favourite alder which was surrounded by stitchwort, red campion, wood cranesbill and butterbur at this time.

Thankfully, on this occasion I had a camera around my neck, or I’m not entirely convinced that my colleagues would have believed what I witnessed next. There it was, right in front of me, not three metres away. Bold as brass, a sow otter and cub swimming in tandem. Forgetting about my camera all together at this point, I was overcome by a combination sheer disbelief and utter joy. The mother led the cub back to the tree base holt quickly, but then entered the water immediately after and began to put on a real show. I watched her for an hour, as she swam back and forth catching brown trout and grayling. She was fully aware of my presence, as I crouched down on the river bank, but didn't seem interested or remotely intimidated. To my amazement, this was two o’clock in the afternoon.

Otters are solitary animals, so if you see more than one it generally means mother and cubs. Their territories can range up to twenty kilometres, and there was no doubt that this was hers. I couldn’t get enough of this display of supreme confidence, from such a flawlessly skilled predator. Not one time did I see her dive, and not resurface with prey. This was the epitome of wildlife watching. Eventually, I decided to leave her be and drag myself away from the moment, respecting the spectacle that she had delivered. I can unashamedly confirm, that the videos were on repeat for most of that evening.

I had finally clapped eyes on the holy grail of the quintessential British river. After being within almost touching distance of, until this day the rather evasive Lutra lutra, I will forever be in her debt.