Jump salmon, JUMP! This was my mantra when I accompanied an otter whizz kid on a survey last week. We were out hunting for the Ouseburn Otter's elusive cousin, the Northumberland Otter. Not as city smart as Mr O, this country otter left us plenty of signs to show he was about but didn't dare show his face. This dirty, wholly unnecessary teasing must run in the otter family. Country bumpkin or not, all otters seem to carry the sneaky gene. Otter lovers worldwide call this trait 'elusiveness.' Rose tinted glasses me thinks. Elusive my a***. Conniving and out to torment me is far more likely. The behaviour (torment perhaps) that I have seen over the last 18 months does not stem from something as sweet as being shy. Grrrr otters. Perhaps you can tell its a Monday morning? Perhaps you can tell I have just whacked my head on the shelf above the desk. Perhaps you can tell that Bob Wilkin (my partner in crime from when the hunt for Mr O first started) has reported tons of activity along the river near his house. The river that I don't currently have cameras on! This is more than shyness. This otter behaviour is planned, calculated and executed with the utmost precision and hilarity on Mr O's part. He certainly is spreading the word. And I kinda love him for it.
And here is photographic evidence to prove that I'm not an otter-hating philistine (just rather grumpy this morning). Ok, so I realise that I'm not actually in this picture but I was present. Promise. This is Mike, ranger (he too has an obsession with otters), along with vols who were kind enougth to help out, and our cunningly disguised otter holt.
You may too have seen me on Countryfile last night digging my heart out for a holt at Lowe Barnes nature reserve. I was the one looking go-ood in waterproof trousers and wellie liners. Or perhaps not. But you see my point is that I do care. I really do.
But I digress. Back to leaping salmon. Have you been witness to a salmon run? Awesome, is what it was. These salmon (and trout) were absolutely amazing. After travelling for goodness knows how long, they were being met by a pretty intimidating weir. In fact, I would go as far as to say that it was the steepest weir that I have ever laid my eyes on. And boy did these guys jump. Besides the fact that they had to propel themselves meters in to the air, the rains had come a calling and the river was flowing pretty fast. It was a veritable Niagara Falls out there. I felt really sorry for the poor things. Up they jumped, never making it to the next level. Those that did make it up the first three steps of the weir, then let themselves down by jumping clear over the wall and ending up back where they started. It was like their own personal video game. Poor poor salmon. In desperation, myself and Kev (the aforementioned whizz kid) refused to leave until we had seen at least one salmon make it all the way. And that we did. One lone, beastly-big salmon succeeded where others had failed. He defeated the weir and made us both feel slightly better. On a brighter note though, they sure look like they tasted good (they really were thiiiiiiiis biiiiiiiig). Next time I'll be there with a net.
