But now I can relinquish my post as WildPlaces officer a happy woman. For two years I have dedicated myself to trying to outwit Mr O. I have tried the cruel 'kill-the-spiders-on-the-lens' technique. I have tried the 'stick-a-bit-of-cod-on-an-island' technique. I have even built him palaces all up and down the Ouseburn River, lugging rocks from near and far to provide an enticing outdoor toilet (now what other holt can boast an en suite hey). All to no avail. Until now. Mr O, I got you good and proper!
But hey-ho who know what the future holds with regards to otters. My partner in crime Bob Wilkin has been with me every step of the way in the otter seeking fiasco. He was the one wielding the bug spray, rescuing cameras in the middle of the night during floods and building walkways, holts and islands to lure Mr O in closer and closer. And he did succeed. We got prints. We got spraint. Just no footage on camera that wasn't blighted by spiders, rain and underwater swimming ability. Until now of course. But yes, I digress. My point is, Bob has all these wonderful stories about taking otters for walks, having his lower ear nearly bitten off by the very same otter and probably seeing more otters, in more places, than you or I could ever wish for. I have every faith that one day, this might be me telling such wonderful stories to someone else embarking on a near impossible mission such as I did. I wish you luck. Really I do.
No comments:
Post a Comment