Hearing a whisper that there may be some Otters in a reserve some miles away, my gear and I was packed and ready to go by 7.00 a.m. the next morning. Hunkering down in a hide or two for six hours which was broken up by tramping from hide to hide on mostly good paths but some ankle deep in soggy mud that we were once again grateful for our comfy worn in and watertight walking boots. Walking allowed us to warm back up and to see some beautiful wildlife, but no Otters.
Dissapointed we headed home, cracked open the wine and cheese, the cold having made us ravenous, started a fire that was soon roaring to take the chill out of our bones and set to work on the photos we had taken and were immediately hooked. Even with bad winter light, ISO’s ramped right up to allow for speed of flying birds and grain so heavy you could feed a flock of starlings on, the beauty of the wildlife shone through.
Four long and cold days later sat in various hides – I am nothing if not determined – I got my first Otter. She (my photography companion saw her two cubs) swam through the undergrowth on the opposite bank of the lake and was gone in less than 15 seconds. At the same time my camera focusing is bouncing of the twigs and branches but I did get the shot. My heart was pounding afterwards, and when I checked my camera I couldn’t believe I’d managed to capture her. It’s full of grain and heavily cropped, but it is very much a wild Otter, and I am very lucky indeed.