Otter-Spotting with Becky

Becky the Otter-hunter (looking very cool and sporty)

On 14 Sept Becky and I drove north for another FANTASTIC few days in the west of Scotland prior to heading east to the Spey valley for my niece’s FANTASTIC wedding and celebration thereafter.

The forecast suggested we had one day of super-light winds, and as we paddled out from the campsite it felt to me like a very ‘ottery’ day. It was a bit gloomy with heavy cloud cover…otters really don’t seem to like bright sunlight. It was also nice and warm which was a plus for our kayaking enjoyment. No midges either!

Ottery sort of day

We sliced through the glassy water in complete silence, and I ‘sssssd’ at Becky when I saw an unexplained ripple up a little creek. But she was already onto it, and sure enough up popped an otter! As it swam across the inlet its mate was munching something crunchy on a mat of seaweed.

Otter first sight. Classic ‘three-hump’ profile.

They disappeared into thin air before we got a very good view, but it was a cracking start and we were now really in the zone and it was so still we could hear and see anything that moved for half-a-mile around.

Harbour seals cruised around, Curlews crooned and Ringed Plovers did their mournful little call.

As I approached an island of floating weed I saw a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye. There was the slightest little patch of white in the middle of the brown uniformity of the bladderwrack…the whiskers of a sleeping otter!

Sleeping Otter.

Becky was a few yards behind me and I’m not sure how I managed to get the message across without making any sort of sound and without making any movement at all. She could just sense my excitement and parked her kayak on the mat of weed beside me. The perfect stable platform for observing what was to be an incredible twenty minutes of watching wild nature at its best.

For five minutes the otter hardly twitched, but I knew the tide was coming in so it wouldn’t be long before it moved. I also managed to convey this nugget of nautical know-how to Becky, but I’m not sure how. Because I didn’t dare move a hair follicle.

Sure enough the otter shifted…

And settled down again on ‘higher ground’. It certainly looked very cosy and all fluffed up:

Otter fast asleep

It was superbly camouflaged in the weed and there is no way I would have seen it if it hadn’t twitched.

It didn’t take long to recharge its batteries and it was off, slinking through the weed in an unbelievably inconspicuous manner. No wonder nobody hardly ever sees them.

slinky otter

To our amazement it then swam directly towards us. I have noticed before that otters have a sharp sense of smell and good hearing, but poor eyesight. It didn’t seem to realise that we were not a normal part of the scenery till it was about five yards away. And then it seemed to be a lot more concerned about Becky (to my left) than me. Mind you, just one glance at me and it was off.

It wasn’t actually that spooked by us, and popped up on the far side of the patch of weed and swam away. There is no doubt that our blue kayaks and blue/black clothes are much more ‘stealth’ than red or yellow gear when it comes to super-shy creatures such as otters.

Phew, after all that excitement it was time for a tea break and a couple of Tesco Caramel Crunch Bars.

Not a bad spot for a tea/coffee break.

We continued our tour around the islands. There were hundreds of Harbour Seals hauled out. We made sure we didn’t mess with their relaxation and gave them a wide berth.

Harbour Seals

My eyeballs nearly popped out on stalks when a seal came past porpoising like a…er…porpoise, leaping completely clear of the water. Good effort!

Porpoising seal

A White-tailed Eagle lumbered away on exactly the same flight-path as it did when I visited the same area three weeks ago. It must make a habit of sitting out on the end of one of the islands in the early morning, methinks.

Becky in the fast boat

Geek in the goat-boat

Then we saw another otter. It climbed to the top of a mini island, ‘marked’ it, and then started looking for lunch. As usual, every time it surfaced it came up with a crunchy snack, and then it caught a big wrasse and headed directly towards the shore to eat it on a rock. Unfortunately I was directly in its swim-path. What a bungle! I should have anticipated what it was going to do.

Otter plus lunch

Anyway I sat absolutely still in my kayak, the otter saw me and dived and reappeared to eat its feast on another rock further away. No harm done.

Otter plus wrasse

That was about it for the first day, after a sumptuous lunch of two-day old pizza (four cheese) and a boiled egg on an island.

Four otters…FAB.

Next day was a bit windy so I was on my own. It was brighter so I didn’t fancy my chances of more otters, but I was wrong.

Kayaking heaven

A few minutes after a break on a sandy beach, clearly popular with the local kayak tours, I nearly ran into an otter as it clambered out onto some seaweed. I slammed into reverse as quietly as I could and hid behind a rock. I was as close as I could be without frightening it.

It settled down on its cosy mattress and started to spruce itself up.

Otter preening

Amazing…my two best ever sightings of an otter at rest, within twenty-four hours of each other.

The otter went to town dealing with an itch under its chin:

Otter scratching chin…ooh that’s better

I left it to relax (and scratch) and battled upwind against the stiffening breeze to the far side of the loch. I thought I might just find one more otter along the less windy shore beneath the hill.

In fact it could not have worked out better. I came round into a sheltered bay with large mats of weed covering the surface because it was low tide, and was just thinking that this would be the perfect amphitheatre for an otter experience, when one came in carrying a fish. in a hurry with a big bow wave. It emerged onto a rock and hastily wolfed down its meal.

Then, just like yesterday’s otter, it slunk off through the weed. It seems to be worried about something on the shore, but I suspect it was wafts of my scent which were being eddied around by the gusty wind causing a bit of directional confusion.

It then worked its way through the mat of weed directly towards me. I stayed absolutely rock still (apart from miniscule movements of my pinky on the camera zoom). You will notice in the video it clearly sees me when it is only a few yards away but apparently can’t quite believe the messages that its eyeballs are sending to its brain.

It snorts its alarm but I maintain my granite-like solidity and it disappears off without due concern:

Abso-blooming-lutely superb.

What a fantastic encounter with the most elusive and charismatic of the UK’s wild creatures.

Both Becky and I came up with a nugget of ottery wisdom after our unforgettable experience.

Becky: They are restless and frantic like a giant-sized shrew.

Rupert: They are 90% wary, 10% inquisitive (it’s the other way around for seals)

Whale, Dolphins and Porpoises. All in one Place.

Mount’s Bay

The sea was flat calm, but the wildlife for the first two hours of paddling out into Mount’s Bay was almost non-existent. A single Balearic Shearwater banked past in a disinterested sort of way, and the handful of Gannets, which I scrutinised closely as they flew from horizon to horizon, did not deflect from their cruise path. Nothing to attract their attention, which means no cetaceans at the surface. One did, however, come and take a look at me. Very flattering.

Then suddenly I was into a bit of action. A small pod of porpoises, which I could hear puffing before I could see. As I sat and watched in complete silence, I heard a whale blow. A long and loud breath, unlike the porpoises’ explosive little snort. When it surfaced again I thought I caught a glimpse of a fin, but it was a long way away. Instead of charging off in the direction of the sound, which I usually do, I just sat tight and hoped the whale’s wanderings while it was feeding might bring it a bit closer. Coffee and brunch bar.

Minke Whale heading away

After three or four breaths at intervals of ten to fifteen seconds it arched its back and dived. It then submerged for five minutes or more, reappearing with a very loud blast. It was only because the sea surface was so exceptionally calm I could hear it breathe at long distance. Any sort of wind and chop I wouldn’t have seen, or heard it.

Minke Whale

It surfaced a few metres behind me with a great whoosh, and then disappeared. Eventually it did a nice sequence which didn’t involve me cranking my creaky neck around:

Minke Whale

Fantastic. I will never tire of the whale-from-kayak experience. It is the culmination of a lot of meticulous planning, mainly relating to the weather. And the picnic.

As the whale continued to zigzag back and forth my attention was grabbed by a scattered pod of dolphins that appeared on the scene in a characteristically splashy way.

Adult and juv Common Dolphin. Pedal to the metal!

Juvenile Common Dolphin

The juveniles were the most acrobatic as usual but this adult, recognisable by the black ‘beard’ line between its flipper and chin, did not want to be outdone by the nippers and reached for the sky. Good effort!

Adult Common Dolphin

The next posse to come past put on a real show. They were in a mad hurry to get somewhere. Hasty, hasty, hasty.

Common Dolphins

I had hardly paddled a stroke since I had first seen the porpoises a couple of hours earlier. A couple of hours of non-stop action with three species of cetacean.

Happy with that. The long paddle back was quiet, although livened up right at the end by a quiet little family pod of dolphins, which I gave a wide berth. They looked like they didn’t want to be disturbed.

PS

This post is about yesterday’s sightings.

Please enjoy a bonus video of today’s encounter with these charming little porpoises off the coast at Fowey. They are habitually shy. It’s not very often they come close enough to see them swimming underwater!

Fowey porpoises

Risso’s at the Rumps

The Mouls and Rumps Point

A great twenty-plus mile adventure with surprise encounters involving a bank of fog and one of the most mysterious of the UK’s cetaceans. Bank of fog, a bit worrying. Risso’s Dolphin, a bit thrilling.

The surface conditions weren’t quite as flat as I had hoped as I paddled out of Portquin on Cornwall’s north coast a few miles from the Camel Estuary. The very high Spring tides were generating quite a tidal current that was causing a bit of chop, even though the wind was light.

The forecast was exceptionally good, however, so I headed offshore and was planning to slingshot with the flow around the islands off Rumps Point, and then catch a ride back on the incoming tide later.

As usual the early start paid off in terms of wildlife. Two pairs of Sandwich Terns mewed over, a handful of Balearic Shearwaters zipped across the surface and best of all a silky black dark-phase Arctic Skua wafted past.

Arctic Skua (nice, but photographer could do better)

My neurones were still warming up when I glimpsed a very large pale fin break the surface ahead. Wow, probably a Risso’s dolphin, but it just could be a Bottlenose. By the time I had fumbled my camera out of its dry bag, it had disappeared. So I sat still and waited. For a good ten minutes. Nothing.

I paddled on and by sheer luck saw a bit of a spray far ahead as the dolphin surfaced again. I powered on and got to within a hundred yards when it surfaced again. It made quite a satisfactory whale-like blow, both in terms of spray and sound.

Rumps Risso’s number one

Rumps Risso’s

It was impossible to track because it dived for ten to fifteen minutes and might come up out of sight. A boat with an engine might be appropriate here.

Anyway, despite the fleeting and poor view I was pretty pleased with this encounter. My first Risso’s sighting for over two years (they have been a bit of a bogey species as they keep giving me the slip!), and a very unusual sighting this far north along the Cornwall coast.

The sea was now smoothing off quite nicely so I took a big swing round the back of Newlands rock, maybe a mile further out.

The Mouls, Rumps, Newlands

My dolphin spotting faculty was now fully functional and I glimpsed a flash of white half-a-mile ahead. Surely not another Risso’s?

Full steam ahead again, and after ten minutes two large pale fins appeared, with a third nearby. Risso’s for sure! They were cruising at 4-5 mph, the same speed as a pod of Common Dolphins and the same speed as I can paddle when nearly flat out. Always quite frustrating because I can never keep pace, but it’s good for burning off the pies.

I just had time to angle across to where I expected them to pass, and sat quietly and waited. They all surfaced pretty close. Surprisingly big and powerful, and with that really great blow. Take a listen.

First clip real-time, second clip slomo:

They really are a big dolphin. About four times the weight of a Common Dolphin and ten to fourteen foot long. They have just a blunt snout (no beak) and are remarkably white. The largest of this little pod had an almost pure white front end.

Rumps Risso’s two and three

I left the three of them to head north, and maybe join up with their chum. I rode the current due south towards Gulland Rock, the third of the Polzeath islands, three miles away.

I was just a teeny bit edgy because I was a long way offshore and the surface was quite lumpy. I glance over my shoulder and became very much more edgy indeed. The headlands and islands behind me had just been enveloped in a blanket of dense fog which was rolling ominously towards me.

I sprinted towards Gulland Island, nipped round the back and, with only seconds to go, just had time to get a bearing on Stepper point before I was consumed in white-out.

I didn’t delay to enjoy the bawling seals on the island. I dug in with a fast but steady paddling pace, and worked out I would get to the mainland in about forty-five minutes.

Visibility was about a hundred yards, and although I completely trusted my GPS and my basic navigational skills, helped by the position of the sun I could see through the mist above me, it was a nervous three-quarters of an hour.

A cliff face appeared in front of me, and by sheer luck I had arrived at a break in rock face in front of me called Butter Hole, and there was an inviting little sandy beach exposed by the low tide. Amazingly the beach was in sun, but just out to see the fog was dense.

Butter Hole

For the paddle back I opted for the security of the coast, crossing the mouth of the Camel estuary and rounding the rocky headlands of Pentire Head and the Rumps.

Stepper Point. Coastal fog

As I rounded the final corner with Portquin an easy three mile paddle away, the fog dispersed and the sea smoothed off completely. It was so inviting I couldn’t resist a final offshore arc…there must be some Common Dolphins or Porpoises around, surely.

There were only a few Gannets around, but they all wandered over to take a close look at me. Never a good sign, because it usually means there are no feeding cetaceans nearby.

Nosy Gannet

As usual I ended up paddling much further out than intended. Because I heard a repeated thumping way, way out, which could only have been a large creature breaching, or tail-lobbing.

I paddled towards the noise and eventually saw some large splashes in the distance, with a hint of a white flash. It must have been that same Risso’s I saw six hours ago!

I never got that close because it was moving away and only appeared every five minutes, but it is still a remarkable sight to see and almost completely white dolphin breaching off the coast of North Cornwall!

Look closely and you will see it’s got a smile on its face.

Breaching Risso’s.

p.s the following day (Tuesday 6 Sep) was an absolute stunner. Hot and light wind (initially) I paddled with Mark up the coast from Portquin to Trebarwith Strand.

Stunning beaches, watched Max and Maisy tombstoning at Port Gaverne, and even saw Doc Martin’s house. What could be better?

Here’s the photo gallery:

Tregardock beach

Max

Maisy

Doc Martin’s house