Tarka the Porker

Tarka

Otters really float my boat. They live in wild and remote places and go out of their way not to be seen. Looking for them from a kayak on a cold and grey January morning will almost certainly end in failure.

So it’s right up my street.

This morning summed up everything that is challenging about observing and photographing otters. Glimpsing one is difficult, observing one going about its business is almost impossible, and trying to get a photo from a kayak is just stupid.

The level of the Torridge had dropped to a comfortable level since the floods of last weekend. The water was fairly clear…I don’t like it when it’s muddy. Neither, I think, do the otters.

Semi-stealth Otter-spotting mode

But the flow was still fairly swift, probably averaging about three mph. Not great for otter-spotting because of the danger of being dragged into their worry zone by the current before you can sprint to the protection of a bankside bush.

However, I wasn’t going to see one sitting around at home.

I was on the water and floating downstream as it was getting light this morning. Early is good for otters. I was in Puffing Pig, my inflatable kayak. Not a particularly stealth colour but I have managed to observe otters from it without disturbing them on many previous occasions. Keeping absolutely quiet and with minimum movement and permanently scrutinising the water ahead, particularly close to the banks, is much more important.

Puffing Pig

I was soon tuned in to the wilderness channel. Above the merry ripple of the water I could hear the ‘peep’ of Kingfishers and the ‘jink’ of Dippers. Buzzards overhead, Long-tailed tits in gangs in overhanging branches, and a large number of squirrels.

I peered as far ahead as I could hoping to see that little flat head or the roll of a back and flailing tail of a diving otter.

Yes…otter on the left, 30 metres, swimming through the branches of a fallen tree. I immediately headed for the right bank, paddling hard but as unsplashily as possible.

Grrr, there was nowhere out of the current by the shore so I hung on to a branch. The otter popped up right beside me and dived again. Did it see me?

Clearly not, because it reappeared beside the far bank. I scrambled the camera out of its drybag and managed a bit of footage as it disappeared downstream. Diving every so often.

I followed it at a safe distance and as usual it was unbelievably difficult to see, especially in the rapids. They are just so slinky.

I lost it after five minutes and carried on downstream.

Just as I was approaching the end of my trip and had just about given up hope of another otter, I glimpsed a swirl ten metres ahead. Although I didn’t see what caused it, I sped to the bank just in case. It was slow-moving bit of river so much more amenable to parking up in a bush and observing.

Excellent, an otter popped up, and then another beside it.

One appeared to catch my scent but wasn’t too spooked as it then reappeared on the far bank and climbed out for a bit of a breather.

You can see it having a bit of a sniff in this video…

Incidentally, the clear fluting birdsong in the above video, which sounds more like a songster from the Amazonian rainforest than Devon, is in fact a Wren, in slomo.

The otter was a fine-looking animal when it was on the shore. A prime River Torridge specimen. I have noticed before that the otters here look a bit more chunky then their counterparts (of the same species) in the sea off Scotland.

Tarka the Porker. No offence intended. Just an irresistible headline.

Otter on River Torridge. Looking Good.

Paddling the Somerset Levels…The Biggest Lake in SW England

The Somerset Levels. If there’s a pot of gold there, it’s a metre underwater.

When Dave rang early and it was still dark, cold, wet and windy my enthusiasm for a kayak trip was wavering for the first time ever. Weeks of sitting around nursing my new hip plus post-festive slovenliiness had clogged my motivation centre with sludge.

Luckily it was rinsed clean by Dave’s enthusiastic and positive attitude…’It’s got to be done’. Any residual gloop was eliminated by the sillyness (Dave’s word) of the plan to spend a day paddling around the fields of Somerset.

Last time we ventured forth to this location was during the major floods of 2014. It was so windy we even managed a bit of surfing…in the parish of Huish Episcopi!

So we were off and full of expectation for a day exploring unchartered territory. Laden with coffee, sandwiches, pastries and some chocolatey snacks. Chocolate is an essential nutritional requirement on a winter kayaking trip, it really hits the spot.

It was also the maiden voyage of my Off-road four-wheel drive Crocs…look at the tread on those soles!!

My new industrial-quality Crocs.

As we drove across the line of hills towards Langport we could hardly believe our eyeballs as we took in the enormity of the expanse of water to our left. More sizeable lakes to the right but we opted for the big ‘un and were soon heading out across the pastures.

Who’s shutting the gate?

Within minutes of setting off the sun went in, the headwind cranked up a couple of Beaufort scales and it started to rain. This happens every time Dave and I go paddling so we were well prepared, but it was a bit of a heartless slog in an environment devoid of colour.

However it was great fun because it was so quirky and not a minute passed without another flock of waterbirds passing overhead. So I was happy as Larry.

Thousands of Lapwings, hundreds of Golden Plovers with their querulous calls entirely suited to the wind and rain and cold, a flock of Dunlin dashing about and large flights of duck in the distance. Some that came close enough to identify were Pintail.

Trio of Lapwing

Best of all was hat-trick of Egret species. Little, Cattle and a single Great White. Symptoms of climate change, these birds were completely absent from the UK a few decades ago. They have moved up from the near continent and are no doubt made to feel more welcome by the restoration of permanent wetlands nearby.

Dave digs in

Despite the exposure and headwind we couldn’t resist paddling out in the middle of the lake, because that’s what we came for.

A very large lake indeed

We shunned the option of having lunch on a grassy knoll in order to maximise our time on the flood, so we ate while drifting back downwind. Needless to say, the wind then dropped out completely and the sun came out.

The vista was transformed to one of colour.

Curry Rivel monument

The water was not as deep as the major floods eight years ago, so we had to pick our way carefully through the fences and gateways.

Somerset Levels at their most scenic.

I was pretty excited to see a freightliner goods train clattering along the main line to Taunton, headed up by a Class 66 Locomotive. Locomotives are a bit of a rarity in the age of motorised carriages.

Class 66 and Lapwing

I was even more surprised to see another engine pushing the line of trucks from behind. In my experience this is a risky business. When I used to try this with my trainset when I was a little lad the trucks usually derailed on the first corner.

I hope the people at Freightliner have thought about this.

Another engine pushing from behind…even the swan looks worried.

TOP day out.

It’s what foul days in January are for.

Dave ‘n the Levels

First Fins of 2023

Porpoise, with a smile, on collision course

2nd January, yesterday, was forecast to be a day of sparkling winter sunshine. Just one blue-sky day to interrupt the endless run of wind, rain and monochrome dreary greyness. I can’t remember when the last one was, and there is no sign of another for the foreseeable.

So a coastal kayak trip was not an option…it was a necessity.

Torbay was the venue as it is so reliable in terms of protection from winter swells and consistency of wildlife encounters.

We were a motley trio indeed. I cut a thoroughly unprofessional image in my Gumotex inflatable kayak* which I thought would be easier to lug about following a hip replacement only a month ago. Simon looked slick in his Disco although he too was nursing an injury (or two). Isabelle probably cut the sportiest image on her SUP.

*although it is astonishingly seaworthy

Snack time already?

A very large number of seals were enjoying a hint of warmth in the winter sun in the heart of the harbour.

Hat-trick of Grey Seals. Dead to the world.

Given our state of questionable fitness and post-festive paddling power, we initially headed into the protected water of the inner bay.

For me, having spent a large part of the previous month flicking between Bargain Hunt and Homes under the Hammer, it was an absolute thrill to be out on the water. Even better when one of my favourite seabirds, a Great Northern Diver, popped up from a dive right beside me.

Great Northern Diver. What a beauty!

Poking about amongst the barnacles which encrusted the old jetty was another of my winter favourites, a Purple Sandpiper. A little bird with a big personality. Knowing that they have flown thousands of miles to get here makes them even more appealing. Like the Great Northern Diver this bird may well have come from Iceland.

Purple Sandpiper

Astonishingly there was one more bird from the north which may too have flown from Iceland. This was the rarest…a Long-tailed Duck. Known as an Old Squaw in North America.

Long-tailed Duck

It always makes me smirk when the British name is so scientific and a bit dull, in comparison to the more spontaneous sounding American name.

The same applies to the American name for the Great Northern Diver, the ‘Common Loon’.

All was going so well in terms of thermoregulation and enjoyment of the day that we decided to take a look out by the headland for some dolphins. Our urgency was fuelled by a report from Henry, who was installed on top of the cliff, that he thought he had seen a ‘blow’ far to the southwest. If it was indeed a blow, it was probably a Humpback.

Eyes in the Sky. Henry (right) on the cliff top.

We saw no whales and no dolphins, but enjoyed a great display from the resident porpoises who rolled and even surged all around. 50% of the fun of a porpoise encounter is hearing their explosive little puff as they breathe…a speciality from the silence of a kayak…or SUP!

At least half-a-dozen, probably double that number.

Porpoise in a hurry. They usually roll with barely a ripple.

If the year continues in this sort of a manner, it’s going to be a good one.

Loon with a Drip