After a lean couple of months The Lone Kayaker has been in dream-world during the last week. Major wildlife encounters have been coming thick and fast.
The gales have abated and even though the weather has not yet sorted itself out into anything you might call spring, it’s a lot better than it has been.
Success has partly been down to giving myself a good kick up the backside and turfing out of bed earlier. When it comes to watching otters and beavers that really is appallingly early. But if you can be bothered to get on the water before the first Blackbird breaks into song, you might just get lucky.
This morning’s excitement was an otter on the river Torridge, although the first eye-boggler was a Roe Deer swimming across the river in front of me. I had only just set off and my brain hadn’t completely fired up so I was slow getting my camera out and only caught the last few seconds…
By the time I saw the otter porpoising towards me an hour later I was completed focussed in on everything that twitched or twittered. Ready to rock n roll.
I tucked in beside the bank and fortunately the otter chose to work it’s way up the far side of the river so I didn’t disturb it at all. As usual it came up with a crunchy snack after every dive, with one fish requiring a bit more serious attention with a visit to the shore:
It carried on upstream without getting a sniff of my presence, which I am always pleased about. It seemed full of the joys of spring, skipping through the water as energetically as any gambolling lamb in a field of green.
Otters are relentlessly hasty and borderline frantic and just can’t resist spending large amounts of time underwater, even when they are just getting from A to B.
They are a genuine aquatic creature.
Beavers are a bit different. If an otter is a twitchy sports car, a beaver is more of a Volvo estate.
They are measured and steady and are quite happy just swimming along at the surface for long distances. As we discovered during an early morning jaunt to the south of the county a few days previously.
Beaver incoming!
If you are ultra-observant you may have noticed the beaver’s head start to bob a little after it has swum past. That is because it was sniffing out a willow tree which it could not pass without stopping off for a bit of a munch. Those leaves are as fresh and crisp as an iceberg lettuce.
So it stopped off for a pit-stop snack as it made its way home to bed…
At the weekend there was a break in the wind, just for one day. In fact for a couple of hours the open sea off South Devon was completely smooth.
Will and Mark loafing a mile offshore.
So that’s where we found ourselves…exactly the right place at the right time. The planning was so good we even organised a pod of a dozen dolphins as well. There was plenty of chuckling and gasps of amazement as the briefly joined us for a bit of a race…
So…Beavers, Otters, Dolphins. All during the last five days. Totally tremendous.
At one of my Lone Kayaker talks recently somebody asked if I ever miss human interaction because I spend so much time immersed in the world of animals.
They politely hinted that I might start to lose the plot.
Not at all…as was demonstrated by my cheerful salutation as I passed a little family resting beside the bike trail while I was pedalling back to retrieve my car this morning…
I’m not a fan of cliches but ‘every cloud has a silver lining’ would sum up the fortunes of the Lone Kayaker’s wildlife adventures over the last few weeks/months.
It’s not entirely appropriate, however. I guess for a cloud to have a silver lining it must have some sort of edge. The entire blanket of grey that has stretched from horizon to horizon recently gives no opportunity for any hope of ever seeing anything but drizzle again. There’s nothing remotely resembling a lining.
If you are a kayaker who wants to get out into the sea for a bit of fun you do not want to see a weather chart like this. Isobars (white lines) in the shape of a dartboard means wind and rain. A dartboard within a dartboard means it’s time to get the tiddlywinks out.
Pressure map 9 April 2024
However…the coastline of Devon and Cornwall is pierced by a whole load of little creeks that offer a bit of shelter from wind and swell. This is where I have been forced to lurk recently.
If you don’t want to become stranded on a bank of sludge or have your enthusiasm sucked dry by paddling against the flow you need to ‘go with the tides’.
That is why the kettle has been clicked on at the appallingly early hour of 0430, so I can be on the water as the first Blackbird song starts to welcome in the dawn. And to catch the current.
Fortunately, for wildlife-spotting, early is good. That is when the most elusive, shy and slithery of UK mammals make their way home after a big night out.
I have struck gold a couple of times recently.
Yesterday, just as it was getting light, a bow-wave was heading straight towards me:
Instant mega excitement…was it a small seal, otter or beaver? Seal no, it was progressing to steadily for that. Otter…also no…they just can’t resist a bit of underwater swimming. And it wasn’t fast and frantic enough for an otter. This was a bit of a steady Eddie. A beaver!
I sat without daring to breathe and it swam right on past…
Although it was clearly on a mission to get to bed it couldn’t resist a bit of a late night/early morning snack. Those newly emerged, crispy-fresh willow leaves just could not be ignored:
Beaver eating Willow Shoots
It was excellent to see that great spatula of a tail sticking out of the water…that’s a first for me. I have been the subject of a ‘tail-slap’ of alarm before, but I’ve never actually seen one before on a wild beaver in UK. They are usually below the water.
The furry rodent and I parted ways when it continued downstream and I continued up. I always like to clock up a few miles on my trips to make the whole thing worthwhile.
However I was feeling a bit pooped after my ultra early start so drove my kayak into a riverside bush for a revitalising cup of coffee.
I am fully aware that sitting in a kayak all alone in a bush in a river at 6.30am is a bit of a weird thing to do…but I love it. Just listen to that dawn chorus! Blackbird and Song Thrush backed up by Wren, Robin, Blue Tit and Woodpigeon.
Then it got a whole lot better.
As I slurped, my eyes popped out on stalks because another beaver was heading directly towards me!!
You can see that this beaver, unfortunately, got wind of me. When a beaver or an otter ‘log’ on the surface they have just sensed that you are there. In fact you can see this one sniffing before it decides to take evasive action.
It wasn’t too spooked, however. I watched it surface a few metres away and carry on downstream, apparently unperturbed.
Yes you can disturb wild animals in a kayak, but because they…the kayaks…are so quiet and slow-moving the disturbance is about as minimal as it can be.
The beaver amazement wasn’t over, because a couple of miles further upstream I passed a load of perfectly snipped and stripped willow shoots floating down the river. Although it looks as though I am attempting to eat my muesli with chopsticks, it was clearly the work of a hungry beaver which had probably just sneaked off to bed before I came round the corner.
So, in a couple of hours, I had seen three beavers and found evidence of more… totally unbelievable.
Just to make your gaping jaw sag even further towards the floor, I saw the same beaver on two successive days at PRECISELY the same time in EXACTLY the same place. They are clearly creatures of routine.
OK it’s actually one minute time difference if you want to be picky.
See the evidence for yourself…this beaver has a smudge of whitish fur on the side of it’s face…
Smudge the Beaver 0700 7/4/24Smudge the Beaver 0701 8/4/24
Although otters are broadly similar in appearance to beavers and live in the same sort of rivery place, a beaver looks like a land mammal taking a swim whereas an otter slithers about in the manner of a full-time aquatic creature such as a dolphin. Or a porpoise!
Otter family porpoising
If you hear the chirp of a young otter you are in for a bit of a treat, because otter pups have got playfulness hotwired into their mojo:
Watch the hurdling effort…not quite up to Sally Gunnell standard maybe, but good effort…
Unfortunately this chirp was more of a cry…
…and although I did then watch mum turn up with a fish I’m not too sure how healthy the pup was. it seemed a bit subdued and fluffed up to me.
In contrast to a decade ago I rarely see large fish such as sea trout and salmon jumping in the big rivers so a major source of food for the otters has declined. I think the same probably applies to eels. Are there enough fish to keep the super-active otters well fed?
It’s ten years since I saw a sight such as this…
Otter plus salmon
I get the impression that otters are robust and feisty as individuals, but delicate as a species.
They are also incredibly shy, unless they happen to want to come over for a bit of a chat…
It’s been a tough start to the year in the wildlife-spotting-from-the-kayak department. The weather in 2024 has kicked off in the same manner that 2023 concluded…non-stop wind and rain.
As usual the Lone Kayaker has set himself some really ludicrous targets for the year. Top of the list is to see a total of one thousand cetaceans, from the kayak seat, in Devon and Cornwall.
This sort of idea fits very well with my punk ethos. In fact the whole Lone Kayaker thing does. Like punk it is original, highly likely not to succeed, burns off a bit of energy and is a lot of fun. So it gets a big thumbs up from me.
If it’s all a bit daft that’s even better.
I havn’t quite managed that milestone figure of a thousand cetaceans in a year yet, as you can see from this high-tech bar chart that I created using AI and some old felt tips that were lying around in the corner of the kitchen:
Lone Kayaker Cetacean Stats. Not quite a thousand in a calendar year, but nearly
This year has got off to a stumbling start to say the least. There are plenty of ‘fins’ around the coast at the mo that are feasting on the seasonal abundance of pilchards (aka Cornish Sardines), but the sea conditions have not been at all kayak-friendly.
I have seen a handful of porpoises slinking about and half-a-dozen dolphins. That’s about it…until I had a big surprise a couple of days ago.
A morning of light winds was forecast…the briefest of lulls between two storm systems. A residual choppy swell from the east precluded a visit to my favourite sheltered east-facing hotspots, so I headed west to the huge open estuary of Carrick Roads.
I could then paddle along the shelter of the east shore with an open coast sort of feel even though it is a giant inlet.
As good as it gets at the mo
It’s excellent for seabirds if nothing else. There are always a few Great Northern Divers around, enough to make a paddling day special.
Great Northern Diver. Dripping Magnificence.
When I emerged from my launch creek I was pleased to see that the open sea didn’t look too hostile so headed out to take a look. And far ahead there were the fins! Quite spiky and fast-moving…dolphins for certain.
I approached with caution but the dolphins were up for a bit of sport and I was soon surrounded by a playful mob:
Fantastic. The thrill of being in the thick of a gang of dolphins never seems to wear thin.
However the thrill of bow-riding a very slow-moving craft powered by an old geezer did wear thin on these hyper-energetic Common Dolphins, and they soon sheared away to join up with another scattered group that were clearly feeding.
They were diving for long periods and constantly changing direction.
I just poured a cup of coffee and sat and watched the show.
Noselifting dolphin
They were absolutely fascinating as always. When cruising one of the group repeatedly lifted its head clear of the water when it surfaced. I used to think this was abnormal behaviour. In fact the only Common Dolphin I have ever seen twice, which I nicknamed ‘Noselifter’, behaved in this manner all the time.
They are probably just taking a look around.
Whatever, it makes for a nice pic:
Under the gaze of Pendennis Castle
After an hour of looking I started to get a bit twitchy. If there were 30-40 dolphins here, there might be something even more exciting just out there in the open sea. There wasn’t, but it was worth a couple of hours of investigation. I came across ‘just’ another handful of dolphins.
St Anthony Head Dolphin
Persistence pays off. The more time you spend on the water, the more you will see. That is the only rule, because if you head out with the expectation of seeing any particular type of sea creature you will probably be disappointed.
In fact, weirdly, the more confident you are the more likely you are to fail.
This rule applies to otters as much as it does to dolphins.
Even so, when I am paddling up an estuary I spend the ENTIRE time in complete stealth mode, straining my eyes as far ahead as possible, looking for that unexplained swirl at the surface.
If I don’t see anything a great time was had anyway, because the scenery is always absorbing:
However the other day my persistence really did pay off. I had paddled this stretch of south coast estuary for hundreds of miles since I last saw an otter.
Having paddled upstream with the incoming tide I was on my way back so thought the opportunity had passed. Otters like early mornings and it was now getting late. However I was still looking, looking.
Was that a swirl behind that tree stump close to the shore? I immediately skulked into the reeds on the opposite bank and sat in absolute silence.
Yes! An otter popped up and began swimming upstream towards me. Surprisingly fast, as usual, and surprisingly difficult to see, as usual. And even more slithery than usual.
It then completely disappeared, but I was confident that it hadn’t seen me so I just sat still with camera raised in anticipation. Staring for a glimpse of movement on the opposite bank.
There was not a sound apart from a singing Robin.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a swirl at the surface on my side of the river and a trail of bubbles rapidly approached the front of my kayak.
Here’s what happened next…a whole lotta champing and a whole lot of huffing…
Unquestionably one of my best Cornwall and Devon otter encounters ever. Of the couple of hundred or so I have seen, none has ever approached my kayak as close as this.
The encounter was slightly tainted by the potential disturbance to the otter, but although it was cursing me it was only mildly perturbed. I saw it continuing on up the river after it has finished giving me an earful.
If an otter identifies you as human it will disappear and you will not see it again. (Mmmm…not sure what that says about me)
So although winter paddling around SW England has many challenges, particularly so in this stormy season, it can be very rewarding. The feeling of adventure is enhanced by the almost complete absence of any other recreational water users at this time of year.
These encounters have fired up the enthusiasm for the rest of the year.
The Isle of Mull. It’s the wildlife capital of the Hebrides.
It’s also not a bad spot for a bit of sea kayaking. The vistas are just so BIG.
Magnificent Mull
The paddling was so inspiring I even briefly became engrossed in geology which is not one of my strong subjects. This stack of basalt pillars looked astonishingly like a pile of fossilised telegraph poles. Or was it a pile of fossilised telegraph poles?
Basalt pillars
It was maybe not that amazing to find them, however, considering Fingal’s Cave on Staffa was only five miles away across the water, but I thought it was all pretty cool, and maybe a bit weird.
In the wildlife department, eagles, otters and Iona were top of the priority list for our enthusiastic posse of eight. To start off with there was plenty of other fur and feather-clad stuff for us to enjoy to get in the swing of things.
This red deer stag had a very haughty and regal ambience, even though he is not strictly a royal. His antlers are still in velvet and he needs two more ‘points ‘ to add to his current total of ten to achieve ‘Royal’ status. Maybe next year…
Red Deer Stag
Iona and its glittering beaches were stunning in the warm sunshine and the eagles were evident but often nothing more than a dot over a far-off mountain ridge.
The smooth sea conditions were ideal for spotting the wake of a slithering otter, but at first it was just the local seals that broke the surface. Lots of them.
Mull Harbour Seals
The inlets were a cacophony of bird sound. The cackle of Greylag Geese, constant piping of super-vigilant Oystercatcher parents and the croak of Shelduck. All with small families to protect against the local winged predators…Buzzards, Ravens and Hen Harriers.
Shelduck Family
I was thrilled to eventually come across a family of three otters, mother and two pups, loafing on a small island along a very remote part of Mull. I kept well back to avoid frightening them, but you can see the mother, who is at the bottom of this ottery heap, is scrutinising me closely as I drift past. The youngsters, as usual, are just cavorting about without a care in the world.
Otter Family on Mull
The second otter encounter was probably my best ever in the UK. Very early in the morning, sunshine and blue skies, not a breath of wind. All absolutely perfect.
It was the first time I have ever heard otters splashing from afar before I got close enough to see them. This usually only happens with dolphins!
This was another trio of mother and two pups. I thought it might be the same family as they were only a mile away from yesterday’s sighting, but the original mother had a pink mark on her nose (visible in the pic above). Today’s mum had a blemish free muzzle.
Initially all three were diving for fish…
Otter family
Mum then caught a sizeable wrasse and brought it ashore for one of her pups, who was galloping by her side, to eat.
I watched from a safe distance for twenty minutes then paddled back to the slipway at top speed and scampered (as well as a 63 year-old with two replacement knees and a replacement hip can scamper) up the hill to the house to get Becky and Henry and any of the other crew who were awake.
I pumped up the inflatable kayak in super quick time and by the time we arrived back in the otter zone about half-an-hour later I thought the little family might have gone to bed.
By good fortune they were still out and very much about.
Becky in otter-spotting mode
We sat stock still and completely silent from a safe disatnce and enjoyed the show.
The pups were parked on a weed-covered low tide island while mum fished for food. We spent a good 30 minutes watching in a state of mesmerisation. While Mum was in the water the pups just could not resist horsing about. Chasing around all over the rock and tumbling about in the water with a lot of splishing and yipping.
They would only stop to do the minimum amount of preening. One fell over while trying to get at a particularly awkward spot, as you can see in this video.
When mum returned with a fish the excitement levels went up a notch, although the dials were already nudging max output already.
Completely engrossing stuff.
I can see why otters seem to favour feeding at low tide. They love to catch fish which live amongst the rocks, such as wrasse and rockling, as well as crabs that live on the sea floor. Low water makes these more accessible because they don’t have to dive so deep.
I wonder if an even bigger attraction is the camouflage that is provided by large areas of dark brown seaweed such as kelp and bladderwrack that are exposed as the tide recedes. Otters are hotwired to be wary and nervous so when they slither amongst the fronds of seaweed they can feel a bit more secure.
Concealment is even more important for otter pups when they are left alone while mum hunts. A seaweed strewn rock does the job nicely. At high tide they would be very conspicuous on the bare rock.
This one certainly seems to feel very secure while snoozing on a bed of seaweed.
From afar it would be almost impossible to spot.
Otter in the weed
Our week on Mull flew past fast. So it was a fond farewell to otters and eagles.
It’s a bit early in the year to flog up the M6 to Scotland, but I had to deliver three antique chairs to my brother in Grantown-on-Spey (low-level urgency) and a couple of weeks ago the weather forecast for the west coast was irresistible (high-level urgency).
So I headed north. 635 miles. My destination was Arisaig but I stopped a few miles short and camped at the head of Lochailort so I could make an early start the next day. Blue sky was forecast.
I was on the water at 7am and the sky was indeed cloudless. I was just a bit worried about the wind. It was predicted to be gentle, but was funnelling down off the mountains and when it hit the surface of the loch it was whipping up spray. Anything but gentle. If it got any stronger paddling back later could be a big problem…
However I had driven a long way so was not going to be put off.
Otters were top of my wishlist as I was blown down the loch, but it was great to hear the cooing of a small flock of Eider ducks near one of the islands. They are big ducks, but shy.
Eider ducks
Spotting wildlife was not easy as I was being thrown about a bit in the choppy conditions, so I was very pleasantly surprised to see and otter clamber out onto the shore to munch a rockling fish. It was quite a bulky individual so probably a dog otter.
Lochailort Otter
I would have liked to get the sun behind me for the best photo, but that would have also put me directly upwind of the otter, so I ditched the idea as I didn’t want to spook it. It slithered off and disappeared, as otters do, fairly quickly anyway.
I managed to find some spectacular sandy beaches for coffee and lunch breaks on sheltered west-facing beaches.
Singing Sands Beach, Ardnish. Perfect lunch spot.
When it came to seabird plumage summer was gradually muscling winter out. This Great Northern Diver, one of scores that were dotted along the coast, is moulting into its breeding plumage. When complete it will be spectacular, but for the time-being it looks rather moth-eaten.
Great Northern Diver, Sgurr of Eigg behind.
I was pleased to see all three species of Diver. The Black-throat was moulting, the Red-throat was in full summer plumage.
As I headed back up Lochailort to my car which was parked at the head of the loch five miles away, I was dismayed to see the surface was peppered with whitecaps which were soon sloshing over the deck. A couple of sea-kayakers that sped past with the wind and waves behind them seemed doubtful I would get back.
I dug in, hugged the shore for as much protection from the wind as possible, and didn’t stop paddling. The stronger gusts stopped me in my tracks completely, but eventually I rolled up at the slipway. Moderately pooped.
I camped for the next four nights at the excellent Tigh-na-mara campsite in Arisaig. It has a big camping field with access to a beautiful little beach, perfect for kayak launch.
So I had no excuse not to be on the water bright and early the following morning to explore the myriad of sandy islands in the bay.
There was nobody else about but I wasn’t alone. I was flanked by an escort of half-a-dozen Harbour Seals. As they swam alongside they constantly glanced in my direction in a shy but very engaging manner.
Harbour Seal
Some of their chums stayed on dry land, appearing to enjoy the spectacular surroundings.
Harbour seals taking in the vista. Rum.
As is usual with the sea coast at this time of year, it was a wildlife fest for ears as well as eyes. The quiet call of Ringed Plovers, fluting of Redshank and Greenshank, the bubble of Curlew and titter of Whimbrel.
Dominated as always by constant piping of Oystercatchers, who are relentlessly upbeat. They seem to be tolerated by the other more modest species because they intercept all avian predators and hassle them away. Ravens, crows, buzzards, eagles and gulls. Remarkably they can distinguish between the very similar-looking Common and Herring Gulls, tolerating the former but seeing off the latter.
Oystercatchers. Ever Loud, Ever Vigilant
I had given up hope of a major wildlife nugget as I returned to the little beach after seven hours on the water. Then, blow me down, a couple of otters appeared in front of me. I slammed on the anchors and sat dead still. They couldn’t resist sprainting on the highest rock, looking more like a bizarre horned creature from the Hobbit.
Two-horned Haggis?
The complex of tails and limbs then resolved into something more straightforward to comprehend…
Otters, pup (left) and mum (right). Watch where you put your nose, junior.
I followed at a very safe distance as they swam their way to the next headland. As they climbed out I was amazed to see there was actually two pups. They are so slithery in the water I hadn’t noticed.
Up on the rocks They were just over the horizon to get a perfect view, but every so often I could see nose, teeth, legs and tails of the two pups flailing about as they horsed about with each other. Mother sat on the lookout, meerkat-style.
A really tremendous sight of these super-shy animals under a deep blue sky with a back-canvas of the mountains of Rum:
Two pups horsing, mother watching
These pups were still quite fluffy and fairly young.
Otter fluffy pup
A tremendous day on the water was followed by a tremendous ornithological experience from under the canvas. I was tucked up in my sleeping bag within a few minutes of the sun dropping down behind Rum.
Arisaig Sunset
Just as I was nodding off I was jolted back to my senses by the insect-like reverberation of a Snipe drumming overhead. Then another, and another. Fantastic…not quite the Beegees in terms of harmony but as good as you are going to get using vibrating tail feathers.
The performance was repeated at precisely 0420 each day. Maybe a minute or two earlier each day with the earlier sunrise. The snipe had the airwaves to themselves until the Oystercatchers got going, followed by the general dawn chorus which was a real orchestra of huge variety. The tumbling liquidity of the song of the willow warbler, a skylark, blackbird, wren and robin. Supported by a disappointing effort by the finches who don’t seem to have really got going yet…a very half-hearted chaffinch and yellowhammer.
It was a great way to start another day of wildlife action under a cloudless sky.
To avoid the wind I ventured a bit further south to Loch Moidart which has a wooded shoreline and lots of islands to baffle the blow.
Loch Moidart
My early(ish) start paid dividends. A Red Deer was wandering about down by the shore…
(scruffy-looking) Red Deer
…and I hadn’t gone far when I heard the sound which sends me into excitement overdrive more than virtually any other, the chirp of an otter pup. Loud and piercing and very far-carrying so difficult to locate.
Listen to it in this video clip:
It was very exciting for me but it must really grate on mother otter if she is feeling a bit run down. It is a very penetrating noise and young otters really don’t like being separated from mum for any period of time, so do an awful lot of chirping.
Just round the corner a White-tailed Eagle was looking regal as it peered out of its massive nest atop the tallest pine on the shore:
White-tailed Eagle
It was excellent to bump into fellow solo kayaker Andrew Reeve as I emerged onto the open coast. Andrew runs Roam Outer Hebrides from the island of Scalpay on North Harris. Guiding kayak trips in one of the UK’s most stunning locations…living the dream!
Andrew Reeve
Appropriately my best wildlife encounter was right at the end of my short and snappy Scottish adventure. Although the surface was chopped up by a stiff following breeze, I glimpsed the back of an otter as it rolled for a dive.
Spot the Otter
I swung downwind and watched the show for twenty minutes, paddling steadily and stealthily to maintain position against the blow.
The otter was fishing off the tip of a small island. Most of its catches were small snacks which it ate on the water, but the larger fish it brought to the shore.
I cunningly parked my kayak on some weed covered rocks and hid down out of sight peering through gaps in the boulders.
As I had hoped, the otter swam headed shorewards when it caught a fair-sized rockling.
Otter approaching with its lunch
Annoyingly it consumed the fish out of view, but exposed itself just enough for some very satisfactory pics as it did a bit of sprucing up before a bit more fishing.
Otter, Eilean Shona
My attempt at a video was a struggle because of the movement of the kayak in the lively conditions, exaggerated even more when I used the zoom.
So thanks to son Henry for using his video editing software to stabilise this short clip (and the previous video in this blog) for us all to enjoy. Good job, Hezzer!
Best of all about this otter encounter was that the busy little animal never knew I was there.
My favourite kayaking location of the moment varies hugely, depending on weather and whatever mega-beast I have recently seen. Last August when I encountered a flurry of whales, I paddled the open sea for weeks afterwards looking for more. Then the Ospreys appeared in the estuaries of south Cornwall, so I flogged up and down the creeks for two months till the birds had all flown south.
Right now I am gripped by the magic of the local rivers. These are only paddleable out of fishing season unless you want a hostile reception. Even during the winter months when the rivers are closed to fishing you may be confronted by an inexplicably irate person. In fact the last person I have seen in such a red-faced rage they were unable to string a sentence together was one of these. It was extraordinary to witness in such peaceful surroundings.
So it’s definitely better to check before you paddle.
Beautiful Devon River
An enjoyable trip on the open sea is dependent upon surface conditions which are determined mainly by the wind; an enjoyable trip along a river is influenced entirely by water levels. For the last three weeks there has been very little rain so the rivers have been very kayak-friendly, and are even running clear which is unusual for winter in this clay-rich area.
Better still, there’s been a bit of sun to enjoy.
Watery Wildlife Heaven, with the heavily wooded banks.
Sitting in a kayak for four hours is not the best way to maintain the recommended level of physio for my new replacement hip. But leaving a bike chained up to the railings at my destination and cycling ten miles back to my starting point definitely is!
It’s the perfect all-round exercise for someone on the brink of becoming an old geezer. Even the stomach muscles are given a bit of a workout digesting the Tunnock’s Teacakes I currently use for extra fuel.
Snack-time at the weir
To say I become completely engrossed in the river and its surroundings is an understatement. It is a magnet for local wildlife, especially birds. The sound of their calls is constant. Dippers, Grey Wagtails and Kingfishers beside the water and Marsh and Long-tailed tits nearby.
Kingfisher on the Torridge
It’s lovely to hear the dawn chorus beginning to get started, led by the mournful warble of the Mistle Thrush. They are backed up by Song Thrushes, Robins and Wrens and the occasional Chaffinch singing a partial song.
Overhead are lots of Buzzards, a few Sparrowhawks, occasional Peregrine and a scattering of Goshawks. These appear to enjoy hunting down by the river because there are a lot of squirrels, their favourite prey, dashing about.
It’s the speciality mammals really draw me, however. I was very surprised to see three huge-looking Red Deer Stags, each sporting a gigantic rack of antlers, swimming across the river a couple of hundred yards ahead. I had only just set off and hadn’t really got my brain into gear, so fumbled my camera out of its dry bag far too slowly. By the time I pressed the little red button the last stag was just emerging onto the bank.
But boy, it was an absolute beauty. I think it had eleven points in total on its antlers…five on the left and six on the right. That’s just one point short of a Royal!
This was very much an unexpected bonus, because the primary target for my eyeballs is otters.
Five minutes later I caught sight of one slithering through the water close to the right-hand bank so I tucked in beside a tree on the left and sat motionless. Unfortunately the otter porpoised across the river directly towards me and then just disappeared. A fairly typical fleeting ottery glimpse. Once an otter senses you are there, it is gone. Very unlike a seal or a dolphin that will speed over to check you out.
I have learnt through experience that otters have a sharp sense of hearing and smell and are very sensitive to movement and vibration in the water. They will spook at even mild paddling strokes at quite a distance. Fortunately they have poor eyesight so if you paddle absolutely silently and then sit completely still and quiet, ideally downwind from them, you might be lucky and have a memorable view.
My otter-spotting bushcraft all panned out perfectly for my best ever otter encounter in a river a few days ago. Mid-morning and the sun was out! I have always had the impression that otters don’t like bright days and tend to emerge when it’s dull and drizzly…they are mainly nocturnal after all.
But this one was full steam ahead in the full glare of the sun. I saw it porpoise a hundred yards ahead so backpaddled with a combination of force, urgency and silence. I ran aground on a beach and sat as still as a headstone.
The otter approached, fishing as it went. As usual it came up with a crunchy snack after every dive.
I held my breath as it passed by in mid-river just a few feet away, so involved with hunting that it didn’t notice me. Excellent.
It shovelled its way up the next mini rapid.
I then did what I very rarely do when I am wildlife watching. I got out of my kayak. I clambered up the bank in the inept manner of someone who doesn’t do a lot of clambering.
A good grassy path above the heavily wooded under-bank allowed me to follow the otter undetected as it worked its way upstream.
By incredible good fortune it popped up directly below me and spent a long while poking about in a rapid. Lovely to be close enough to see the whites of its as it looks around in a wary manner when it comes up for a breath.
Otterly fabulous!
The climax to this encounter was very thrilling but leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth. I remained totally motionless on top of the bank and the otter submerged and completely vanished. They are very good at doing that. I was on the verge of calling it a day when it suddenly came bounding up the bank and sat on a tree root just a few yards in front of me.
We exchanged mutual stares of astonishment for a remarkably long few seconds before the otter slunk away back to the river.
A bit of a pity, because up until that moment the otter had no inkling of my presence. It would have finished off the encounter nicely if it had stayed that way.
They will remain undisturbed by The Lone Kayaker for the next few days at least because the river levels have spiked overnight following the heavy Devon drizzle of the last 24 hours. They won’t fall to a kayak-friendly level again for a while.
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.
Four Minke Whales in three separate locations around Cornwall and Devon over a four day period.
Plus a tantalising encounter four miles off my nearest beach at Bude. Unfortunately I only heard a single blow and despite straining ears and eyes to the horizon I saw and heard nothing more.
So, mega-excitement involving mega-Minkes matched only by the totally tropical conditions that have enveloped the south of UK over the last week or so.
The first whale was off Plymouth, the day before my really extraordinary close encounter with an inquisitive Minke off Fowey, reported in my last blog.
The omens for a good wildlife day were good as I eyeballed seals and a few Fallow Deer along the coast as I was waiting for the stiff offshore wind to drop.
Fallow Deer
I would have missed the quiet little pod of Common Dolphins had I not heard the deckhand aboard the Crabber PH385 ‘Shiralee’ say ‘Hello’ with the sort of intonation he would if his favourite pet had just appeared. I just knew he addressing a dolphin.
Common Dolphin, Shiralee, Rame Head
Sure enough there was a handful of fins quietly cruising along beside the little fishing boat. In sunshine and calm conditions. Superb.
As you will here the captain say in this video clip…’you can’t get much closer than that’.
I continued directly offshore towards the Eddystone lighthouse, visible as a tiny stick on the horizon ten miles away. This might have been my 22nd (or is it 23rd) trip out to that remote and iconic location, but I knew the wind was going to pick up and I probably wouldn’t get all the way.
I didn’t, but mainly because I was distracted by the wildlife. As I approached the half-way buoy I heard the puff of porpoises, the splash of dolphins…and the blow of a whale! As usual that prolonged and loud blast of air made me surge into action even though the whale was still too far away to see.
Ten minutes later I was in visual range and saw that long back roll at the surface…
Minke Whale off Plymouth. Looe island 12 miles behind.
Was it in Devon? Because a whale in Devon is a very special sight. The majority of Minke sightings are in Cornwall as they venture in from the open Atlantic.
mmm… not entirely sure it crossed the border, which is a line from Plymouth Sound to Eddystone.
I about-turned a couple of miles from the lighthouse and was briefly checked out by a pod of dolphins on the way back: (video)
Eddystone DolphinsEddystone Dolphin
Close to the half-way reef I glimpsed a sparkle near the horizon far to the east. It must have been sun glinting off a fin, and it lasted too long for a dolphin. Fifteen minutes of hard paddling later I saw the whale roll at the surface again and this time it was most definitely in Devon. Excellent.
To wrap up the cetacean bonanza for the day there were a few more porpoises and another pod of Common Dolphins:
Porpoise, Pont AvonDolphins, Plymouth
The next day was the extreme whale encounter at Fowey, followed the day after by a cetacean-free trip with Dave as we paddled the coast near Lands End. However we had arguably an even more extreme sighting. I could hardly believe my optic nerves when I found myself staring eyeball to eyeball with an otter. Along the open coast in bright midday sunshine….whhaaat?
No time for a pic unfortunately, so here’s the Fowey whale again instead:
Minke Whale, Fowey
Plus a nice pic of Dave and the tremendous granite cliffs near Land’s End:
Logan Rock and Dave
Incredibly, chum Cush happened to be flying overhead at 1000ft in a helicopter flight from Land’s End, and somehow spotted us looking like little tiny minnows in the cobalt-blue sea below:
Dave and Myself…top pic, Cush!
The following day there was a window of glass calm sea off the north Cornish coast, so that’s where I went.
A couple of miles offshore near Rumps Point, Polzeath, I heard that amazing blow again. Absolutely astonishing and my first ever Minke Whale off the north coast.
Camel Estuary
It was very mobile and it took me half-an-hour of ‘hunting’ before I even got a glimpse of it. This was all at long-range apart from one fairly close surface about 100 metres away.
I was distracted by a small pod of dolphins but ventured off elsewhere when three large eco-safari RIBS came along to look.
A mile to the north I heard another whale. Or was it the same one? It seemed smaller than the first but I can’t be sure it was a different individual. I’ll record it as one…scientifically cautious, as always.
No pics of this whale but it was great to get an image of another ocean wanderer, a tiny European Storm Petrel. A real offshore speciality.
Storm Petrel
All in all an incredible whale-fest facilitated by some equally incredible weather.
Here’s a couple of interesting Minke facts/observations I have made/mulched over the last few days:
1.Most people at sea do not notice Minke Whales. Despite being up to 30ft long, they are very easy to overlook. They roll at the surface without a splash like a giant porpoise, and spend less than thirty seconds above the water every ten minutes. I watched many a speedboat and yacht pass the whale off Plymouth the other day, and nobody saw it. No change of conversation onboard, no shout of exclamation, no change in direction (as there always is when a pod of dolphins is spotted).
2. It is often thought that Minke Whales do not have a visible blow because they breathe out underwater before they break the surface. This is in fact not the case, as you can observe, and hear, in this video. The whale does not exhale until the blowhole is well above the surface. And that is definitely exhalation, because you can hear it breathing in afterwards.
Although it’s been a bit of a disappointing month as far as paddling offshore in search of marine megafauna is concerned, there’s been plenty of other nuggets of natural history to enjoy. The sea has been very quiet in terms of surface activity and despite churning out a lot of offshore miles I have only seen a couple of pods of Common Dolphins dashing past.
Dolphins approaching…fast. (Brixham)
Just one came over to say hello, very briefly.
A single friendly dolphin
I think they were chasing mackerel but at least one pod were after Launce. The gulls tidied up the leftovers.
Herring Gull with launce (greater sandeel). Dolphin behind. (Penzance)
Porpoises are still thin on the ground as well… just four encounters at three locations along the south coasts of Devon and Cornwall.
Simon and hasty Porpoise (Brixham)
However this quietness is typical for the time of the year. It’s all part of the annual cycle of the sea. The plankton bloom of the spring fuels the baitfish boom which is currently in the process of kicking off.
Maybe it already has. A couple of weeks ago off Fowey my heart missed a beat when I saw a huge dark brown shape just below the surface ahead of me. What I initially thought was a Basking Shark turned out to be a vast baitball of sandeels. They had been herded together by a shoal of Bass that were lurking nearby.
June got off to a cracking start on the very first day of the month with my first ever Otter along the open coast in Cornwall or Devon (having seen hundreds in the rivers/estuaries), and a juvenile Minke Whale during the same trip. Reported in my last but one blog.
Minke Whale, Penzance. June 1st
For the action for the rest of the month I’ll let the images do the talking.
All pics taken from the kayak seat, as usual.
Puffin (Lamorna)Puffin (Lamorna)Shelduck Family (Torridge)Pair of Seals bottling (Dartmouth)Oystercatchers (Taw)Motley Crew. Tim, Jess, Becky, Mark, Emma (Bude)Mousehole
This month has started off well too. My ultra early start for a bit of otter spotting on the Tamar paid off with a view of my first ever July Otter in Cornwall this morning. Just as it was getting light, through the mist of dawn (and bleary eyes).
Otters are very much more difficult to observe during the summer because they are essentially nocturnal and there are more people about (in kayaks!) to make them even more reluctant to venture out during daylight hours. So I was very pleased with this. I would have completely missed it if I hadn’t heard it crunching a fish in the middle of a bush!
Whitenose the Otter…July 1st
Looks like a dog otter and it’s got a white nose. Hopefully I will see it again sometime.
After my Sunfish sensation a couple of days ago I couldn’t resist another trip to the far west of Cornwall yesterday. Especially as the sea conditions looked absolutely perfect for a nice and relaxed day out on the water…no wind and hardly any swell.
I paddled directly offshore for an hour and regularly stopped to listen for a blow or a splash. Absolute silence, in fact I kept trying to unblock my ears by doing that yawny thing, because I could not quite believe the complete absence of audio input. A few seabirds maintained the interest. This little posse of Guillemots…
Guillemots
And a lone loafing Gannet. What a cracker…
Gannet
As usual, it was during my coffee break that it all kicked off. A modest blast of air was followed by a dark back, with fin attached, rolling at the surface fairly close by. Whaaat! I think that was a whale!
It wasn’t that big, and the lack of the usual huge blast of a breathing whale threw my brain cell into turmoil. When it surfaced again the id was still not clinched…
Is that a whale?
Fortunately it opted for a third breath and the more typical profile of a Minke Whale appeared.
Looking good for a whaleYes, defo
I might be tempted to say the back is a bit ‘flat’ for a Minke, and maybe more like a Sei Whale, but the absence of any visible blow makes me fairly certain this was a juvenile Minke. Although it looks quite big in the pic!
I waited around for it to surface again, but it rapidly sloped off and I could hear it blowing in the distance with just a glimpse of it from afar.
Blooming excellent, but better was to come, if you are a fan of otters.
Lunchtime break was provided by an absurdly curious bull seal who was entertaining an entourage of teenage paddleboarders from the nearby beach.
To complete my circuit for the day I followed the coast closely for the return trip.
Cornish Paddling Perfection
I was so deep into that post-lunch soparific state that I didn’t immediately register the significance of the three-humped creature on the surface in front of me…
The classic three-hump profile
Oh good grief…it’s an otter. My first-ever otter along the open coast of Cornwall (and coasts don’t get any more ‘open’ than where I was now). And the last thing I expected to see at 1pm on the first day of summer.
I slammed on the brakes and watched from behind a rock. The otter surfaced after every dive with a crunchy snack as they always do. Fantastic to watch.
Otter
It then surfaced with something very much bigger and headed shorewards. I was expecting it to clamber out onto the nearest rock to consume its prey as I had seen in Scotland many times only a few weeks ago,but instead it just completely disappeared towards a jumble of boulders on the shore. Mmmm, was it feeding a family?
Dunno, because I didn’t see it again and I kept well away.
The Lone Kayaker 