Llanelli Naturalists Newsletter - Summer 1992
N.R. Matthew

Introduction

Living as I have done over the last eight years or so at  "Towy View" a house - which as the name suggests - looks down on the river at no great distance, I have been very favourably placed to observe otters or signs of their presence. My first view of one was on the river near Castle woods in the spring of 1986. It wasn't until 1988, in early spring, that I was made aware of their existence along the river below the house. Watching at night over one well-used area in May of that year I had my second glimpse of one, as it shimmered across a small shingle island in the river and then swam out of view. It was about this time that I found signs of otters in the neighbourhood of Derwydd where they use the little River Marlais, the River Cennen and various associated wetland habitats. I have spent quite a lot of time tracking and trailing these otters, but still haven't seen them. "Tracking and trailing" otters, which I now proceeded to do quite regularly along the Tywi (Towy), is I feel an interesting and rewarding experience in itself: it gives the strange feeling (which I also experienced when doing a survey of badger home ranges marked by their latrines) of somehow knowing the animals without actually having seen them. In 1990 I had two sightings - a brief view of an otter coming out of Castle Woods before dusk one February day and then one (possibly two) swimming beneath the railway bridge and whistling in September. It has only been this year that I have seen anything much of otters. After a few general observations about otters and their behaviour, habitat, etc, I offer the following account of this year's (1991) sightings.

The basic facts of an otter's life may be briefly stated here. Like our other carnivores, the otter occupies a home range which varies considerably in extent according to the habitat; female ranges are smaller than those of the male. A male's range may encompass either whole or in part the ranges of two or more bitches with whom he will mate. Females (and dependent cubs) spend most of their time in certain favoured areas within their range: whereas the male will travel more, patrolling his territory, and spending some of his time at the boundaries. Because of the linear nature of their ranges (i.e. along rivers and streams) it is advantageous to have a number of dens or holts along the river, thereby providing easier access to all parts of the range which can be of consideable length (up to 20 miles for a dog otter!). Having a number of holts has the added advantage of making it safer from the attentions of Homo sapiens, the otter's only enemy: you can't be sure where an otter is going to be on any particular day - which makes otter watching difficult! Holts tend to be beneath riverside trees, especially oak, ash and sycamore - trees which have suitable root systems. They could also be in stick piles or in stands of dense vegetation. The birth of cubs, after seven weeks gestation, can take place at any time of the year; another factor which makes it difficult to get to grips with the beast! The bitch will select a secure holt to have her young. Often this is away from the main river but not always. Wherever it is located, it has clearly to be above flood level, particularly important if cubs are born in winter. Weaning starts at seven weeks and ends at three months of age, at which time the cubs (usually two, sometimes three or even more) begin to travel with their mother who catches their food for the next month and teaches them to swim. They stay together for several months but within a year the group usually dissolves and the young otters disperse (to establish their own home ranges if possible). The exact role of the dog otter in all this is not certain. It is generally assumed that he takes no part - but this could be a variable factor. Bitches don't necessarily breed every year.

When looking for otters, one soon (hopefully) finds otter spraints. These are droppings which are deposited for the most part in conspicuous places. These form a communication system amongst otters - each otter's smell is unique. I have certainly found the smell varies considerably from (to my nose) a delicious perfume to something quite fishy or worse! I am not convinced that all the smelly ones I've found are mink scats. Sometimes instead of the tarry, bony, scaly dropping (often quite small) you just find a blob of mucus. Under bridges is a good place to look for them, where they are usually deposited close to the wall. You'll also find them on various prominent places along overhanging tree trunks, rocks in the river, riverside boulders like those used in river defence work. The list of places where you might find spraints is endless and you could easily write a book on "Otter Spraints I Have Found". Some sprainting stations are more permanent and important than others which may be only used once or twice in a year, if that. Sometimes otters seem to go out of their way to make them conspicuous. White quartz boulders are a favourite but I've also found quite a pile on a white plastic carrier bag on the bank! Perhaps the most interesting I've seen was where a cow had left a deep hoof print in the shingle of a small island. In the depression so formed had been carefully placed a bleached bone of some animal and next to it was a spraint. Associated with spraints is another conspicuous feature, the "sign heap" - a pile of scratched up mud or sand, often with a spraint on top, or next to it. The precise significance of these is not known but it is thought that they indicate the presence of immature otters in the area. In riverside mud or sand you'll find footprints which, fortunately, are usually easy to identify. They tend to be quite circular in outline with the four (five if you're lucky) toe-prints well-spread in a wide arc around the hind pad. The toe-prints themselves are distinctly round in shape. Places where otters enter or leave the river are quite easy to spot, especially if the bank is clay or mud. Areas of dense vegetation, like willow carr, are very important places for otters. There are several of these sites along the Tywi valley, and I've followed paths through them sometimes leading to an area of flattened grass where an otter has been lying up. In one such spot I once found apart from a scatter of spraints, a small plastic ball, rather dented. On a subsequent visit the ball was no longer there. I can only assume that an otter, probably a cub, had been using it as a plaything.

{rokbox align=|right| caption=|Click to enlarge| title=|Partly eaten Salmon|}images/stories/newsletters/1992_07/04.jpg{/rokbox}Other signs that you may find are partly eaten fish, though you don't come across them very often. In the Twyi, the staple food is probably the eel but you do find the remains of other fish, like salmon. I've twice found partly-eaten salmon. Early one January morning this year as I was crossing the swing bridge I noticed a large rectangular orange block on the bank. This proved to be a mass of salmon eggs and there was a scattering of fish scales and spraints in the immediate vicinity. I couldn't see the fish until, looking in the water under the bank, there it was. It was a big one about 30 inches long and must have weighed originally 10-151b. I can only assume that after eating a portion of it on the bank the otter had carefully placed it back in the water for safekeeping; indeed I noticed that the fish was still there the following day when a further portion of it had been eaten. The following day the fish had drifted a few yards further down, and still more had been eaten. I didn't see it after this. Another curiosity I also found one winter's day at the swingbridge. A flounder had been left on a rock jutting out of the river, with two or three sizeable bits taken out of its side. One more oddity: a sea lamprey Petromyzon marinus floating dead in the river, 60cm long, only its tail had been chewed (cf. Vincent Weir). It would be interesting to do some otter spraint analysis, for instance to compare the diet of otters on the Tywi with that of those in different habitats like the R. Marlais. The Tywi is well stocked with fish. Apart from eel, salmon and trout and the odd pike, the smaller fish include sticklebacks, bullheads, and stone loaches. The last is good news as it is said to be intolerant of pollution and so a good indicator of water quality.

{rokbox align=|right| caption=|Click to enlarge| title=|River Otter eating an Eel|}images/stories/newsletters/1992_07/06.jpg{/rokbox}When otter watching at night I tend to walk along the river bank, though I do sometimes spend an hour or so at one particular spot. The direction of the walk is determined by the wind direction - of course, I walk into it whenever possible. I usually use my ears, for either vocal sound or interesting splashes. 0ne soon gets to know the sounds of fish jumping and the sounds the river makes in different parts along its course. I'm often fascinated by the way that the river doesn't move with a constant momentum but in a series of surges. When I hear something interesting I put the light on. This is a halogen spotlight, powered from a 12 volt motorcycle battery which I carry in a rucksack on my back. It's rather heavy but the light is very good and one has the option of using the red filter, though I've rarely had the chance to use this with otters (good for badgers and barn owls though). Sometimes I use a miner's lamp which is not so good but a lot lighter to carry. Even when I don't hear anything I put it on occasionally for a brief scan in case I've missed anything. All the observations below were made within a two-mile stretch of river, starting up by the house and extending below Llandeilo Bridge

towards me. It spotted my rucksack leaning against the wall and, being an unfamiliar object, it went across to give it an investigative sniff and evidently satisfied, continued on towards me. It was then that I wished I had crouched a yard to one side of where I was, as then I wouldn't have been silhouetted against the river, but inevitably the otter saw me when a few yards away and pulling up short only took a few seconds to decide to turn tail and dive back into the pool. This was interesting: if this was the mother returning, this gave an indication of the approximate distance of the holt - to take her cubs back and return in 10 minutes suggested it could be quite close. On the other hand it could have just been the dog otter passing through! (which I now think is quite likely). I persevered with my bat-watching but my concentration was somewhat impaired, I ended by admiring the auspicious signs in the sky: in the west were two planets, one with a kind of halo round it, and one multi-coloured flashing star.

May 16th At the railway bridge in the evening, I stood on the ledge at the foot of the north pier and had a brief glimpse of an otter diving (because it had seen me) with its rear end coming out of the water, as usual.

May 20th The railway bridge again in the evening. Possible whistling heard then nothing until 11.20pm when an otter swimming down river and under the bridge. I ran with my lamp to the other end of the stone arch to see it emerge. We both got there at the same time - it had evidently wanted to get out on to a boulder at this end, saw me and dived noisily, surfacing further down to look back at me.

May 21st Another evening at the railway bridge. This time I took up a different position. I had never been able to discover where the bats that congregate at the bridge actually come from, so I thought that by sitting away from the bridge and looking at it against the western sky I might be able to see the bats flying towards it, or indeed actually emerging from the bridge itself. So, I sat on the northside of the river, more or less opposite the mouth of the Cennen. Being mindful of otters, of course I sat beneath the bank to (a) disguise myself better and (b) to make better use of the reflected light on the river. At 9.45pm an otter swam up river, porpoising. At l0.10pm whistling sounds announced the arrival of the mother and cubs swimming down river, in the fast lane, i.e. the middle. The cub was obviously taking a more advanced swimming lesson than the week before, but still keeping very close to its mother. As before, No2 was further behind and, not daring the rapids, was making its own progress (piping lustily) through shallow water on my side and passing within a metre of my feet which stuck out towards the water. The mother waited for it to catch up and continued down. At this point a confusing amount of activity started. As the mother and No1 were proceeding towards the bridge, in addition to the calls of No2 behind them, I could hear piping coming from the bridge in front of them and a shadowy form swam out from under it, facing upstream towards the bitch. "Good God", I thought, "a third cub", but then my attention was drawn elsewhere: No2 had decided it had had enough and turned back, not even pretending to swim this time it trotted through the very margin of the water and virtually brushed my wellies, still piping as it went. I'm sure it had no consciousness of my being there; I think it just felt that it had had enough of all this swimming business and being left behind, and was on its way back to find security and warmth in the holt. Upon the retreat of No2, the bitch turned round and swam a few metres back upstream, leaving No1 to fend for itself, treading water in the middle of the river. It was then that she saw me and I heard her utter the note that I assume is the one described in the books as "Hah", an unvoiced exhalation of breath very like a human sigh, and expressive of a feeling of frustration and exasperation. She uttered this several times as she watched No2 disappearing,  while giving nervous sidelong glances at me sitting a few yards away. she had stopped opposite me, obviously not knowing what to do: but not for long, she turned round, gathered up Nol and continued swimming towards the bridge. It was touching to see them swim together, maintaining physical contact: at one moment the cub was riding on its mother's back, at another to one side and encircled by her tail. Beyond them and downstream from the bridge a large otter launched into the river from the north bank and swam towards the other side - the dog otter was also in attendance! Mother and No1 passed under the bridge, skirting the north pier and its stone ledge. They disappeared, things became quiet; shortly afterwards an otter, presumably the dog swam across from the south pier under the span of the bridge and also melted away; it was nearly dark now. Piping sounds were then heard to my left - ten minutes after its retreat No2 was returning. The difficulty of seeing it at first proved to be no surprise, the young otter had abandoned the water completely and was bounding along the top of the south bank, calling loudly. Reaching the shingle bank it consented to enter the water and swim under the bridge. As it melted out of sight, its calling also stopped: had one of the adults collected it? Had it gone all the way back to the holt or had it turned back before? Either way, it had managed to swim across the river on its own at some point. I decided to follow and went as far as the town bridge, but saw nor heard anything more of the family. Sifting through all the observations I'd just experienced, it seemed that I had neglected the most important bit. Was it a third cub I'd seen and if so, had it been looked after by the dog otter? Contemporary wisdom inclines to the view that the dog plays no part in bringing up the family; not everyone agrees and there have been reliable witnesses of dogs (at least) playing with their cubs. Some of the older literature says that for instance once the youngsters have left the holt and are being taught to swim "the father begins to lend a hand, the dam at last yielding to his burning desire to sniff one of the tiny mites over, and thereafter one or another drifts into his charge." (see Mortimer-Batten). It would have been interesting to have got some evidence to support this. The shape I saw, certainly looked like a cub, by the way it was lying on top of the water, unlike the mostly submerged posture of an adult.

May 23rd This evening I decided to watch from the same point as last time.

Even before having time to sit down (9.30pm), I saw a large otter swimming powerfully in midstream towards the railway bridge. He did this in a series of dives and must have been intent on what he was doing as he took no notice of a fish that swam to one side to avoid him. Looking down to the bridge, I could see him out of the water under the stone arch at the western end. I guessed he had just set spraint there (a regular spot). At 9.55pm an otter's head again appeared in mid-stream, in front of me. It too dived and resurfaced several times. 0n reaching the mouth of the Cennen it seemed to turn and go back up river. This animal seemed noticeably smaller than the first and was presumably a female. I later went down to the stone arch to see if the first otter had left a spraint: it had. I noticed with interest that it was virtually liquid jelly with a few bones floating around in it, it was also a bit smelly. Checking it the next day I saw it had taken on its normal tarry consistency but still smelly. I hadn't appreciated this before and the literature hadn't said much about it - but I suppose it makes sense: passing solid, bony droppings would be rather uncomfortable!

May 24th This evening was very similar to the last. At 9.35pm an otter again suddenly appeared in mid-river opposite the mouth of the Cennen. It dived and resurfaced several times, sometimes as it did the rear end and tail came out of the water, it went up river and by the time it had got to opposite the mouth of the Cib it had a fish in its mouth. At this point it disappeared. Otters seem to have a wonderful facility for suddenly appearing, then vanishing. This animal too seemed quite small and was doubtless the same female of last night; I don't think it saw me.

May 26th For a change, I resolved to have an early morning otter exploration and rose at 4.10am, after only two and a half hours sleep. I took a leisurely walk down river. There was a lot of mist over the river which made observation rather difficult. I'd seen nothing by the time I reached the town bridge but as the sun was now rising, and the mist had cleared, I decided to continue down below the bridge, along the south bank which I don't examine very regularly, just to look for signs, not expecting now to see an otter. I reached the willow bush where I had seen my first Tywi otter in 1986 and where since then I had seen evidence of otters. I crawled down into the bush and immediately saw signs: there was a partly-eaten fish, a small one minus the head and tail and a fair scatter of spraints. I craned forward to see if there was anything further in the bush. I could glimpse a busy-looking area with more spraints, etc. I hesitated investigating further: I had the feeling of trespassing. Crouching here I had heard a couple of splashes out in the river which I couldn't see because it was as if I was in a low tent with the canopy drooping down into the water. Suddenly, there was a ripple in the water inside the "tent" and a little head popped up above the surface, about 2 feet from my own.

{rokbox align=|right| caption=|Click to enlarge| title=|Face to face with an Otter!|}images/stories/newsletters/1992_07/05.jpg{/rokbox}We looked at each other in the eyes in mutual astonishment. The otter dived and retreated a bit, soon coming up again for another look but this time in amongst the branches of the willow; I was addressed with a couple of "Hahs!" before it dived again out into the river. I felt guilty - perhaps it had come here to finish off its little fish. I waited about ten minutes for the coast to clear before crawling out of the bush. There was no sign of an otter. It was now 7.00 am and nice and sunny. I continued down river as far as the next shingle bank, puzzling about what I had just seen. I'd had an excellent view of an otter, at least of its head with its whiskers and creamy throat, but it had looked so small! I spent the better part of an hour watching the courtship antics going on amongst 3 common sandpipers and further down a pair of little ringed plovers. I retraced my steps along the bank. I was about 100 metres of the willow bush when I noticed a movement under the alder lined bank opposite. Sure enough, through my binoculars I could see an otter swimming around close under the bank. I had set off optimistically prepared this morning with telescope and tripod which I now set up. I was hardly very well concealed sitting prominently on top of this completely open bank in full sunshine, but this didn't seem to matter. The otter, quite a large-looking animal, was making little fishing forays into the river: it would begin at the same spot near an overhanging bough, launching out and diving a few yards away, then returning to the same spot, repeating the performance several times - like an aquatic flycatcher! I could watch its progress by the line of bubbles in its wake. I soon got the hang of it: the trick was to focus a metre or so in front of the line of bubbles as this would be where the otter would pop up again under the tree. More excitement when a second otter came into view to investigate the antics of its neighbour: they obviously knew each other but -after a brief mutual sniffing of noses, they each got on with their own business. This second animal was much smaller and the mystery of an hour earlier was solved: it had been a cub which I had seen underneath the osier. What had fooled me I suppose was that its pelage and general appearance was the same as an adult, the same colour brown and the same creamy throat but only half the size. The larger otter had succeeded in catching a fish which it took on to the bank. The cub seeing there was no chance of a share, swam out into the river. It was very proficient in the water and swam and dived with as much aplomb (as it seemed to me) as the adult. I should at this point have been scanning around to see if there were any other cubs about. But the temptation of watching through the telescope the adult eating its fish in the sunshine was too great. It was facing up the bank and holding the fish, a silvery thing about 8" long and presumably an eel, in its front paws. It scrunched the fish quite noisily starting with the tail end and working upwards. While this was going on I had a quick look around for the cub. While the adult was some way upstream, the cub was now directly opposite me and engaged in exploring the holes and crevices in the old stonework (erected perhaps - who knows when - by the Dynevor family) that lines the north bank. It came out of one hole, crawled along and went into another one nearby. The adult finished its fish after five minutes or so solid crunching. It then moved a little upstream and did a few more dives close into the bank, before hauling out onto a piece of stonework. A quick scratch with its left hindfoot and then it bounded up the bank and through the trees. I didn't see any more of it but a minute later there was a tremendous cacophony in Castle Woods, less than a 100m distant. This would have, in my imagination, coincided exactly with its arrival in the wood if it had indeed gone in that direction - which appeared probable. The noise was a series of various shrieks interspersed with squirrel-like sounds - perhaps a squirrel had been taken unawares? There had been previous indications of otters denning in the woods. Before dusk one February day last year I saw one which had apparently bounded out from the wood towards the Gwaith pond and then I guessed gone down the drainage ditch to the river. The brief moment I saw it it had been carrying its tail at an angle of 45, perhaps just having or just going to set spraint somewhere. One evening later in the year, the Honorary Warden of Dinefwr Castle Woods, Mr Ian Watt, had also seen one running from the wood towards the river.

{rokbox align=|right| caption=|Click to enlarge| title=|Otter cub|}images/stories/newsletters/1992_07/11.jpg{/rokbox}I looked about for the cub but there was no sign of it. I hadn't seen the two meet up and inclined to the view that they were denning separately, quite probable if the adult had been a dog which I think it was on account of firstly its size, and secondly its lack of obvious interest in the cub. These observations had lasted from 0750 to 0815 and had supplied a lot of information, the best of which was the indication of two family groups being present. This cub in its swimming (and appearance), was well in advance of the railway bridge mob that I had seen only five days earlier. I'm no judge of the ages of otters but surely this one must have been at least a month older than the others. I surmised that the town bridge could be the boundary between the two groups - could there be a link-up here with the aggressive-sounding whickering heard at the bridge on April 17th? The dog otter might belong to both groups. The observations also showed that there are occasions when the otter is not just a nocturnal animal.

Not content with the experiences of the morning, in the evening I went to the railway bridge hoping to show the otters to some friends. Typically, we didn't see anything - but it was the first failure since May 14th! I failed the following evening as well - perhaps the focus of activity had changed.

May 28th About llpm walking home from town over the swing bridge I stopped to admire the full moon shining on the river. Quite a way down something jumped into the river from the north bank and swam across, its eyeballs reflecting the moonlight. Probably an otter. At the same time was a loud splash upstream but that could have been a fish.

June 15th This evening I led a Dyfed Wildlife Trust batwatching outing to the railway bridge. After a bit of a nervous wait, bats did finally arrive - quite a lot of them fortunately, and also my secret hopes were fulfilled when an otter consented to swim up river. The swimming action was one I hadn't seen before: a series of dives as usual but without the rear end coming out of the water and the head end being pushed stiffly up above the surface. It didn't seem to take any notice of the crowd assembled: for some of them it was a first view of an otter. Later on, well after dark, walking up from the bridge on my own, I heard loud splashings in the tree-lined section of the river and also snorting and blowing sounds: evidently an otter was here but I didn't see it. 

{rokbox align=|right| caption=|Click to enlarge| title=|Otter hunting|}images/stories/newsletters/1992_07/09.jpg{/rokbox}There is a bit of a gap now in my records, a lot of my evenings in the summer months were taken up by the National Bats and Habitats Survey - and anyway, I didn't like sharing the river with all the anglers. I did talk to quite a few anglers however, and several had seen otters quite often, giving it as their opinion that they had now really "come back": they all seemed quite glad of the fact. A friend of mine - a keen angler - was quite often aware of them on his stretch of the river by the pumping station beyond Manoravon farm; apart from hearing them he would also sometimes see them. Once he saw an adult moving along the bank while at the same time two young ones could be heard piping from one spot amongst waterside vegetation for a long time. On another occasion an otter, probably a young one, swam past him while he was standing in the river and brushed against his waders. I think it highly likely that this was the same family as had been frequenting the vicinity of the railway bridge.

August 11th A friend had heard otters calling on his way home over the swing bridge. I grabbed my lamp and we set off down to the river. We could hear piping sounds coming from "Station bend" and more adult whistling sounds further down near the swing bridge. We headed rapidly straight towards the bridge and got there at the same time as the otters. They stopped just short of the bridge, came out and followed their usual track through the stands of reed canary grass, splashing through the water between the clumps. Just below the bridge two pairs of eyeballs reflected my lamp. I took the red filter off the lamp but we didn't see much more as they slipped through the tall grass and into the river. We hadn't seen the mother, she had presumably already continued on down river. This was about midnight.

August 15th No sightings of otters today but an event took place relevant to their well-being. At midday my friend and his brother returned home and reported the arrival of a mink hunt: they had parked by Tregyb Schoo1 and were now making progress up the river. I dropped everything and went to investigate. I soon came across two support vehicles following the hunt along the road. I told them of my concern about the otters: they seemed to think I was being confrontational (which I wasn't) and gave rather excited responses, stressing that they wanted to "help the otter". In evidence they told some anecdotes about mink having killed otter cubs and one extraordinary story of a gang of seven mink hanging on to an adult otter! They said that their dogs were trained only to follow the scent of mink. They did however invite me to follow the hunt. I accepted the offer and walked down to where the hunt was in progress. The human party consisted of only a handful of people. Their accoutrements consisted of a hunting horn and whip for the dogs, and more disturbingly a spade. The canine contingent was more numerous and consisted of a motley crew of otter hounds and/or their derivatives and terriers - probably over twenty in all. I fell in with one of the men and tried some conversation; he didn't seem very desirous of my company but allowed himself a few observations, mostly to the effect that conservation should be in the hands of farmers and landowners and not those of "do-gooders" (presumably conservationists) who didn't know what they were doing. He made a few remarks about where otters occur nearby: particularly in 'some old oxbows further up the valley. I told him of the otters I had seen on Sunday. He hinted darkly that the otters might not be around much longer: the anglers were getting fed up with them he said and a dog and a bitch had been shot along this stretch. I asked him when this had taken place and he said about four or five years ago and became silent. I decided not to pursue the conversation and just watched the progress of the hunt. They were certainly passing through at a great rate and it was difficult to keep up with them. The dogs rushed through the marshy areas in a random fashion. I wasn't impressed with their being trained only to follow mink scent when I found several of them absorbed in sniffing a pile of badger dung on the river bank. I left off following them at Llyshendy; they had avoided a marshy area before then which I was glad of. Late on, when it was nearly dark, I passed the schoo1 and noticed the hunt was just on the point of driving off. They had had quite a day of it and if they had maintained the same pace all the time, they must have covered a considerable stretch of river and with what "success" I don't know. I reported the incident to Geoff Liles. I had been particularly intrigued by the mink hunter's saying that otters had been shot along this stretch four or five years ago. Certainly, from 1985 to 1988 I had not been aware of otters here (unlike the river below Llandeilo Bridge). Perhaps, it was true and a home range had been left temporarily unoccupied until more otters repossessed it in 1988?

August 17th This evening I set off in a buoyant spirit, ready for bats and otters, feeling I would see something. My intention was to follow the river from Llandeilo Bridge and then perhaps to cut across to the Dinefwr Oxbows. I followed the north bank. Today had been the day of Llandeilo Show and on the south side of the river there was much noise of people packing away their stalls and animals etc. Nearing the first bend at c.9.40pm I heard noises of a different sort coming from further down on the opposite side. There was much sploshing and splashing going on in the vicinity of the willow bush which had figured so prominently on May 26th. I took up position at the foot of an alder, the last in the line and commanding a fine view of the bend, and waited confidently for something to happen. The splashes were coming from the other side of the bush but fortunately the authors decided to come my way and I was presented with the extraordinary sight of four otter tails held high above the water and waved from side to side. They came to my side of the bush close in to the bank, about 70m away from me. They were evidently in a playful mood. Chasing games were going on in pairs. Two were chasing around on the bank and the willow, the other two were involved in the water. There was much to-ing and fro-ing and it was difficult to follow through binoculars as the light was failing. It was difficult to make out any differences in sizes amongst the animals. One animal crossed to the other side of the river and then back again and there was a general milling around. Not much vocalisation was heard except for a few whistles when this animal recrossed the river. There was a lot of other activity: both bats and kingfishers were zooming around and something, perhaps a blackbird, nearly took my head off. High-pitched screaming sounds were coming from the wood - not badgers - no: two peregrines flew out of the wood over the river and back again; they were also playing. 0n the otter front things went quiet after 15 minutes or so but there was an otter on my side of the river and it was coming my way. After a dive, it surfaced just off a tussock of grass in front of me and I could hear it sniffing loudly. It was then underneath the tree against which I was sitting - not moving a muscle. It stretched the front part of its body out of the water towards the tussock and again sniffed. It was only a metre away and looked quite a large animal. I was careful not to move. I could sense its puzzlement. Sensing something wrong it quietly retreated but without any sign of panic. There was silence now (c.10.30pm) and I decided to make a move. I hadn't had time to connect my lamp to the battery, which I now did, trying to contro1 the jingling crocodile clips. I continued to make slow progress further along the bank. A badger ambled off in front of me back to the safety of the wood. A little further down I could hear something rustling around in the bank opposite and also little chattery sounds. I risked taking off the red filter and put the lamp on. It was an open bank with just medium height grass - but no sign of anything. The sounds had stopped. Turned the light off, waited, the sounds started again, light on - nothing. This was repeated several times for about half an hour when I gave up. "Might have been a polecat-, I thought. A little further on the line of alders ended and there was a small island out in the river, formed of a pieced of collapsed stonework and covered with tall dense vegetation. Here something landed on the island on the far side. There were rustling and whickering sounds suggesting at least two animals. For a quarter of an hour or so they continued to whicker and rustle around the island: I could see the vegetation moving about with the red light but unfortunately they didn't come to the near side of the island. Quietness descended and I waited another 1/4 hour. I think they must have settled down for a rest here, rather than, though this is possible, having quietly re-entered the river. I walked a bit further on, cutting off the next meander; it was midnight now and I turned back. Nearing the island but still someway off, I heard an otter whistling to my right and almost immediately a splash in the direction of the island: an otter responding?

I walked back now directly to town and waited for the last stragglers to walk back over the bridge after the revels at the disco which had been taking place in the main marquee on the showground. I furtively crossed the bridge and continued up-river. About lam I crossed the railway bridge and passed the tree-lined section without having seen or heard anything much apart from the odd splash. Rounding the bend and starting down the straight I couldn't help noticing loud splashing sounds coming from the opposite (south) side. I was inhibited from putting on the light because it sounded just like a human being wading up the river and indeed something like a voice was momentarily heard. I continued walking along the bank with the stamping, splashing sounds continuing just ahead of me. I reassured myself, "It can't possibly be a person at 1.40 in the morning, for goodness sake put the light on!". I did and immediately caught sight of three small pairs of eyeballs looking towards me. I caught up with them and shone the light directly across the river. An "eyeball ballet" commenced with three pairs of orange lights moving around in circles on and off the bank. My first though was of a mink family as they seemed quite small. But their actions in the water dispelled this idea, they slipped into the water and swam like otters. Cubs? "Does that mean there are three cubs?" I asked myself, "and what's this arriving?". The three animals were moving around on a lower bank, the result of a landslip: coming along on top of the high bank behind was now a pair of blazing orange eyes of some bigger animal. "Ah" I thought, "this must be the mother coming to protect her cubs from danger." The eyes came to a halt above the other three, waited, looking at me, and then descended the bank. It made little darts at each of them sending them into the water, one after the other, plop!, plop!, plop! One of the otters then tore out of the water towards the newcomer, snorting furiously. "Silly little thing, not understanding the situation it is trying to play with its mother", I told myself. I should explain that observation was becoming difficult due to mist now rising off the river. I was kneeling on the ground holding the light in one hand and binoculars in the other, cursing the wreaths of mist as they passed across my field of view. however, I gradually began to make things out. "There's something not right about that animal, it doesn't move right, its tail is wrong, it's not an otter, it's a fox!" The skirmishing between the fox and what was now plainly the bitch otter continued for a while in the form of advances and retreats on both sides, until the fox soon tired of it and retreated up the bank and back in the direction it had come from. It had either been attracted to my light or by the sounds of the otters and was evidently just looking for someone to play with! The otters recommenced their circular movements into and out of the water. I turned off the light to give both them and myself a rest. After a few minutes I put it back on. They had moved down river a little way, two of them were lying side by side on the ground, facing into and up the bank, engrossed with something; presumably a fish. They seemed more relaxed now and didn't mind the light. These two were probably the cubs - they seemed well grown. I hadn't noticed any obvious difference in size amongst the three but as I've said viewing conditions had been difficult. The group then casually made its way down river and I contemplated following them. To my surprise my timepiece now showed it to be 2.30am and perhaps I was feeling tired, so I turned and actually walked away from them. I was very pleased with the night's otter watching, feeling sure that I had seen both family groups in my patch. "Seven otters!, seven otters!" was about the only thought in my head as I stumbled home.

{rokbox align=|right| caption=|Click to enlarge| title=|Female Otter suckling cubs|}images/stories/newsletters/1992_07/10.jpg{/rokbox}There is now another hiatus in my list of otter sightings. My attention was drawn to them again in the first week of November. On the last day of October a great deal of rain fell which led to the first flooding of the Tywi this winter. This almost immediately resulted in an influx of wildfowl into the area. But I wondered how the high river levels would affect the otters and their hunting strategies. Would they forsake the main river and concentrate their activities in more placid environments like ponds, oxbows, or further up tributaries? I was made aware that otters were still present on the main river while it was running high. During this period, in early November, I heard an otter calling on four nights in six - in the same place ("station bend") and at the same time (10.00-10.30pm). This indicated another "cluster" of activity, like that around the neighbourhood of the railway bridge that I had observed back in May. However, I didn't see any otters until:-

November 14th Soon after Ilpm I started a walk up river on the north bank from the tree-lined section in Ffairfach. Conditions weren't very good - it was around freezing-point and more seriously, it was quite misty above the river. I had got as far as the point which last featured on August 17th (where the fox had approached the otter family) when I could hear piping sounds, admittedly quite faint, coming from the tree-lined section I had just walked past. Also, just above me, I heard the sounds of something splashing, and then of something jumping into the water. The mist made it impossible for me to see anything - it just reflected back the torch light. I decided not to go back to investigate the piping sounds and continued on, crossing the swing bridge and following the south bank. I had gone past "station bend" when I could hear whistling sounds in front of me. It wasn't very misty along this stretch of the river but my light revealed nothing. I judged that the whistling was coming from further away, across the next bend of the river. I was just steeling myself to trudge round in pursuit when I heard splashing sounds, not many yards up the river to my right. I put on the light and soon located an otter diving under some willows and coming towards me making snorting and blowing sounds. It reached an indentation in the bank where it clambered out of the water and, hardly pausing, bounded along the bank towards me. This bank was on two levels, the otter following the lower bank until it met the water again. I was on the higher level just at this spot looking at the otter some 10 feet away with the full beam of my lamp on. It paused to sniff a few spraints (a sprainting station previously unknown to me), before entering the water where it dived immediately, its rear end coming out of the river as it did so. This otter, quite a large animal, wasn't hanging about. I had hardly passed when I was alerted to the piping sounds again, evidently coming down the river. As it reached the willows, as well as the loud whistling, I could hear whickering sounds, so I was expecting two cubs to appear. There was a waving of vegetation by the willows and another animal climbed onto the bank and after shaking itself, followed the same path along the lower bank as the animal before. It was a noticeably smaller creature than the first. Instead of inspecting the spraints and re-entering the river at that point, it climbed onto the higher bank and bounded along to the bend before going into the river, still whistling loudly. "I bet that's No.2 cub", I thought before running back across the field towards the swing bridge. I was in time to see it come out onto the north bank just before the bridge and follow the track going through the reed canary grass. I decided not to follow, (the otters were moving fast tonight): it seemed to be in hot pursuit of the first. A brief observation (c.12.15-12.20am) but more than making up for its brevity, by the quality of such close views. Once again, endeavouring to extract the most information from a momentary encounter, I was confronted by a host of speculations and the difficulty of making an objective interpretation. I had an instinctive feeling that the smaller otter was the "No.2 cub" that I had seen in May, perhaps from its preference for following the bank rather than swimming down river - which would have been just as quick. But what of the adult otter? Had the two been travelling together? If not, how had the cub become aware of its parent before setting off in pursuit? The cub, from its loud whistling and, above all, its whickering, was obviously expressing a strong desire to come into contact with the elder. If the latter was the bitch, then it looked like she was trying to get away from the cub. Or it could have been the dog otter, purposefully patrolling its territory, stopping briefly to inspect the spraints, and ignoring the entreaties of the cub. Whatever the truth, one thing is certain, both animals were so intent on what they were doing as to be oblivious to anything else. How else to explain their approaching to 10 feet of me under the full blaze of a halogen light (nearly as bright as a car headlight), yet showing no sign of having seen or scented me? There was an interesting parallel with what I had heard a few minutes before, below the swing bridge: the splashes of an adult nearby and the distant pipings of a youngster. The cubs were not travelling together any more, and perhaps only maintaining a loose contact with their parents.

{rokbox align=|right| caption=|Click to enlarge| title=|River Otter sprainting|}images/stories/newsletters/1992_07/08.jpg{/rokbox}November 19th Tonight, which was slightly frosty, I began a walk at around 11pm, starting below the outlet of the Breinant and following the north bank upwards. There was nothing to report until, nearing the swing bridge I heard an otter whistling, coming down the river. It became quite loud just below the bridge. I couldn't see it with the light so I retreated down river for a few yards. Then instead of coming past me I noticed that the whistles were getting fainter and I could hear the animal as it retreated quite quickly up to "station bend" and round. I followed, crossing the bridge and up the south bank. Past the bend, I could hear the otter coming back down on the north bank. This time I found it with my lamp. It descended the bank opposite me, its footfalls audible amongst the frozen leaves on the ground, went into the water and swam rapidly with dives down to station bend. I thought I'd try and intercept it again and ran back to the swing bridge where I could still hear it calling at the bend. It soon went quiet and I judged it had either gone to ground here, or perhaps gone up the Nant Gurrey-fach which comes out into the main river at this point. It had been the same size as the youngster seen on November 14th and I felt sure it was the same cub - still frantically searching I suppose for its mother.

November 27th I was on the river at night again on the 20th, 25th and 26th in good weather conditions but failed to see or hear anything, apart from fish jumping. Tonight I tried a different section of the river, especially as in the afternoon I had seen abundant signs (mostly tracks) of otter activity here. I started at Llyshendy and walked down river on the south bank, careful to keep the wind in my face. I hadn't gone far when I heard a sniffing sound coming from the opposite bank. My light picked up a pair of orange eyeballs and a suggestion of whiskers looking at me from the top of the bank. The head commenced making vertical movements down to the ground and then up in the air. It continued its way along the bank going up-river but soon took a few paces back to have another look - obviously intrigued by the light. It then continued on its way and out of sight. The bright eyeballs and the curiosity suggested a fox, but the initial sniff and the movements, both of the head and the actual animal (it seemed to proceed in bounds) indicated an otter. So not a certain sighting and a pity I wasn't able to get my binoculars on it. However there were otters in the vicinity, as a little further on I could hear whistling which was getting louder. I had hopes of seeing an otter coming towards me. There was a loud splash in the water, which could have been an animal jumping into the river rather than a fish. After that, disappointingly, the piping became fainter as the otter obviously decided to go down river. Although I could hear nothing more I cut across the next meander and looked further down river but neither saw nor heard anything more. This was about 11.50pm.

{rokbox align=|right| caption=|Click to enlarge| title=|The railway bridge over the River Tywi just upstream of Llandeilo|}images/stories/newsletters/1992_07/07.jpg{/rokbox}Sunday 8th December I walked home from town around 11pm. At the swing bridge I shone my light up the river: an eyeball was visible someway up on the south bank. The accompanying unmistakeable munching sounds indicated an otter busily enjoying a fish. However I soon heard it enter the river and then some splashing sounds, before it melted away somewhere, perhaps to a more sheltered spot to finish its meal. 

That completes the list of my otter sightings for this year. I consider myself very fortunate both in respect of their quantity and the quality and duration of some of them. More than four hours worth of observations in a year is not bad going! They were particularly profitable for two reasons. Firstly, I am satisfied that there are two family groups in the vicinity of Llandeilo. Secondly, I had been able to follow, albeit at widely-spaced intervals, the progress of the cubs through the year. It was a pity I wasn't able to define exlctly the number of cubs in each group and it's probably too late now to solve the mystery of the "third cub" amongst the railway bridge lot. However, in a recent encounter with a bailiff (he had been attracted by my light flashing on and off along the river during an unsuccessful otter watch!), I was told that he had seen three cubs together this year - but I forgot to pin him down as to exactly when and where. The latest sightings have provided more questions to answer. Is the bitch abandoning her offspring and if BO does this mean she is ready for mating again? Perhaps I'll be able to find out more in the New Year. If next year proves to be as good as this one I'll be more than happy!

Thanks for additional information to: Geoff Liles, Mr Tom Williams of Ty Gwyn, Mr Ian Watt, Paul Metcalf, Julian Friese, bailiffs and anglers.

References

Chanin, Paul (1985) The Natural History of Otters.

Croom Helm (1987) Otters. The Mammal Society

Mortimer-Batten, H. (1920) The Habits and Characters of British Wild Animals.

Weir, Vincent (1984) "The Otter". The Vincent Wildlife Trust

Footnote

It is possible that the above article may lead to an upsurge of enthusiasm about otters in some readers. Although a fair amount is known about otters occurring on the Tywi and its tributaries, much less is known about their use of other river systems, e.g. the Gwendraeth fawr or the Llwchwr. Records from these rivers and/or their tributaries would be most welcome (look out for spraints!) and should be forwarded to Geoff Liles.. Other wetland areas could also be investigated: there is no reason, for instance, why otters shouldn't visit Ffrwd Fen. If, on the other hand, people would rather watch for otters on the Tywi (where they probably stand most chance of seeing one), I would be pleased if they would let me know. If a number of people were interested we could organize a date or dates when simultaneous watches could be undertaken at different points along the river. This would increase the chances of at least someone or more seeing an otter: it could also give useful information about the numbers/sizes of different family groups, etc. .etc. In the meantime I am leading a River Walk on July 7th 1992 for the Dyfed Wildlife Trust, but of course Llanelli Naturalists members and others are welcome to attend. We are meeting at Llandeilo Station at 6.30s and will be looking at flowers, birds, invertebrates, etc, while there is daylight, transferring to bats (and hopefully otters) at dusk. If anyone is interested in the otter aspect then he/she could let me know and perhaps we can arrange for one of those "simultaneous watches" on that date.