HOME DRY BUT NOT QUITE
“I SAW AN OTTER! AN OTTER! RIGHT HERE… BY THE bus stop!” I was in the bath, appropriately enough, when my friend Ellen phoned on her way home from work. It could have been more than a decade ago, but I still remember sinking back into the water, splashing and smiling at the Attenborough-esque charge of wonder in her voice. For otters seemed remote, almost mythical creatures, belonging to another, wilder realm. Seeing one during the mundane routine of the daily commute into Glasgow seemed implausible, like a golden eagle soaring over the school run.
Such surprise and delight were shared by many around the turn of the millennium, as otters were appearing in places they hadn’t been seen for decades. Though still mostly nocturnal and elusive by nature, glimpses of the animals were being caught – a flick of a tapered tail midstream, a trail of silver bubbles on the edge of the water, five-toed footprints in the soft mud on riverbanks. The tracks and signs of their presence were causing ripples of excitement all along Britain’s waterways.
