'The magical day I saw an otter in my Aude garden'

When we first moved to the mill about 13 years ago, I said to myself that the day I saw an otter (loutre) in the pond below our window I could die a happy man; well, finally it has happened. But, as a friend pointed out, don't be in a hurry to follow up on the fulfilled resolution...

The first otter that was seen in the Aude was a dead one found on the side of a busy road at a nearby village; this was the year 2000. The population had been greatly reduced by river pollution leading to lack of the preferred prey (fish), and traditional hunting for the pelts and to eliminate a pest for aquaculture. The lowest point was probably in the 1970s, but legal protection came into force in 1972 and 1981. Conservation measures that include the construction of otter tunnels under roads and passages beside hydroelectric dams have led to recolonization of the majority of France. 

I have found signs of otters further down the stream before; otters use their droppings to mark territory, normally deposited on a suitable rock, above water level, sometimes near a confluence, a dam, a bridge or another significant river feature. Rather surprisingly the poo – known as spraint in English, and épreinte in French – can actually smell quite sweet, it is variously described to be like honey suckle or fresh hay with a slight fishy smell; it is a dark splotch with often fish scales and bones visible. 

Otter digestion is very rapid, and a male otter will move about his territory, excreting up to 20 times in the course of a night. Males have larger territories than females, and the limits are decided by availability of food, and the density of the population. It is said that the spraint will pass on much information: not only sex and age (and whether, if she is a female, she is in oestrus), but also the quality of the food that has been taken.

Male and female otters normally only come together to mate, and this can take place at any time of the year in the relatively mild climate of the south of France. They will stay together for a short period if all goes well, and they will play and frolic together. If she is not ready to mate, the female will try to push the male away. Various studies came up with inconclusive results as to whether a couple will remain bonded for a long period or not. The general estimate of a wild otter's lifespan varies: between four and ten years.

A pregnant female will seek out a secluded place to give birth, and we have long known that our side stream would be suitable, being far enough away from the main river to give her privacy, but also easily accessible to it when she needs to go off alone to feed herself to keep producing milk for her cubs.

So, one January morning at about 9am there she was, a large animal bounding with that typical otter gait along the rocks on the other side of our stream. It was in full daylight, which is unusual; they are mainly nocturnal. Probably they had passed before at night, unseen. Over the years I have seen mink, foxes, pine martens, badgers and once a ragondin (also known as a Coypu, native to South America) and in other parts of the garden wild boar and deer, but never an otter. It was a magical moment.

She soon slid into the pond, looked around and then started digging into the gravel and so chased up the fish that were passing the winter hidden in crevices in the rocks. We saw her eat at least three. There would be a flurry of activity underwater, followed by a chase round the pond and then she would climb onto the bank to quickly eat the small fish that were there. We were lucky, she stayed with us for a delightful 45 minutes.

I spoke to a friend who knows the animal well. This daylight behaviour is typical of a female at the end of gestation building up reserves for the approaching birth. At one point she climbed onto the bank, rolled onto her back and preened a very fat tummy, squirming and rolling as she cleaned and dried her fur. 

The fur of an otter is very dense to conserve warmth for an animal that spends much of its time in near-freezing waters. Incredibly, there may be up to one hundred thousand hairs on every square centimetre of the fur. We had the chance to see the webbing on the paws, which gives this animal superb swimming skills to enable it to catch nimble prey. Their sensitive whiskers help with sensing the vibrations of movements in the water.

The next day we had to leave on a journey for a week, but in any case, it started to rain very hard and the stream swelled, so she no doubt left for a safer haven away from the raging torrent our waterfall becomes after heavy rain. Perhaps she had already constructed several 'holts' – an otters' den, catiche in French – hopefully well away from the rising waters, where she gave birth to the cubs, who will stay with her for up to a year. 

When the stream has calmed enough, I will put out camera traps, hoping to catch up with her movements, which will be discreet whilst the cubs are very young, no doubt just moving at night. Perhaps, one day, I might have the joy of seeing her with her cubs…