Going cold on the trail of Tarka

Nick Morrison goes on their elusive trail.

IT'S just after seven on a freezing December morning, the first glints of dawn are yet to pierce the gloom and a family of ducks can be seen in silhouette, calmly making their way across the lake. This is not a good sign.

If there was anything right with the world, these ducks would be squawking anxiously, darting manically across the water and generally - and literally - getting in a flap. Instead, they seem to be in a state of blissful, infuriating, relaxation.

I'm sitting in a building resembling a public toilet on the banks of a lake. It's actually a hide, ideal to watch the teeming wildlife on this designated Site of Special Scientific Interest, although someone has inexplicably forgotten to install any heating.

Next to me, although barely discernible in the murky pre-dawn, is Kevin O'Hara, from the Northumberland Wildlife Trust and one of the country's foremost observers of otters. And otters are the reason I'm here. Twenty years ago, they were driven virtually to extinction, as chemicals polluted their feeding grounds and riverbank erosion destroyed their habitat. Now, they are making a comeback, thriving in almost half Britain's 25,000-mile network of waterways.

And, in the most remarkable feature of this revival, they are colonising urban areas. They have been spotted in more than 100 towns and cities, including Newcastle, Middlesbrough and Sunderland, as the effects of now-banned pesticides have worn off and sympathetic management has restored our riverbanks.

According to Kevin, this lake is one of the best places in the North-East to spot otters. It may be on the outskirts of Newcastle, and on the flightpath of the nearby airport, but it is also home to a family of five or six otters. At least, that's how he's managed to lure me up here. The best time to catch them, he claims, is when they're feeding. Conveniently enough, this happens to be at dawn and dusk.

So here I am, sitting on a cold bench in an aspiring public lavatory, waiting for the sun to rise and the otters to make an entrance. But the ducks are worrying Kevin, and if they're worrying Kevin, they're worrying me.

'Otters are the dominant predator, so when they're around, everything else gets a bit twitchy. Things are not looking too hopeful," he says, as the ducks float serenely by. But he reassures me by saying that virtually everyone he's brought up to see the otters has not gone away disappointed. I pull my woolly hat further down over my ears and settle in to wait.

Kevin has been observing otters on this particular stretch of water for about four years. There seems to be one dog - a male otter, if you didn't know - which has a range from here to Seaton Sluice on the coast, a distance of about 10km. There are also at least two females, and another two adolescent cubs, as yet too young to strike out and claim their own territory.

It's now getting on for eight o'clock, and the light is almost good enough for me to see my notebook. The ducks have been joined by another family, a larger brood this time, who are bobbing about quite happily. Kevin tells me that the previous week he had brought two guys from Radio Four up to the hide, and they had seen two otters. I'm delighted for them.

Kevin's fascination with otters began when he was about ten and he picked up Tarka the Otter in the school library. It may have been written by an amateur naturalist, but it was the result of acute observation of the animal and proved more accurate in recording otter behaviour than many contemporary - and much later - scientific texts. But the "other" otter book, Gavin Maxwell's Ring of Bright Water which introduced Midge, gets short shrift, written by "a guy who didn't know anything about otters," he says.

'I have a fascination with all sorts of wildlife. I just like the ones with sharp, pointy teeth the best. I used to keep ferrets and things like that, orphaned or injured stoats and weasels.

"I remember running out of a French lesson and throwing my blazer over a weasel that was being chased by a couple of dogs in the school yard. I think I was suspended for about a fortnight."

Although his interest in wildlife dates from his childhood, he didn't get into nature conservation as an occupation until he turned 30. After a spell in the Army, and as a doorman, he went to university and has been working in conservation ever since.

"I have passions for a number of species - I love wolves and things like that - but I think I'm drawn to the mysticism that surrounds the otter. When you see otters out in the wild it is a fantastic sight," he says. I'm sure it is, but I'm still scanning the lake, looking in vain for signs of panic. It's now 8.15am and a heron soars past us, flying just feet from the hide, before settling gracefully onto the water. I think it knows something we don't.

While the otter revival has caught some experts by surprise, Kevin sees it as a sign of the creature's adaptability, and its success at raising young. They may only breed every other year or so, but many of their cubs survive into adulthood, with the dog otter playing a crucial role in protecting his offspring.

"They're very charismatic creatures, and the likes of Tarka the Otter and Ring of Bright Water have done wonders for them", Kevin says. "Up until then, they were seen as vermin, eating all the fish."

He says analysis of otter spraint - droppings, to you and me - shows they largely feed only on small fish, and so are unfairly blamed by fishermen for stealing their prey. Spraint, by the way, comes from the French to squeeze out, he says. Otter footprints are called seals. An otter's home is called a holt. He tells me this to make me feel better, I think. I might not have seen any otters yet, but at least I'm learning something.

"I don't often have a failure here. You will be very, very unlucky if you don't see anything." Funnily enough, I'm not feeling very lucky at the moment. I'm not sure I'm even feeling my toes.

The no-show is even more strange, considering that this lake is a perfect habitat for otters. Formed as a result of subsidence, the high reeds around the edges make it perfect for them to lay up during the day, and it attracts a plentiful supply of otter food, both fish and fowl. The latter are still looking quite relaxed, by the way.

"They don't often let you down." I can sense the note of desperation creeping into his voice. "One of the best things to look for is what the seagulls are doing. They would mob an otter, because the otter disturbs insects as it goes across the water, so the gulls try and pick off the scraps behind it."

At the moment, the gulls are mobbing a cormorant. As fishers themselves, cormorants are after the same prey as otters, but wait their turn when the otter is around. This cormorant may be being bugged by the gulls, but otters don't seem to be on its mind.

"Otters are really, really aggressive. If they swim around, everything gets out of the way." Nothing seems to be moving very fast here, although a sparrowhawk tips its wings at us, which is nice.

It's now gone nine, the sun is up and I've long since been making notes with my gloves on. Not easy, but I've become rather attached to my fingers. Kevin says we could hang around just in case, but it's unlikely the otters will show their conniving, pointy faces this late. He suggests we call it a day. I'm all for sticking it out, of course, but he's the expert, and who am I to argue? I try to conceal my enthusiasm for his suggestion. Not very well, I fear.

"I'm really disappointed," Kevin tells me, almost capturing my own feelings. "It is very rare we don't see anything, very rare. I was here one time and an otter was rolling about in the grass in front of the hide." This made me feel much better. If I'd had any sensation left in my face I would have smiled.