Chris is the Wyre otter spotter!

As Lancashire rivers are now much cleaner, all looks good for the otter

He's taken pictures of lots of Lancashire's wildlife, including swans, mink and water voles.

Now wildlife photographer Chris Beever is back by the riverbank - braving the midges - to capture the graceful otter on camera.

But the shy otter that lives by the river Wyre proves a tougher cookie to photograph.

How long does Chris have to sit in the rain? Find out as he shares the story of his latest brush with nature...

Ah the high pitched buzz of the midgy near my left ear, the sensation of droplets of rain water gently making their way to parts that they should not and the horrible thought that my flask may have gone cold.

And of course the sound of a million trillion gallons of water making its way out of the cloud that had been following me round for the last three weeks.

Wee beasties

Once again mother nature was trying to prevent me from finding one of her wee beasties and I can tell you after three weeks getting soaked through to the err "skin", she nearly succeeded. But being the daft hardened Lancashire lad I am, there was work to be done and by 'eck no one was going to stand in my way.

Now in my view you cannot beat the sight of a wild animal in its natural surroundings, especially the notoriously shy lad that I was in search of on this occasion.

We all know in Lancashire that we have some special places that are only just being opened up by the environment agency and other green organisations and with the cleaning of the water systems around the uk and the constant new nature reserves that are opening up all over the Lancashire area, all looks well for my friend Ollie the European, or as I like to call him the Lancashire otter.

After three weeks of tracking my new friend and with more sightings of yesterday's dinner (spraints or otter poo) than sightings of the fellow that had left them there, this was a mission that was beginning to break my spirit.

It may sound a bit quakers, I mean crackers, to most people but the site of a fresh otter poo for someone like me is a huge lift especially when the British seasons decide to skip summer and go straight into winter.

More than three weeks of walking the Wyre from Fleetwood to St. Michaels proved to be hard going and with limited sightings of otter tracks and with no sightings of territorial markings made by Ollie it was looking doubtful that I was going to get a shot of a real wild Lancashire otter.

OTTERS Otters are closely related to mink and badgers Otters can be found as far as the Arctic Circle European or British Otters where finally given much needed protection in 1982 where it was officially made illegal to hunt them Otters are carnivores and they will hunt and eat fish, small mammals, birds and crustaceans although they have been known to eat the odd bird's egg Otters are mainly nocturnal in England and Wales but can be seen hunting throughout the day in Scotland Male otters are extremely territorial and will actively force out and challenge any large mammal in their territory Otters have no part in the upbring of their young and will often attack young cubs born to other males in an attempt to take over territories of other dog otters

In fact it was more likely that my beard was going to grow down to my toes before I was going to see my ghost of the river Wyre.

And then like a single beam of light through the dark dismal rain clouds, I met an old lad called Jack Nicholson, no not the ageing ladies man from Hollywood, but a nice flat cap wearing owd bloke from just outside St. Michaels on the Wyre.

As I sat on the wet muddy bank of the Wyre finishing off yet another flask of moral boosting coffee, Jack appeared with his old fly fishing rod and landing net straddled across his back,"ave thi geet any gud shots lad?" he asked.

Crusty cheese

After telling him my long sob story of my defeat at getting Ollie's picture, and after sharing a crusty cheese and pickle doorstep of a sandwich with the willing old gent, Jack said "tha wants ter get up thiyer lad I sor one tuther day but thal ave ter get up urly".

Well that was it spirits lifted and camera at the ready Jack showed me the way pointing out where he had seen the otter on numerous occasions, explaining that he was always out fishing before first light.

The trail we followed down the side of the Wyre was nice and quiet and well out of the way of any human activity. Jack pointed to a large boulder on the edge of the river and said "thiyer that's wur ee eats is brecky. If tha sits thiyer thal see im int morning."

After saying goodbye to Jack and after watching him walk back down the Wyre whistling a tune, occasionally stopping to get his fly wet I set things in motion.

So with a quick trot to my old van and a slow ant like walk back loaded up with my hide, tent, camera gear, more butties and so on, I set up for the night in anticipation of what the next morning might bring.

0300 hrs - last day too excited can't sleep eyes open let's go!

Slowly I walked towards my hide that I had set up the night before, trying not to make a sound on the twig laden path, although I will admit that I ended up on my rear in various patches of nettles on at least three occasions on the way.

The gentle sounds of the river filled the early morning air broken only by the sound of the local tawny owls' soft calls echoing through the surrounding woodland.

I climbed quietly on all fours into my hide and made myself comfortable, checking and double checking my camera gear even though I realised that there would be no chance of getting any photos until dawn, and then the wait!

After driving myself crazy by looking at my watch every two minutes, the sun finally started to rise creating a soft cotton wool blanket of mist over the river and the surrounding fields.

Distressed quacks

The local bird community started to sing a repertoire of songs that I had an hour of sheer pleasure listening to and with a last energetic push the sun finally managed to break over the horizon bathing my part of the river in the first rays of dappled sunlight.

I waited anxiously with my camera trained onto the large boulder and peered through my binoculars scouring the river for signs of life.

Then without warning a local mallard busted out of the water letting out a series of distressed quacks that seemed to cause a riot of concerned warning calls from every bird within a 100 metres of the river. Was this going to be it?

After that brief eruption of sound, all went quiet once again. Then in the corner of my eye something moved through the patch of lily pads to the right of my hide, with the slightest of movements I quietly removed my camera from the tripod and scanned the lilies for signs of more movement.

And with an enormous face aching smile I zoomed in and began to track my friend Ollie. Over and over he dived and returned to the surface rolling round in the lilies letting out a shrill short whistle as though he was having a bit of a morning giddy session.

Rising bubbles showed me a trail of where he was going as I followed him through my viewfinder only to take a breath now and then to stop my eyepiece misting up.

Ollie carried on with his hunting, swimming up and down my stretch of the Wyre, stopping now and then to eat his catch.

After a brief ten minutes Ollie decided that it was time to move on and he suddenly vanished without sound into the mist. As usual I was in no hurry to leave and waited another three hours into the morning in the hope that Ollie would return, but alas no sign.

With the exhilarating experience still playing over and over in my mind I slowly packed up my gear and headed back to the van in a giddy effort to get home and tell the boss (the wife!) what a great time I had on my latest adventure.

Article sent in by Chris Beever