J Scott Shannon

I found these little watercolor paintings just the other day in a folder of old field notes.

     

I'd forgotten I had them, but of course as soon as I saw them again I remembered the circumstances which caused them to be painted. Back in the summer of 1989, I was introduced to a local artist whose pottery work I admired very much. I think her name was Deborah Kalish, although a google search returns no results for an artist by that name (perhaps I'm not spelling it correctly).

Anyway, I remember she told me that she had been walking along Trinidad State Beach one afternoon when she saw a river otter peering out of a nook in the cliff face. The otter was very calm and allowed itself to be observed and sketched. Later on, she added the watercolors. When Ms. Kalish met me some months later and learned of my otter studies, she gave the paintings to me.

I was very excited when I saw the images. From the markings under the otters nose, I was actually able to identify the individual as Old Mama, and the date was consistent with her recurring period of absence from the bay from the end of February to the end of May when Mama would retire to a natal den to give birth to new babies. It was the first and only time I was ever able to establish exactly where Mama went during that period. I had always assumed she went somewhere south of Trinidad during her natal exile, but this entirely independent and unique observation allowed me to finally discover the truth...

 

While there does remain a theoretical possibility that Scoots is still alive, deep down, I am certain she's gone. And in that acceptance, I was finally able to cry for her yesterday; for Scoots, for her doomed babies, and perhaps most of all for Scoots's great-grandmother–Old Mama–whose lineage stretching back unbroken to the beginning of otter time is now ended.

But the otters' story isn't over. In fact, their story has yet to be told. For they all can be made to live again through my recollections, and my words. I think that is my duty now: now that the principal players themselves are gone.

So, I think for the most part I will turn this journal from one describing current events into a collection of reminiscences. The otters' 5-generation-long story is a great tale: maybe one of the greatest real-life animal adventures ever. It should be a book, really, and hopefully, some day, it will be. But, for the time being, I'll call it a work-in-progress. And its title: "The Treasure of Trinidad Bay."