On the Isle of Lismore in Argyll, the evening quiet was shattered by the unmistakable sound of otters locked in combat. The first sign was not visual but auditory: a high-pitched, warbling ululation that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The cries, described as a repeated "Ai-ai-ai-ai," were neither human nor feline but something in between, carrying across the water with startling clarity.
From the cabin door, the observer initially saw nothing unusual—just the rocky strand and the dark wrack piled high above the shoreline. But the strange vocalisations persisted, drawing the eye to a flash of movement about 50 metres out. Two small, dark bodies leaped from the surf in quick succession, their silhouettes momentarily resembling dolphins or porpoises before slicing back beneath the surface. It was only when the heads popped up again, turning to face each other as if to wrestle, that the scene resolved: two otters, slick and dark, engaged in a fierce struggle.
A battle over prey or territory
The tussle was intense. The otters twisted and turned, their four limbs and long tails visible as one launched again from the water. The observer speculated that the fight might be over a fish or one of the crabs spotted earlier from a rowing boat, where tiny creatures on the seabed were watched like tourists from a cable car. The conflict was not silent; the otters shrieked and wailed, their cries so loud they could be heard a mile away.
After a tense exchange, one otter broke free and made a dash for the shoreline, with the other in hot pursuit. Both skimmed over the surface like skipping stones, their bodies barely touching the water. They disappeared behind a boulder, and for a moment, the only sound was the wash of waves. The drama, however, was far from over.
Dusk on the island brings more calls
By 8pm, the sun was lowering, ready for bed, and the wind ruffled the treetops on the island in the bay. A pair of little egrets picked their way through the shallows, pausing to examine their surroundings before moving on with deliberate, high-stepping feet. Then, the voices returned: "Ai-ai-ai-ai." The unseen soap opera continued, the otters' calls echoing across the water as dusk settled over Lismore.
The encounter is a vivid reminder of the wildness that thrives in Scotland's coastal waters, where otters are known to be territorial and vocal. According to the observer, the otters' behaviour suggested a genuine fight rather than play, though the precise cause—whether over food, territory, or a mate—remains unknown. The scene unfolded naturally, with no human interference, offering a rare glimpse into the lives of these elusive creatures.
The event was recorded as part of the Guardian's Country Diary series, which has documented rural and wildlife observations since 2018. The latest collection, "Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian's Country Diary, 2018-2024," is available now, featuring such moments of natural drama. For now, on Lismore, the otters' cries have faded, but the memory of their wild, riotous battle lingers, a testament to the untamed spirit of the Argyll coast.
