The sound did not pull my attention. Too often had I been frustrated by turning just in time to see only the spreading waves. I never managed to see the fish themselves break the surface, but only the water’s concentric rings dispersing. I never quite have my eyes in the right place.

So I didn’t turn around. Straightening my back in mild irritation, I pulled my elbows in and grasped the camera more steadily. Here I was photographing the mallard couple, again –  for the hundredth time, probably.

But there’s the sound. It would fall, and then rise.

What could it possibly be?

It does not seem like fish.

I took a quick look back. Nothing there. And here is the lovely snowy egret.

Still that half heard sound of lapping water. But.

Carrying on, I snapped photos of a busy squirrel.

After a time, though, curiosity won.  I will repeat myself, I know: the backyard keeps surprising me. I looked back and the sheer size of those sustained circles meant whatever it was was far bigger than the fish around here. My heart beat faster as I scanned the black water. I so wanted to see whatever it had been. Surely it was the biggest thing I would see in this water – if I managed to catch it.

And then there they were. Rushing, frolicking, diving – almost giggling.

Oh, my.

Otters.

I had forgotten that Blue once said he saw otters on the lawn, so I had no notion of ever encountering them. It was a joyous surprise. Fifty feet from me, playfully chasing each other along the shoreline.  I missed the first two, but then raised the camera and pressed record. I had no illusions of capturing these happy creatures in stills.

Then they were gone, all four of them. I looked way in the distance, to where the water turns, and there was a puppy bounding up the neighbor’s lawn. A puppy? Where did he come from? But, no, indeed. Not a puppy, but an otter! And not one, but all four of them had launched themselves out of the water and were chasing each other around the lawn.

So, the backyard did what the backyard does. It surprised and satisfied. After I told Blue about them, he suggested we hop in the canoe and go looking for them. Though the otters won the day, I’ve decided that what I want a record of on this blog is any image I’ve taken that excites my memory or fulfills my photographic growth.  And thus, these images:

The lily pad was right at the shore, and I wanted to make an evocative photo of that single droplet of water. I couldn’t get it, but I still like the documentary role for this image.

One the way up, we also encountered a new species of bird. (There are some 10,000 in the world, evidently, so this is perhaps not as surprising as it feels). It was a double crested cormorant.  I got quite poor images of him since he looked at a glance to be an anhinga. They are not infrequently mistaken for each other, I gather. But there is a little hook on the beak of the cormorant that made me go searching for confirmation.

Another of my favorite birds, the limpkin hunts with energy and is a pleasure to watch his dedication with getting the very last drop of meat from these clams.

We went into this verdant looking, fern-lined inlet, but not too far. I was afraid we would not be able to get back out. Still no sounds or sight of otters.

We encountered three turtles. Two sat on logs rising from the water, but this one found himself completely landed. That may have been why they left and he just turned his head to watch us go by. I had been missing them only yesterday.

The rest of the journey offered this new-look anhinga…

…these attractive young mallards. Evidently, the female is not always white? Blue said this was a couple, but I had believed the female to be white because of the other couple, above. It turns out that I was incorrect.

On the advice of a neighbor who told us that he had just seen the group of otters, we trudged off into the wilderness. It is quite wild, despite being a hundred yards or so from several backdoors. It felt primitive being there. We didn’t see the otters, but were told we can reliably expect them for another month or so. Evidently, they show up every winter and have burrow/nest somewhere close by. That will be a true delight. My camera and I will be waiting for them, somewhere out here…