Adventurous Quest for the Giant Otter
By “Awake!” correspondent in Suriname
IT IS dawn. Our paddles gently dip into the cola-colored water of the Kapoeri Creek. Delicate morning mist floats as a filmy gauze over the water and embraces the slowly awakening forest around us. As our kroejara (dugout canoe) slices through the narrowing stream, we use our machetes to hack away at the verdant jungle growth that at times threatens to block our path. Arms and legs sting from the razor-sharp grass that assails us.
Our quest is for an animal that man almost allowed to become extinct—the giant Brazilian otter, or bigi watradagoe (big water dog) as they are called locally. These curious creatures have been relentlessly tracked down for their luxurious fur. But in 1954 Suriname protected the otters by law, making this country one of the few places where a considerable number of them still dwell. “Kapoeri Creek hosts an estimated 20-30 otters,” I was told some time ago by Mr. G. Plak, a game-warden superintendent. He explained that other areas had already been set aside to preserve this almost extinct animal. “We would like to see their number increase and at the same time preserve a unique place where these interesting animals can still be observed in their natural habitat.”
So that is what we wish to do today. But will we be able to see any? Our Amerindian guide, Marius, is optimistic. So are my friends Henk and Jacqueline, who are accompanying my wife and me. Nevertheless, the sooner we find them, the better. Long-legged Henk resembles a pretzel on his tiny wooden bench as he asks, “Do we have to paddle the full distance?” “I don’t think so,” assures Marius, “because it’s dry season. The water is low and that keeps the watradagoes close by. And this pond is a favorite fishing spot for the otters.” A relieved Henk shifts to a more comfortable position as we paddle on.
Our First Encounter
“A-a-a-ah, a-a-a-a-ah,” is the startling cry that suddenly comes from Marius, our guide!
“Are you all right?” we ask, taking him for ill.
“A-a-a-a-ah,” repeats Marius, frantically pointing to a high riverbank. We turn around so quickly that we almost capsize the canoe. A chorus of “a-a-a-a-ah’s” from the riverbank explains Marius’ strange action. He was imitating the otter alarm call! So we join him in mimicking their cry.
And there they are! A family of nine giant otters come into full view. How peculiar they look! About a third of their more than 1.5-meter (5-ft) length is tail—a well-designed appendage that starts out round at the base, flattens out in the middle and ends in a point like a spearhead. Their webbed feet are attached to short legs, which, in turn, support a streamlined body. But because of their narrow shoulders and drooping head, they look hunchbacked. Their strange physique makes them clumsy on land but graceful as seals in the water.
So into the water they go, sliding down the riverbank and diving headfirst. Moments later we see their heads popping out of the water as they dog-paddle. They survey us, and we are treated to a close-up look at them—round head, tufts of whiskers, small ears and expressive big brown eyes. On their lips, chin, throat and chest we see creamy-colored blotches of varying design that distinguish one otter from another. Their dark-brown velvety fur glistening in the sun reminds us of why man has hunted them down to the point that they are nearly extinct.
We stick out our paddles to see if they will bite or even break them as early explorers have reportedly seen them do at times. But, instead, the males emit explosive snorts and growls, summoning the other members to regroup, males in front, females and cubs securely behind them. Now feeling secure, they calmly retreat in the creek—diving and gracefully emerging, porpoise-style.
Their Multipurpose “Table”
Onshore we come upon a clean semicircle, measuring six meters (20 ft) long and four meters (13 ft) wide, cleared of jungle growth. I recalled that some name these areas water-dog tables. Eddie, an Arawak Indian from neighboring Guyana, had told me this on a previous trip. “These landings look so smooth and clean,” Eddie had said, “and the otters sometimes drag big fishes on these ‘tables’ to eat them there.” Hunting and fishing is serious business for the otters. They are occupied from dawn till dusk, gobbling some three to four kilograms (7 to 9 lb) of fish a day.
Eddie had further said: “The old people back home claim that if you step on these tables barefoot, you can get water itch—a terrible disease.” These words now strike home as we step into a bog of mud that gives off a musky and rank odor. “That’s their latrine,” explains Marius, a bit too late. We are glad everyone is wearing shoes.
Surveying their combination dining-, bed- and bathroom, I can’t help but think of how fortunate it is for them that man’s appetite for otter has diminished. At the beginning of this century, some felt that otter meat tasted good, and it was thus eaten frequently. “Why is it off the menu today?” I once asked several Amerindian hunters.
“The meat is no good,” said one.
“It tastes rank,” said another.
“It is too fishy,” said yet another.
One explanation, however, seemed more to the point: “They are water dogs, and we don’t eat dogs!” The otter’s nickname has thus proved lifesaving. There is also a 10,000-guilder ($5,500, U.S.) fine or three months’ imprisonment that the government imposes on anyone killing or catching an otter. “After all,” quipped one hunter, “you can buy a lot of beef for 10,000 guilders.”
Family Bonds
The otter has a family life that puts some humans to shame. Follow along as we try to locate one of their burrows, or dens. Here, from one to three cubs per year are born and kept indoors the first three months of their life. Under the roots of a tree we see an opening measuring about 30 by 50 centimeters (12 × 20 in.) in the riverbank. Our flashlight illuminates a tunnel ending in an area just big enough for the mother to curl up in and feed her blind but furry cubs.
Pairs of otters view the training of their young as a joint project. Both father and mother will carry their cubs in their mouth and give them their first taste of swimming by plunging into the water. Despite this rather harrowing training, the cubs seem to like their parents and live with them till next year’s litter. Some even stay around longer, forming closely knit family groups that number from 3 up to 20.
Close family bonds are evident even while the otters sleep. A mated pair sleeps parallel, head to tail or head to head. One often will drape a paw over the other in a friendly embrace.
Heading Back
As the tide ebbs, our guide warns that we had better return or we risk being stuck out here. It starts raining as we push our canoe away from the den site. The way back is like a steeplechase as we haul, tug and pull the boat across the hurdles of fallen trees.
Finally the rain stops. We corner a bend and are suddenly eye to eye with a group of six otters taking a sunbath on a log. Canoe crew and sunbathers eye one another. One by one the otters dive into the creek. The male leader boldly comes very close to us. Heaving his body out of the water, he defiantly growls. Our canoe halts. He swims back and forth and suddenly dives under the boat, crossing underneath us. We turn around and there he is, facing the wrong way. His thick neck turns left, then right. In a startling reversal of roles, the otter is now in quest of people!
Spotting us, he backs up. And with an indifferent look on his face he coolly surveys us once more before disappearing under the water. We stare at the ripples he leaves behind and are thankful to our Creator for the opportunity of seeing this delightful inhabitant of the jungle. And we hope that man in his greed will not wipe him off the face of the earth.
[Map/Picture on page 24]
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Kapoeri Creek
Suriname
South America
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Very little is known about these fascinating creatures
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GIANT BRAZILIAN OTTER Average adult size: About 1.5 to 1.8 meters (5 to 6 ft)