I looked up and, to my surprise, there was an animal crawling on the bank. At first glance, its body shape was that of a long flat cylinder. The shape of its face was squashed and oblate with characteristic imp-like face features and its ears looked like two round flower petals. On either side of its white lips grew long thick whiskers. It had four bandy legs that made walking very difficult. The tail was long and flat. It seemed as if it was dragging a half metre long catfish behind it that was constantly swinging from side to side. The most eye-catching was the slippery saturated skin that covered its body. It seemed as if there was a layer of enamel spread on its surface that made the sparkling droplets of water look like beads of mercury rolling in every direction. It was an otter.
In the past, I once from afar caught a glimpse of an otter and I also heard their bird-like squeal, but today was the first time that I got to examine Changbai Shan's native inhabitant—the Northern otter, at such a close distance.
I held my breath, restrained my excitement and slowly crouched down on the snowy ground so as not to let my presence be discovered. It was probably quite hungry. As it loitered around, it was stretching out its neck and swaying from side to side whilst keeping watch on the water surface. Its posture reminded me of a rattlesnake preparing for a strike. Suddenly, it raised its head up slightly. It seemed to have discovered something. In the next moment it stretched out its body into a bow shape and without a sound slipped along the snow bank into the water, disappearing without a sign. This was all done in complete silence without the slightest hesitation. I let out a sigh of relief when I once more heard a splashing sound. I only saw its head sticking out from the water. It swam back to the shore, holding a glistening sharp-snouted lenok in its mouth. The fish must have weighed a good pound and a bit. It was wriggling from side to side in a struggle to get free. The otter held it down with its front claws. It flashed its sharp teeth and bit down once at the back of the fish's head. Then it shook off the water droplets from its body and gulped the fish down.
The upper reaches of the Xiangshui creek are home to spawning grounds for species of the salmon family, such as the sharp snouted lenok or the Siberian taimen, native to Changbai Shan. Before the arrival of winter, these fish species will embark on an autumn journey of migration of varying lengths. They will migrate in flocks to the bottom of deep pools, small lakes or bigger lakes on the lower reaches of the river. They are still very much active during the winter season; even after the water surface freezes over with ice they can still be seen searching for sustenance. According to the composition of the water vapour in the air, every lake or pool has its characteristic smell. This is the so called "taste of the lake" . The smell of a lake full of fish is different to that of one with few or no fish. In order to find sufficient sustenance otters often have to undertake short migrations in search of lakes rich in aquatic life. The otter has an extremely well developed sense of smell which allows it to determine the composition of the water vapour and so directly head for a lake abundant in aquatic life. They would never bother to stop by a dead lake. I guess that this otter caught a smell of the fishy taste around the Warm Lake and headed straight for it. It looks like I might have some company!
10:00 am, 23 December 2001
Today's temperature is -18 to -8℃. The primeval forest is not as freezing in winter as I had imagined. Wandering around the forest is like being in paradise. It makes one wonder at how cold and fresh the air is. You only have to take a deep breath and your entire body gets filled up with it. It penetrates into even the tiniest of blood vessels and pores. The whole body gets completely saturated by it. It is as if both the mind and body were reborn, resembling fresh green buds.
When I was small I often used to play in the forest. In my teens I was sent to the countryside to work. I would consider myself acquainted with the names of different tree species. The trees here, however, must have been between one hundred and three hundred years old. They stood unusually tall and strong. There were numerous common tree species that I found hard to identify. This was especially true of deciduous trees such as the Amur cork, the Amur lime, the Manchurian ash and the Korean aspen, as I had no leaves to refer to. They were truly very, very beautiful. Especially species such as the Korean pine, the lacebark pine, the Jezo spruce, the dragon spruce, the Faber's fir and other coniferous species simply left me at a loss to find an appropriate way to describe their grandeur. No, actually, there is a suitable word: majestic, they were astonishingly majestic.
In winter the visibility in the forest increases greatly, as the ground shrubs appear very sparse with their leaves shed. Although the thick layer of fallen leaves on the ground has already lost its autumn shine, the dry leaves still emit a sparkling lustre. Upon careful examination, the various forms and colours of dry leaves look like carefully engraved handicrafts made out of paper thin slices of copper, brass and bronze, and I could almost not bring myself to step on them for fear of crushing them. Then there were trees like the Silver birch, the Korean birch, the Heartleaf hornbeam, the Japanese Tree lilac and so on that could not compete with the tall trees around them for space, so Mother Nature had moulded them into thousands of different forms and shapes, all graceful and elegant. To make an inapt comparison, it was as if I suddenly found myself in the Kingdom of Beauties. Everywhere I looked were hundreds of charming, gorgeous ladies. That is what I call being overwhelmed with wonder.
