Fish are born to fear otters, but when a large fish gets into an otter's clutch, it will instinctively do everything in its power to get rid of its attacker. The two rivals engage in a ferocious battle of life and death in which carnivorous fish are not afraid to bite the attacker wherever possible. In such a situation, the otter would ride on the fish's back digging hard into its skin, picking at its eyes or scratching its belly until the fish loses the will to resist. I once saw Grey Lady get into a fight with such a fish. It might have been an around 5 kilograms weight rainbow smelt fish that had spent the year braving the swift current swimming upstream among bits of gravel. Its muscles were strong and powerful. This was a tough and hardy fish full of fighting spirit. Maybe Grey Lady was too hungry that day and without thinking jumped on the fish's back and firmly bit down into its neck. The fish wriggled violently, shaking its head from side to side and swishing its tail, doing its uttermost to shake off its enemy. At the same time it dashed itself against the gravelly surface of the lakebed in an attempt to rid itself of the attacker. All through this the otter held tightly onto the fish's back. She used her claws to scramble further along its spine and mercilessly dig at the back of its rival's head. The fish, crazy with pain, embarked on a series of darts and summersaults, shooting through the water like a miniature rocket. The brownish black otter firmly clung to the bright silvery body underneath it. She was like a skilful horseman that, no matter how boisterous a horse she was riding, would always manage to stay on. On top of that, she kept up her ferocious attempt at digging into the fish's head until she finally punctured through its skull. A trickle of blood came out of the wound. The large fish made a last effort to swish its tail, then it flipped on its back, revealing its white underbelly, and in a slanting arch slowly sank to the bottom of the lake. The victorious otter knew no rest. She swiftly swam back to the shore, clutching her booty in her mouth and hurriedly pulled it to a nearby undercover spot where she gulped it down.
In comparison with the sea otter, I always think that the evolution process of the freshwater otter is nowhere near its end. This is my hypothesis: The what we call "human civilization" will eventually spread to even the most remote corner of the world. This is especially true of freshwater bodies that are suitable for inhabitation. In their search to satisfy demands for water, there will always be a day when humans will have occupied every single freshwater source on the land. This of course includes all otter habitats around the world. So where will the otters move to? Maybe they'll follow in the footsteps of the sea otter. The sea otter's long story of evolution, however, begun long time ago with their predecessors and spanned at least several hundred thousand years. The freshwater otter, on the other hand, might only have a few hundred years before humans force it to move into the sea. Within such a short period of time, no matter how quickly a mammal species adapts, there is no way for it to undergo a significant change, unless humans turn them into domesticated animals. I wonder what kind of fate awaits the freshwater otter.
11:30 am, 23 December 2001
We passed a glacier that branched off Xiangshui creek. The ice layer was thick in this shallow river valley, maybe 15 or so metres, but the creek that ran below the ice cap still gurgled happily. We only had to stop in our tracks to hear the faint yet persistent sound of rushing water. I swept aside the snow blanket and pressed my ear against the bare ice. I braced myself against the painstaking cold and forced myself to listen for a few seconds. The sound that emanated from down below was loud. It sounded as if someone was ceaselessly drumming on a drum. This drum, however, was not the kind made out of bull skin, it was more like a drum made out of metal, maybe a cast iron drum. What is more, it sounded as if the drum was being drummed under the water.
I lifted my face quickly from the ice and my heart leapt with excitement: I could see the wooden frame of a delicate hunting shack that stood in a peaceful spot on the opposite bank, surrounded by pine trees. At first glance it looked like a half built tent that had been meticulously put up by some supernatural beings. Now it had already been abandoned.
At first I thought that it might be a camping ground for forest rangers when they set out on long patrols, but it was too small for that. I guessed that it could only fit two people at the most. It probably served as a hunter's or gatherer's shack. I examined this small hideout with excitement and tried to picture how its former inhabitants might have lived. There was a small hearth inside, a wooden stump that served as a stool, a piece of old clothing and a long, wide bench that might have been used as a bed. I ducked to walk under the old door frame and sat on the bench, trying to imagine what it would be like if I lived here. And why not? If there was one day when I would get to toss off all my worldly duties and come to this place, I would repair the grass roof and tidy things up a bit and then Lao Bu and I could come and stay here for a few days. We would be like Thoreau, far away from the happenings of the world, completely self-sufficient with the forest, the creek and the animals for company, and in our spare time we might note down what we learned from observing animals. Would not that be a wonderful experience? Really, maybe next year, in summer, I may come to live here for a while.
In my daydreaming, I planned to ask Lao Bu to take a photo of me so that I could show it off to my friends, as I was sure they would be very envious.
Unexpectedly, Lao Bu aroused me from thoughts with a sharp jerk: "Don't you take photos in here, this shack was built by the accomplices of pine cone gatherers, they use it for keeping watch." Lao Bu was quick to read my intentions.
