Family matters...

This is my paternal grandfather, Edward M. Shannon, Sr.



He played for the traveling Kansas City Southern semi-pro ballclub. Date is unknown, but I'd guess it's circa 1915, around the time my father, Edward, Jr., was born.

Dad was a very successful coach of youth baseball. He took two teams to the Pony League World Series, and won the state Colt League and American Legion titles, as well. Since baseball was such a big part of Dad's life, it's interesting to me that he never mentioned that his father was a ball player. He never talked about his father in general, or his family life growing up, either. I wish he'd told me more, but I get the feeling Dad saw it as his duty to take certain aspects of his family history to his grave.

I think the same thing about my otter family sometimes. Does the world really want (or need) to know what I know about these animals? I admit, I have my doubts...

 

Today, 17 years ago, was a high water mark of my 1989 trip to the West Highlands. My first yessss!-moment was finding this beautiful hazelwood walking stick in Mallaig. For years I'd wanted an otter-headed cane, so I dropped £19 for this one in a heartbeat!



Then came the road trip. During the day that Sunday long ago, I drove the circuit from Mallaig to Kyle of Lochalsh (A 830 -> A 82 -> A 87), then back the way I came and down to the Ardnamurchan peninsula. My goal was to get to Ardnamurchan Pt (the westernmost spot in mainland Scotland) by dusk and watch the sun set over the distant Scottish isles.

Now for anyone who has driven in Scotland, you know the route I described above is a bloody long way to travel in one day, even taking all A roads. But the highway out along the Ardnamurchan peninsula is a B road (the B 8007 to be precise), and those can make for some pretty slow going.

I was not to be deterred. The B 8007 is a lovely drive leading into one of the more scenic and still relatively unspoilt areas of rural Scotland, and all along the way, I listened to glorious Mozart on the car stereo. It seemed I had the road all to myself, which was good because I was driving my little rented Austin Maestro like it was a fucking Maserati. ;-) I was a mad thing that day, free as a bird, and at the absolute apex of my life.




I would have reached Ardnamurchan Pt on time if not for the fact that I simply had to stop at every beautiful spot and snap photos, which meant I stopped a lot. ;-) I tried to save some film for sunset pictures, but I ran out of both film and light before I reached my desination.

Well, not all the daylight was gone. What remained was a wash of purple twilight just luminous enough to silhouette what was probably the island of Coll on the horizon. But there was another treasure I found at the point that night - one I wasn't expecting at all.

It was a road sign (of course!), but not just any road sign. It was one of the really old-style baked-enamel road signs which were everywhere around Britain when I first visited in 1967, but were nowhere to be seen now (1989). On this amazingly well-preserved sign, below a blood-red Egyptian-like Ra sun-disk, was a single word in embossed black letters:
END


Talk about an iconic image. If there's one scene I regret not being able to photograph during that whole holiday, it was that single, ancient road sign against that stark, burgundy-hued horizon.

On the way back inland, I stopped at the first public house for supper. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and I was starving. I was about to experience another sort of apparition. As I walked into the pub, I was greeted by the blaring music of George Strait, a then-hot American country and western musician. After I was seated, on came another George Strait song, so I knew this must actually be a tape that was being played. I was amazed! In this tiny pub in one of the remotest mainland stretches of rural Scotland, everybody was happily listening to the ambient sounds of the latest wave of American country music.

After supper, I drove the entire distance back to the Loch Shiel Hotel in less than an hour. Arriving home, I mused about having survived the B 8007 in such fine style. It was truly a day and a night that I would never forget...

 

Me having my picture taken with a stuffed otter in the lounge of the Loch Shiel Hotel in the West Highlands of Scotland, 17 years ago today...

 

Reading Gavin Maxwell's book Ring Of Bright Water as a young man was the origin point of my fascination with otters. In the years that followed, the study of the animals became my life's work. In 1989, I had the opportunity to travel in Europe, so I planned my itinerary such that I would be able to visit Maxwell's Camusfeàrna in Scotland on my 35th birthday. As otters are the center of my world, it seemed appropriate to make a pilgrimage to this Mecca of otterdom at the precise midpoint of my "three score and ten" lifespan, September 21, 1989.

( My visit to the Bay of the Alders. )

 

One day back in 1990, when I was in graduate school, I found this taped to my office door by one of my zoology peers. It was - and still is - so true!

 

I bet you've never seen the likes of these guys before. Look! Actual Disney river otters!




What's the story? And who is/was "The Otter Man"? The Otter Man was a gentleman by the name of Emil Liers (1890-1975), a former trapper whose life was transformed by a litter of otter pups that he himself orphaned. Captivated by the playfulness and intelligence of the creatures, he devoted the rest of his days to championing the cause of his little folk in brown fur. For 35 years, Liers and his otter troupe toured the country from coast to coast, enchanting multitudes of children of all ages with his otters' universal charm.

In 1980 – in part inspired by Liers – I started my own conservation group to promote the preservation of river otters, and my efforts led me to cross paths with Liers' then 80-year-old niece, Marie Schaefer. Marie and her younger brothers, Tate and Gordon, were the otters' day-to-day caretakers at Liers' Otter Sanctuary in Winona, Minnesota, and it was one of the greatest honors of my life to meet Miss Schaefer and talk many times with her about her almost-legendary uncle.

In an act of astonishing trust, she loaned me the Liers family album – a truly priceless treasure. In it were 50 years of Liers photos and documents, including the Otter Man's publicity posters and pamphlets. Miss Schaefer told me that Walt Disney himself had drawn the otters for the cover of Liers' glossy promotional pamphlet. It was Disney's way of thanking Liers for letting his studio use his otters to star in their 'True-Life Adventures' entitled 'In Beaver Valley' and 'Flash, the Teenage Otter'. Liers was grateful, but as Miss Schaefer told the story, he returned the first copy of the artwork because it depicted the one otter with a fish in his mouth. Liers always maintained that fishes were not the principal food of land otters (as Liers called them), so he asked that the otter be drawn with a crayfish instead. Disney happily complied.

For the week that I had the Liers family album, I did my best to make copies of everything in it. Unfortunately, what you see is a scan of the commercial-grade xerography that was available at the time. I did manage to find the one copy shop within 25 miles that had a color copier and spent $5 a pop to get color photocopies made of the posters and the Disney image from the pamphlet, but alas, I can't seem to find them anywhere. *sigh* So the b/w image above is the best that I can do. But like I said at the beginning, I bet you've never seen anything like it, even such as it is.

A postscript. Twenty-four years after I started watching my wild otters here, a good many folks locally now call me the "Otter Man", too. I glow inside every time I hear that. Makes me feel I'm carrying on a hallowed tradition.