An Island of My Own

Katrina turned to Mike Newman. “These otters can’t just go somewhere else. They have to find a healthy well-established kelp bed, and even then the small groups seem to be very vulnerable. Even left alone this group may have trouble growing and surviving.”

“Aw, come on kid,” said Newman, patting her arm in a friendly fashion. “They’d just go somewhere else. No one’s going to hurt them.”

Two pairs of legs were marching along the beach, topped by large pieces of cardboard saying: OTTERS OTTER BE LEFT ALONE

“Otters ought to be left alone, otters ought to be left alone,” chanted the twins in unison as they halted in front of the Zodiac.

It was idyllic up on the cliff. The sun had warmed the air and the rocks so that the light breeze from the sea felt pleasantly cool. Even the mosquitoes were too drowsy to bite. The sunlight danced and sparkled on the water and everything was almost too good to be true. Rowan was scared the otters would no longer be there, but to her relief they immediately spotted two playing and splashing in the kelp bed, and the others surfaced within a couple of minutes.