The most famous otter-hunter Scotland has ever seen was the late Mr Waldron Hill, of Murrayfield House, near Edinburgh.
When quite a young man he contracted consumption, and was told by his doctors that he had not long to live. Nothing daunted, however, Mr Hill took to otter-hunting, and the sport agreed with him so well, that he hunted practically every river in Scotland, and lived to be far advanced in years.
When the West Lothian Foxhounds were in existence, Mr Hill used to run with them, and saw as much sport as most of the mounted brigade.
In "Field and Fern," The Druid wrote regarding Mr Hill: "Some years ago he had a pack of otterhounds in Monmouthshire, of the Welsh breed, smooth and white with yellow ears; for the last five years he has had black and tans, a cross between the bloodhound and rough Lancashire hound, which is used in that country for otter and foumart. Their nose is nearly equal to the Lancashire hound, who are unrivalled in this respect and never disposed to be tonguey. The bloodhound cross also makes them more savage in their worry, but they are often very unpleasant to manage in kennel. Mr Hill has found the foxhound fail in working up to his otter in a cold drag, but excellent on the line when the game is fairly started. With him the southern hound has only failed from lack of constitution, which is injured by too much swimming."
Mr Hill used terriers of Welsh breed, which he got from the kennels of Mr Ramsay Williams, after the latter's death. These terriers weighed about 15 lb., and were bred as flat-sided as possible to enable them to squeeze into narrow places. They were fairly long on the leg, and were used for bolting fox, otter, marten, and foumart. Mr Hill's principal river was the Tyne, flowing through Haddingtonshire. Speaking of the South Esk, The Druid says: "Last August it was the scene of a very remarkable run, as the otter only touched the water twice for a few minutes throughout a run of eight or nine miles, and was eventually pulled down in the heart of one of the East Lothian fox-whins." Regarding a long drag with Mr Hill's hounds, The Druid says: "In '62 the hounds hit upon one at the Clutby Dam reservoir on the north side of the Pentlands, and hunted him through the sheep-drains right over the Pentlands, down to the reservoir at St Catherine's. He had gone through it on the north side, and from there down the Glencorn burn, nearly to the North Esk. Leaving this for another burn across the country, he headed back to the reservoir at St Catherine's, where, on account of the water being too high, he could not be moved. This otter must have travelled nearly twenty miles during the night, and it was well for Mr Hill that his terriers were long-legged; and that he himself is always in condition summer or winter, or he would have seen nothing of the fun on that hot and very wet September morning." We wonder how far the members of a modern otter-hunting field would get, if asked to follow hounds on a hot drag for twenty miles? Not far we'll warrant, for most of them would swear that hounds were on a fox.
People who incautiously "tail" an otter are very apt to get bitten, and regarding this The Druid says: "In all these forays Mr Hill has never got heavily bitten himself; but many years ago, when he was hunting on the Kenvy near Abergavenny, the otter came out of the water just before it was killed, made straight at the whip, who was a few yards off his master, shook him savagely by the trousers, and then passed on."
We have heard people say that an otter makes no splash when diving or otherwise entering the water. Certainly at times he does not make much of a disturbance, for his sinuous body is built for swimming, but when playing in the water, or when hunted, he splashes quite a lot. We were on one occasion watching the mouth of a drain on the river Lune, in which the terriers were baiting an otter. In front of this drain was a row of willow trees. Standing quietly a yard or so to one side of the drain entrance we at last saw the otter show himself. He stood at the drain mouth sniffing the air, the muscles working his thick "whiskers," giving his face a very puffed out appearance. Hearing or seeing some of the field on the opposite bank of the river he turned round and went back up the drain. A fairly long interval elapsed, and we were just bending down to listen at the drain mouth, when, without the slightest warning the otter shot out, and leapt straight through the willow tree, to land in the water with a splash like a sack of oats. From where he took off, to the point where he hit the river, constituted a remarkable jump, and he must have been coming pretty fast when he shot out of the drain.
On another occasion at the same drain, which is a favourite resort of otters, the terriers were at work, and an opening had been made into the drain at some distance from the river. We were watching the drain mouth, and after a bit the otter showed himself, but went back. The bank where we stood was high, and there was a certain amount of rubbish in the way of dead branches, etc., partially covering the drain mouth. Being below the bank we could not see what was happening in the field, and we were greatly astonished when a big otter suddenly rushed over the edge of the bank, nearly on top of us, scrambled through the branches, and disappeared up the drain. The terriers had bolted him in the field, and we, of course, were unaware of what was happening. This otter finally emerged at the drain mouth, but unlike his predecessor, took the water quietly below the willow trees.
In Walton's description of a morning's sport with Mr Sadler's "Otter-dogs," Sweetlips—one of the hounds—brings the carcass of the otter to "Venator." We have on several occasions seen a hound seize and carry a dead-beat otter ashore. This is easily done in the case of a 12 lb. or 14 lb. otter, but it is a different matter for a hound to handle a big, fighting dog otter. When a hunted otter is floating on top of the water, he often makes a considerable splash if he dives in a hurry.
Although perhaps not so good a climber as some other members of the weasel family, the otter is no slouch at negotiating steep, rocky ghylls, and can scramble about in a wonderful manner. It seems rather hard to account for the fact that in some seasons hounds kill a majority of dog otters, while in other seasons the total is chiefly made up of bitches. Where you find a bitch otter, there is often a dog within a mile or so, either up or down stream; and no doubt the two of them keep that particular stretch of water free from other lutrine intruders.