A Curious Case of Kelp-Belly

Some trips start with excitement, others with a bang. Ours started with damp underwear.

We’d arrived on the Isle of Mull bright and early, full of beans, stiff legs from the long drive, caffeine, and high expectations. It wasn’t even “officially” day one of the tour, but try telling that to a bunch of eager photographers with charged batteries, empty memory cards and bags of enthusiasm. The plan was simple: find an Otter at the sort of spot you only reach after forty minutes of praying you won’t meet a tractor coming the other way.

Mike guided us to a quiet, beautiful bay of rock and kelp where the air smells faintly of seaweed and optimism. I met Mike, Paul and Richard there - all looking far more prepared than I was. I’d rocked up in jeans, which felt like a solid mistake the minute I stepped out of the car. My waterproofs were buried somewhere in the back, but I managed to wrestle into them quickly enough, camo jacket over the top, ready to blend into the scenery or at least confuse passers by.

It was almost as if the boulder was shaped for my derrière!

We spread out quietly along the shore, finding our chosen rocks and patches of kelp, trying to predict a good Otter spot. The light was soft, the loch was calm, and I could already see the shot forming in my head - an Otter perfectly posed, droplets glinting, scoffing something interesting, for Paul, he was convinced it’d be an Octopus… or maybe ‘hoped’ would be a better summary.

Then the sky fell in.

When people talk about “heavy rain”, they usually mean “bit damp”. This was different. This was biblical. Torrents of water that made your hood pointless and your camera fragile - how weather proof are these things, even with a waterproof cover?! Within minutes, my waterproofs were working overtime, all except for that notorious gap where jacket meets trouser; with wet kelp at my belly, and rain at the back as I lay on my front. The gap that channels rain straight into your waistband like some kind of personal water feature.

Still, we held firm. You don’t drive all that way to give up because of a little hypothermia. And then, through the sheets of rain, there it was, a flash of movement, slick and dark. An Otter. It surfaced, wrestling something far too large to eat in the water (an eel, not an octopus), and clambered onto the rocks for a feast. Cameras clicked (silently), rain poured, and the whole world shrank to that one glorious, soggy moment.

Back at the car though, the glory faded somewhat. The hem of my jumper clung to me like clingfilm, the top of my jeans could have supported pond life, my boxers; well you can imagine, and my belt had gone beyond help. As I peeled off layers, I thought this damp midriff situation needed a name, so from this day forward it will be referred to as: Kelp-Belly.

The next morning, the island seemed to have changed its mood entirely with clear skies, golden light, and everything sparkling. We were off on The Lady Jane, captained by Alex from Mull Charters, to meet the real stars of the show: the White-tailed Sea Eagles.

One of the stars of the ‘Lady Jayne Show’!

The drive to the harbour was worth the trip alone. The sun rose over the loch, painting the hills gold, and we had to stop halfway just to take it all in. You could feel the excitement fizzing, part awe, part “please let my camera settings be right.”

On board, Alex gave us a quick safety talk and a knowing grin. “They could appear at any moment,” he said. He wasn’t joking. Within minutes, a huge shape came slicing through the sky, its wings broad like its ‘barn door’ nickname suggests, eyes locked on; pure power. The eagle circled once, then folded its wings and dropped like a vicious stone, snatching a fish from the surface with outstretched talons and a small splash. Everyone gasped, then laughed. It’s hard not to when you realise you’ve just seen one of the biggest birds in Europe at full throttle.

They came again and again, each time closer, the boat rocking gently as shutters rattled and people tried to stay upright while filming or photographing. I was wrestling with my SonyFX6 cine camera and 200–600mm lens like it was an Olympic event, but the footage was worth every sore muscle. You can’t watch an eagle like that and not feel a bit small, in the best way… which is quite something when I’m 6.5” - and still not even the full length of the eagle's wingspan!

Then came the news: Minke whales in the area. Off we went, heading toward open water, to find the sea ahead was alive. Gannets were dive-bombing, gulls floating above, dolphins darting and arching between waves. And then a huge shape broke the surface, with its mouth wide and water spilling from its baleen. A Minke, then another, then more. We counted at least five. Alex admitted he’d never seen anything like it.

Paul summed it up perfectly afterwards: “Felt like I’d just been dropped into a National Geographic documentary.” He wasn’t wrong.

By the time we got back to shore, we were buzzing. It wasn’t just what we’d seen - though that alone was enough to keep anyone smiling for years - it was the whole experience. The place, the people in the group, the thrill of not knowing what the next turn in the road or wave in the loch would bring.

Our amazing group on board Mull Charters

And Mull kept delivering. Hen Harriers drifting low over the moor, Curlews calling across the lochs. We found Stonechats, Dippers, Godwits, Oystercatchers, even a Kingfisher flashing across like a misplaced tropical gem. Every sighting was another reminder of why we’d put in the long drive and why it’s so hard to leave. Each of us said “I’ll be back!”

But when I think back on that trip, it isn’t just the eagles, otters or the whales that come to mind. It’s that first wet morning on the wet kelp and uncomfortable rocks; the daft determination, the feeling of being excited and ridiculous in equal measure.

That’s what wildlife trips are really, they’re a mix of wonder and weather, beauty and discomfort. You get soaked, you freeze, you miss half the shots you dreamed of, you get plenty that you wanted and then something extraordinary happens and it’s all worth it, reminding us that it’s not always about the shot; it’s about the adventure.

And so, whenever the rain finds that gap again between jacket and trouser as it always does, and I have a curious case of Kelp-Belly, I’ll remember that morning and smile. Because that’s the moment the magical Mull adventure truly began.

Simon Owen (wildest.ones), 2025

The epic promo film captured by Simon during his time with us on Mull - if you are interested in seeing more of his work, please contact his film production company Standby Productions.