Notes on Nature: Christmas ft. a seal

The girl is running towards us, flapping her arms. She’s probably about ten and she reaches us quickly, only a little out of breath from the effort of moving on sand.

            “My mum,” she gestures backwards at a shadowy figure in the gloaming. “She sent me to warn you. There’s a baby seal on the beach back there.”

            Our elderly Labrador, Seamus, wags his tail, sniffing a scent that is carried on the chill wind. He’s usually focused on eating the bladderwrack that the tide deposits, but this day is more interesting than most.

            We put him on a tight lead and walk close to the water, away from the wall at the edge of the sand where we’re told the seal has taken shelter. At first, we don’t see anything at all. Then we see an amorphous shape, and then – as our eyes adjust and we know what to look for - it transforms into a chubby baby seal. Not the fluffy white kind, but one that basically looks like an adult in miniature. Its skin is grey and mottled, and its eyes big and wary.

            Seamus bobs about on the end of his lead as we have a brief chat with the people that spotted the seal before they head on home. Whilst we talk, it hauls itself along the sand. Our environment transforms it from elegant and supple in the water to ungainly and clumsy out of it. We’re aware of not stressing it out too much – hauling themselves around on land costs seals valuable energy. Still, it’s surprisingly quick in getting away from us – making it clear that we should keep our distance.

            I look up advice on my phone and learn that seals regularly leave their pups on the beach whilst they hunt for food. In this case, the mother could have perhaps made a better choice than a busy town beach, full of dog walkers, but who am I to criticise? With an ever decreasing amount of viable habitats for many species, we probably haven’t left this seal with much option.

            Wildlife websites counsel that we should leave the baby seal well alone, but try and keep it away from dogs as many seals die each year from dog attacks. The night is falling, hard and early, and it’s almost dark. Seamus is almost thirteen years old and getting tired, and really needs to go home but I don’t feel comfortable leaving the baby to fend for itself when there’s always so many boisterous, inquisitive pups on this beach.

            “You go, and I’ll stay,” I tell mum. I can sense she’s worried about the seal too, but she agrees and tugs Seamus down the beach – a challenge as he’s upset about the pack being split.

It’s Christmas day and I know that I’m delaying the dinner which dad has spent so long preparing, but I don’t hesitate to stand on the sand in the last dregs of the light. I left my phone behind so it’s just me, the increasingly black outline of the seal, and the wind trying to sneak its fingers under my hood.

Time is slippery and treacherous when it’s dark and ,cold but I think about ten minutes pass with just the two of us on the beach. Two bodies, two beating hearts, two sets of eyes cautiously watching out for any sign of danger.

Just as I think it’s safe to leave, I catch the faint movements of life at the other end of the beach. Squinting, I can see that it’s two humans and two dogs. I rush towards them, the sand squishing under my trainers, to explain about the seal before they get anywhere near it.

“Of course, we’ll stay away” they say, calling to their dogs, embodying that instinctive need to protect others, human or non-human.

As they go back the way they came, the very last vestiges of light disappear from the sky. It’s properly dark now. My hands are freezing. I think it’s very unlikely that anyone else will come on the beach tonight, at Christmas, when the weather is perishing and everyone wants to be cosy inside. But it feels like a heavy risk assessment with the weight of another’s life on my hands.

Still, I walk back home, keeping one eye on the beach for as long as I can. As I eat Christmas dinner, the seal is still in my thoughts. I can’t let it go. The way its huge eyes caught scraps of moonlight. I know it’s not mine to tend forever, but I desperately want its mum to come back and find it safe and whole.

When we walk along the beach on Boxing Day morning, there’s no sign of the seal at all. We reassure each other that this lack means everything is okay, trusting that it’s absence meant that it’s fine.