WHEN I arrived in Scotland, my skin still soaked from the sun and my suitcases overflowing with French food, my bucket list was full of clichés: Climbing Arthur’s Seat, visiting Edinburgh Castle, and spotting a seal.
Three years later, only one of those goals remained: the seal. Despite hours of squinting my eyes at every stretch of beach and cliff, I had yet to spot one, even though according to NatureScot, 40% of the world’s grey seals call the UK home.
To locals, my determination may seem eccentric. But as an animal lover, seals represent the holy grail of Scottish wildlife.
Then, I learned that St Abb’s Head, a favourite nature reserve of mine, becomes a haven for grey seals giving birth each autumn. Despite the bitter November cold, I pulled on my bright yellow boots and set off.
As I approached Pettico Wick – a cove with stunning views of the beaches and cliffs – my heart started racing. In the cold breeze and light drizzle, several metres below, was a beach swarming with grey seals. Mothers, pups and even a bull or two lurking in the choppy waters.
There, I met Ciaran Hatsell, head ranger of the Borders for the National Trust for Scotland. As I was staring in awe at the clumsy spectacle, he shared his knowledge with me:
“Seal mums give birth and feed their pups with rich milk for the first three weeks, allowing them to gain up to 2 kg daily until they are independent. While mums lose almost half their body weight.”
According to NatureScot, 90% of the UK grey seal population breeds in Scotland. A conservation success story according to the ranger: “Grey seals are one of the rarest seals in the world. We often hear doom and gloom about climate change and overfishing, so a species thriving like this is really rare.”
This year the colony had an especially remarkable count of 2039 pups, the third-highest ever. “We are really happy with it. They are apex predators, and a healthy apex population shows signs of a healthy ecosystem.” Ciaran shared.
Yet the harshness of nature is evident, only about half of the pups will survive their first year. Almost to illustrate this, I spotted a lifeless pup, its white fur torn to reveal its ribcage.
Nearby, two great black-backed gulls fought over its intestine. “Death is a normal part of the colony,” Ciaran said. “These gulls act like nature’s vacuum cleaner, seals are incredibly nutritious and will help them survive the winter.”
Following Ciaran’s advice, I moved closer to another seal colony. There, I witnessed a moment of gentle fragility as a pup pressed his nose against a wooden fence. His mother’s eyes fearful as human voices carried across the plain.
Ciaran shared horror stories of people trying to “rescue” a pup by putting it in a bag (likely causing its abandonment) parents putting their child on a pup for photos, and even fireworks being set off above the colony. That’s why the trust tries to always have someone on-site.
“Our core value is always what is right and best for the wildlife to call this place home. We try to provide seals with a safe, undisturbed place to breed while sharing this amazing experience with people in a respectful way, but it’s a fine balance.”
Observing wildlife responsibly and knowing how to behave around them is crucial, explains Ciaran: “If seals are disturbed, it’s a huge energy drain, especially for females who need all their strength to feed their pups and survive the season. So any added stress can be the difference between life and death for them.”
The Trust counted 2029 visitors during 16 events, making it their busiest and most successful season. Reflecting on the success the head ranger noted: “Every season, we learn something new and want to engage in a positive way, people’s natural curiosity is a good thing.”
As I left St Abb’s, my heart was warmed by the sweet moments I experienced. Three years of waiting were worth it, and I hope that next year, more will be able to join me, not just with their binoculars but with the desire to learn and protect these magnificent animals.
