My Wild Neighbors: Close encounters of the pinniped kind

Two of the world’s 33 species of seals live year-round in Maine

By Kimberly Ridley

Tom and I were honeymooners paddling a battered aluminum canoe along the spruce-rimmed shores of Morgan Bay. Reflections of Acadia’s mountains barely rippled in the calm water. A sudden splash, then fish started jumping all around us.

“What’s down there?” Tom asked, peering into the water.

Before I could speak, a slick, domed head the color of pewter popped out of the water a few yards away. Dark eyes watched us. Nostrils quivered. Whiskers twitched.

“A seal!” I whispered. I swear I could smell the creature’s fishy breath.

Another seal bobbed up, and then another. A fourth seal surfaced with a fish in its mouth.

“We’re surrounded,” Tom said, eyes wide.

We floated spellbound. My mind dove to green depths curtained with swirling rockweed. I wondered: What would life be like as a seal, frolicking in a frigid ocean and hunting fish in the murk, eluding a shark’s dagger jaws and shimmying to safety on a sun-warmed ledge?

Such wild imaginings still surface whenever I see a seal. One can’t help but wonder about them. They are among our most mysterious and charismatic wild neighbors.

Seals and their pinniped (“fin-footed”) cousins, sea lions and walruses, possess superpowers that enable them to live on every continent, thriving in cold ocean waters and harsh environments. Thick blubber and waterproof skin and fur keep pinnipeds buoyant and toasty from the Arctic to Antarctica. Built-in swim goggles, round eye lenses, and special pupils allow them to see clearly underwater.

They also have the animal kingdom’s most sensitive whiskers, each packed with upwards of 1,500 nerve endings, which help them sense the movement of fish, squid, and other prey from a distance in dark, murky water. Add to that an ability to slow their heart rate from about 100 beats per minute to four beats per minute to conserve body heat while deep diving, and hold their breath for many minutes thanks to a unique capacity to store oxygen in their muscles and special veins as well as their lungs, and whew, you’ve got nature’s most amazing free divers.

Two of the world’s 33 species of pinnipeds live year-round in Maine: harbor seals and gray seals (harp seals and hooded seals sometimes turn up in winter). Telling our two resident species apart is fairly easy based on face shape and size. Harbor seals have roundish, puppy-like faces with short muzzles, and adults measure four to five feet long.

Gray seals have blocky heads with long muzzles, giving them the Latin name Halichoerus grypus, which means "hooked-nosed pig of the sea,” and the common nickname “horse heads.” From stem to stern, male gray seals run between eight and 10 feet long and weigh a whopping 600 to 800 pounds.

Seals are a common sight along our coast, but this wasn’t the case a few decades ago.

Populations of both species had been decimated by the 1960s. Seen as pests competing for commercially valuable fish, seals were shot by fishermen for centuries and by state-funded bounty hunters in Massachusetts and Maine from the late 19th century to the mid 20th century. Hunting, combined with disease and other natural causes, sent seal populations plummeting.

The repeal of bounty laws and passage of the Marine Mammal Protection Act in 1972, which prohibits the harassment and killing of marine mammals, slowly turned things around. Today, an estimated 60,000 harbor seals and 27,000 gray seals frolic along the eastern seaboard, according to the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration.

Scientists link the seals’ comeback with an increasing presence of great white sharks, their Maine predator, in the Gulf of Maine. But rebounding seal populations also mean more encounters between seals and humans—especially when it comes to harbor seal pups.

Female harbor seals, who give birth in spring and early summer, leave their pups alone on the beach while they hunt. It’s easy to assume that a harbor seal pup on the shore has been abandoned, but that’s not usually the case. If you encounter a seal pup on the shore, the most important thing to do is keep your distance and avoid disturbing it, says Dr. Charles Rolsky, executive director and senior research scientist at the Shaw Institute in Blue Hill.

“What most people don't realize is that a lone seal pup on a beach is almost always completely normal,” Rolsky says. “Seal mothers routinely leave their pups on shore while they go off to forage, sometimes for up to 24 hours. Concerned beachgoers often mistake these healthy pups for animals in distress, and sometimes trying to intervene is the worst action you can take.”

Interacting with seal pups is dangerous for people and the pups alike, Rolsky says. Seals, including pups, can bite and they carry diseases dangerous to both people and pets. As for the pups, mere human presence can stress them enough to cause harm—and cause their mothers to abandon them.

“Mothers will abandon pups that have been handled by people,” Rolsky says. “And as hard as it may be [to leave seal pups alone], the mother will simply not return if she detects humans nearby.”

There are several red flags to watch for that indicate a seal pup is in trouble.

“If you can see the animal’s neck well-defined, it’s likely underweight,” Rolsky says. “Cloudy eyes, coughing, rapid breathing or skin that looks baggy or wrinkled are also signs that something’s wrong.”

In these instances, it’s time to call Allied Whale, the marine mammal research group at College of the Atlantic, which is federally authorized to respond to marine mammal strandings and emergencies from Rockland to the Canadian border. You can also contact the Shaw Institute, which collaborates with Allied Whale as a designated stranding response volunteer. The Allied Whale Network monitors every reported animal. Those who need help are transported to the closest rehabilitation center.

Seals of all ages face additional challenges from human activity. Some are injured by boat propellers. Boaters and paddlers who get too close can stress seals and scare them off the beaches and ledges where they haul out to mate, give birth and rest. Some humans who get topo close may also be breaking the law: The Marine Mammal Protection Act makes it illegal to approach seals from 150 feet or less. In addition, flame retardants, PFAS (toxic “forever chemicals”),” and microplastics have been found in seal tissue—a set of environmental challenges the Shaw Institute is investigating.

Thinking about seals – and how what affects them affects us – reminds me that we are all profoundly connected. May we keep hold of the magic of encounters like the one I had in Morgan Bay nearly forty years ago. As ecologist Robin Wall Kimmerer, an ecologist, author, and citizen of the Potawatomi Nation said: “All flourishing is mutual.”

Maine native Kimberly Ridley is the award-winning author of six creative nonfiction books about the natural world for children and adults, including The Secret Pool and Wild Design: Nature’s Architects. Her essays and articles have appeared in numerous publications including Down East Magazine, The Christian Science Monitor, and The Boston Globe.  She lives in Brooklin with the painter Tom Curry and their cat Andy. www.kimberlyridley.org