A Fighter’s Tale

As found, on 28 Oct ‘21

I found this beautiful pup on 28 October 2021, at 10:47. The sun was already high, and this cute ball of fluff was reflecting the sunlight brightly, emitting golden hue that only newborn seal pups can produce. The pup’s fur looked damp in places - suggesting it might not have been long after it was born.

Naturally I was worried that it was all on its own on the beach without its mum. But she could be anywhere, feeding herself after pregnancy and watching me from the sea so I hid myself in the marram grass keeping a good distance from the pup.

The pup was scraping the sand with its flippers and put its mouth on the scraped hole as if to suckle. As soon as a pup is born, the mum is said to turn around to sniff the baby to remember its scent - that’s how a seal mum recognises its pup and that’s exactly when a strong bond is created between the mum and the pup. At this stage I didn’t know if this ritual had been performed or not but didn’t want to be the reason to disrupt this crucial bonding.

Scraping the sand and pretending to suckle

Soon afterwards, I spotted a seal playing with two adolescent seals in the sea. I figured that the biggest one could be the mum and the two adolescents are her cubs from past years. There was a tender moment where one of them approached this helpless pup on the beach and kissed it.

The next morning, as I was still slightly worried about the pup, I headed straight to where this pup was. It was there, with its fur now fully dry, looking absolutely stunning. It looked as though it gained weight a little, but I still failed to see its mum nearby.

Like humans, different grey seal mums must have different parenting styles. But as I had already seen a very devoted mum on the same beach, never away from its pup, and the pup was noticeably bigger each day, meaning it was nursed regularly. Naturally my worry for this little lone fighter grew.

Siblings’ bond?

The area in Norfolk I was visiting had a terrible stormy weather the next day, Saturday, 30 October 2021. As part of an organised wildlife tour, we ventured out onto the dune right next to the beach but within the first minute I became soaked and rushed back into the safe haven of our van. Inevitably my thoughts started to drift to the pup, hearing the heavy raindrops ruthlessly hit the metal roof of the van.

If the Saturday is described hell, the following day, 31 October, was heaven. A sunny, warm day for October, and the aggressive, merciless lead-coloured sea of yesterday totally subsided showing its calm side.

I was compelled to visit the beach. I must check if the pup was alright. I wanted it to have survived the storm I couldn’t withstand even for a minute. As soon as I parked up, I started walking along the land-side of the beach, feeling frustrated and helpless at the speed of my progress as each step dug way too deep into the sand and needed extra pull to step forward.

The beach has groynes all along it and numbered. I still had 11 more groynes to get to that pup.

Now dried and fluffy, the same pup wakes up to the morning light

As the sun had not risen, even with the shiny white coat of a pup, it was difficult to spot one in the dark. The pessimist in me drew the eyes to the still white bodies on the beach - these had been there before. So I walked on.

I reached groyne 43, which is next to where I first spotted the pup.

There I saw a motionless pup, with its belly up.

My eyes welled up when I saw its eyes.

A photographer’s job is to document, not emotionally become attached to the subject. Obviously I failed in this regard. It was astonishing to realise that this helpless and possibly a deserted pup, viewed through the viewfinder, grabbed my heart, and left such a lasting impression on me. Not only because it was adorable, but because it thrust many questions. About the cruelty of life and nature. About how survival depends on luck in the wild. About silly human concept such as fairness that nature doesn’t fathom. About interventions. About nature having a way of balancing everything in the end however cruel it might sometimes seem. About how removed we have become from the cruelties we indirectly commit to survive. But most of all, about how unwilling I was to accept the cruel side of nature.

With this pup, it could have been hypothermia due to the storm. Or it could have been the case of ‘aborted’ pregnancy that females commit when something isn’t quite right, be it food availability or the pup itself. When this happens, a mother gives birth but refuses to nurse it, of course.

Nobody will know the full truth.

Upon my return from Norfolk, I sat there seeing the silly number of photos I had taken, not knowing what to do. I needed time to digest it all, especially the death of the pup. Should I share it on my website? If so, how? I could have chosen the easy way - just use the photographs of the healthy pup that people normally oooh and ahhh over and be done with it.

But I’m a human with silly concepts and thoughts that nature doesn’t fathom.

It just felt wrong to put a lid on this pup’s passing - it barely lived for a week and I’m not sure if it ever felt the warmth of a mother. At least I have a record of some beautiful moments of its short life which documents how much of a fighter it was, on a sandy windswept beach, on its own, feeling the warmth of the sun, sometimes feeling the tickles of the flying sand. This pup tried to live, and I witnessed it.

And putting those clips together in celebration of its precious life cruelly cut short is what this failed photographer can do, to make this pup’s life somehow official, if at all, by keeping it on the record.

This is how I want to remember this gorgeous pup