A Late Tide but lots of Seals in Norfolk

Why hasn’t the Tide turned up for my Seal Trip?

“Time and tide wait for no-one” is a very old saying; so old that “tide” meant, well, “time” (as in "Yuletide”) when the saying was originally said. However, most would agree that the saying still works if “tide” means “tide”. The tide, surely, is as inexorable in its comings and goings as time itself. But that isn’t necessarily so.

The tide can stand you up, on coasts where the sea is very shallow to a distance very far out. Because of the shallows, the tide comes in thinly, though fast, and not (normally) with a colossal, irresistible weight of water. A reasonably strong adverse wind can, literally, hold the tide up. In effect the water piles up against the invisible “door” of the wind until there is too much water piled up and the door gives way.

Sometimes a combination of strong but variable winds and high tides can bring coastal disaster. Such was the case in December 2013 in East Anglia. A very strong southerly wind kept the incoming water piling up – and up. The wind then veered 180 degrees and blew strongly from the north. The accumulated mass of water, already due to constitute a very high tide, was driven in a surge against the coast, causing widespread flooding, and damage to beaches and flood defences.

In Norfolk this November I was given a practical demonstration of the contest between wind and tide (thankfully not involving a storm surge). We had booked to go seal watching, which involved a boat journey from the creek at Morston Quay out to the tip of Blakeney Point. The sailing times of the seal boats are, unsurprisingly, timed for when the tide has rendered the creek navigable.

On the day of the excursion we were supposed to leave shortly after the tide had flooded the creek – 2.15pm. As we had been directed to do, the seal watchers all assembled on the Quay at 2.05. But there were no boats bobbing on water. Rather, our boats lay impotently in mud, which was disturbed only by a derisive ribbon of two-inch deep water. Not to worry, said the cheery crew, the tide is held up by the wind, but it’ll be along in 10 minutes. 20 minutes later, there was still just mud.

I was half expecting a small tsunami to come tumbling down the creek when the tide finally got through. At around 2.45, it arrived with the tempo of a fast-filling bath. It took about 10 minutes to float our boat. At last, we boarded and set off to the seals.

The seal colony on Blakeney Point is the Apple Corporation of the animal world. According to the National Trust, which owns the Point and curates the colony, in 2001 25 pups were born on the Point. In 2014 births numbered 2,426. This makes the Blakeney colony the largest in England. Why this growth? Protection from predators, protection from humans (the National Trust is very vigilant and the coastal-drift formed Point is four miles long to walk). But these conditions held at and before 2001 (except that the Point was marginally shorter), so it is still a mystery why seal numbers have increased.

The seal boats chug out from Morston Creek into a wide natural harbour, created by the westward projecting Point. The boat we were in was a simple wooden, open affair, with 20 passengers sitting on a continuous wooden bench which runs round the sides. A steersman/guide stood at the stern, bellowing wisecracks and information, the latter mostly useful.

Towards the Point, seals start to bob up around the boat, looking cute, or sometimes fierce; and everyone is animated and busy taking pictures – mostly of water, as the seals don’t stop to pose but soon duck under.

The Point is a different matter. Here, all the seals of every age and either gender that you could wish for are hauled up like so many living longboats. They are flopped out, or flopping rapidly around, or suckling or snarling (the bulls are competitive).

The seal boats gun their engines and drift in very near to shore; not too near because of the shallows. The seals don’t seem to mind, except the ones in the very shallow water near to the boats’ keels, who charge and wallow inshore.

So we motor and drift up and down for a while, with everyone taking what our skipper drolly calls “sealfies”..

And then it’s time to head back, in gathering dusk. Darkness drains colour from sea and flat wide marshes. To the lubberly eye the distinction between the two becomes difficult. I am quickly disorientated. And now the pesky wind, which earlier held up our tide, is driving choppy waves at the prow of the boat. Our guide solemnly tells us to squeeze back towards the stern, thus raising the bow, the better to ride the waves.

A frisson of seamanship briefly touches us tourists.

As a postscript, I have to say that other intriguing encounters with seals in Norfolk have been on the beach at Wells (the Blakeney encounters remain the most spectacular).

Occasionally, a mother seal and her pup haul out on the beach at Wells. I don’t know why the seal is solitary. Perhaps she is fed up with the attentions of the bulls at Blakeney. Whilst she and pup are at Wells, you can approach to a fairly close distance (she lets you know if it’s too close – seals can flop over the sand rapidly and aggressively).

The seals have to contend with the numerous dogs walked on Wells beach. The dogs soon learn to bark at a respectful number of yards away.

The storm surge of 2013 took the lives of many seals, especially pups. The last seal that I saw at Wells was a dead pup.

November 2015