The majesty of Scotland’s grey seals and why they need toberespected and protected
National Trust for Scotland ranger’s passion for wildlife has led to life devoted to all things great and small
Ciaran Hatsell would instil enthusiasm and zest into even the most apathetic person.
The National Trust for Scotland (NTS) ranger is exactly the right man in the right role working at the reserves at St Abb’s Head and the Grey Mare’s Tail.
Originally from Preston in Lancashire, Hatsell’s interest was piqued by his father and grandfather, both of whom had a passion for wildlife. Since the start of his working life, firstly as a volunteer at Norfolk’s Strumpshaw Fen and subsequently as an assistant ranger, he has travelled widely and worked closely with numerous species.
Some of that work led to trips to Iceland, following the migrations of ringed whooper swans, and spending time in the Farne Islands tagging grey seal pups and monitoring seabirds. It also led to a role as assistant warden in the place he claims is heaven on Earth – Fair Isle.
“I love Fair Isle more than anywhere, and it’s not only for the incredible seabirds, the rare migrants and other wildlife but also due to the people. Fair Isle is a migrant haven where Siberia and the USA converge, and you never know what might turn up,” said Hatsell, 32.
Though Hatsell claims that Fair Isle is his favourite place, he is no less passionate about his role as head ranger at the National Nature Reserve, St Abb’s Head on the Berwickshire coast, where he has been for four years.
Seabirds tell us much about the health of our oceans and the wider environment. Currently, with the added horror of avian flu, there are concerns about how this might affect precious colonies in the forthcoming season.
St Abb’s is home to extraordinary geology, wildflowers and thousands of breeding birds, but is also a haven for mammals. When summer is over and the guillemots, razorbills, kittiwakes and fulmars have gone, it transforms into a shelter for thousands of breeding grey seals.
Hatsell chats as we walk towards the seal beaches. Grey seals come ashore to breed here in late October and November. A single pup is born after a nine-month gestation period and delayed implantation.
The pup emerges with a yellowish-white natal coat called the lanugo, which is shed at weaning time after nearly three weeks. The pup quickly finds its mother’s teat and feeds many times a day, growing at an astonishing rate on milk with a 60% fat content. The mother, who fasts during the suckling period, shrinks by around four kilograms daily while her pup blossoms.
This fascinating example of energy transfer means that, quickly, the pup can take to the sea and is independent.
Some of the pups that lie closest to the sea and rock pools will have an advantage – they have the chance for short practice swims before they are thrown in at the deep end when suddenly weaned at three weeks old.
The views of the breeding beaches are breathtaking. Through binoculars, we enter another world – a melee of seals – creamy-coloured pups of varying sizes, as well as anxious, protective cows and rampant bulls. Some noticeably fat pups lie surrounded by a ring of white-moulted fur – they are now ready to take to the sea. Eerie calls of seal vocalisation mingle with those of hungry pups, demanding more milk.
Among the chaos, large, cumbersome bulls – the beach masters – jostle with one another, eagerly awaiting the chance to mate when the cows are receptive to them, towards the end of the suckling period.
Hatsell, who witnesses this fabulous spectacle daily during seal season, still relishes these moments. It is what makes time in his company so joyous.
Only the most prominent males will mate with the females, though there are continual battles for supremacy. Cows grumble and
growl at each other. Others doze, ignoring the aggression. Some animals are killed in fights, and pups are squashed or separated from their mother.
“Pup mortality is high, but we never interfere – it’s part of the natural process,” says Hatsell.
“It’s like a nature documentary right in front of us – two of our main aims are to protect wildlife while sharing it with people.
“We put up signage and temporary fencing, carry out daily patrols and host seal weekends. It helps us to engage positively with the public on our key messages. Of course, we want people to be able to enjoy this spectacle, but it is our job to help them do it responsibly.
“Each weekend in seal season, we are out with binoculars and telescopes, helping people view these brilliant beasts. Kids love seeing the pups.
“I hope the children leave here feeling inspired and motivated, become more involved in nature and, if we are lucky, pursue a career in conservation,” says Hatsell.
“The more we can enthuse them about the natural world, the better. Children are our future ambassadors for wildlife, and we need to inspire them.”
St Abb’s is unique and provides a rare chance for people to see seals from high cliff-top positions without causing any disturbance. This also allows Hatsell and the other team members to carry out critical annual counts. In 2021, they were in the throes of one such count when Storm Arwen was brewing. The savage wind came in from the north and caused devastation.
When Hatsell returned the day after, he found a heartbreaking scene – 846 dead pups, battered and blown into rocky coves, floating in the water or piled high among the rocks. Dozens more were doubtless lost at sea.
A significant proportion of the world’s population of grey seals is in Scotland. By 1914, numbers had fallen to around 500 due to incessant persecution.
The Grey Seals Protection Act was passed in the same year and, since then, the population has significantly increased. Before the 1850s, large colonies did not exist, but seals moved in as humans were forced to leave remote islands.
It’s estimated that there are around 120,000 grey seals in Britain – representing around 40% of the world’s population and 95% of the European population.
But entanglement in marine litter, ghost fishing gear and pollution remain constant threats. Propeller injuries can be fatal, while disturbance – including eager photographers or dogs getting too close – can cause harm.
While absorbing the scene, it’s easy to think that there are plenty of seals – but this mass congregation only happens once a year. For the remainder, seals disperse far and wide.
It is humans that threaten dwindling fish stocks, not seals.
“The grey seals at St Abb’s represent a conservation success story, with around 2,000 pups born on the beaches yearly. Records from 2007 show there wasn’t a colony here before,” says Hatsell. “It’s heartening to see that, despite the devastation of Storm Arwen, this breeding season seems to have been good, and there is recovery.
“We must ensure we help that success by keeping breeding areas undisturbed. Our responsibility to monitor, conserve and share these special marine mammals is a real privilege and a challenge we embrace.”
We have now driven to a remote part of the coast and walked out to look down on a far bigger colony.
Light fades over the sea, the air is sharp and cold. The laments of the seals carry on the icy wind.
Hatsell smiles and says, “Isn’t it awesome?”