I was diving off La Jolla Cove one spring day looking for interesting subjects to photograph when my model, a youngster harbor seal (Phoca vitulina richardsi), showed up ready for a close-up. The encounter began with a slight tug on one of my fins. Twisting around, I was excited to see the baby seal signaling my attention. I know the drill. It’s playtime! The seal cavorted around me, performing acrobatic loops and flips, then zeroed in on me again to gum the drysuit material covering my arm and rub its nose whiskers along the fabric. It then rested its head against my upper arm and gazed into my mask-shielded eyes only inches away. I stared into big, round orbs, dark pools of seeming infinite depth framed by sparse but long eyebrow hairs, and wondered what thoughts were behind them.
Although I’m no seal mind-reader, I know their meager facial hairs perform follicle feats unchallenged by whiskered terrestrial animals. Hairs sprouting above the eyes help seals determine if they can squeeze their body into a tight space without getting stuck. Seal whiskers, arranged in orderly rows, may help gauge when their nostrils break the water’s surface to ensure inhaling a snoutful of air instead of water. And those whiskers may be more important to seals than their eyes when it comes to hunting due to generally low visibility in these parts. The water’s density is such that animals passing by leave a wake that lingers. Research has shown that seals can detect an aquatic footprint left behind by something as small as a goldfish.
Seals live a schizophrenic existence because they straddle two worlds. After first evolving from sea to land, they then readapted to life in the ocean. Why go back? Apparently, survival increased for seals giving birth on land and feeding in the ocean and, during that time, modern humans did not exist. It is presently unknown exactly when harbor seals came to be, but predecessor pinnipeds (the family to which seals belong) show up in the fossil record beginning in late Oligocene (about 25 million years ago) along the North Pacific region off Oregon and Washington. There they remained, with new species emerging during the early Miocene (about 24 million years ago). The earliest Phoca vitulina remains found to date were uncovered in the same area and hearken to the early Pleistocene (about 2 million years ago). In contrast, modern humans (Homo sapiens sapiens), those who practiced most cultural aspects of humanity, such as music and religion, and employed complex tools, don’t appear until the late Pleistocene (about 50,000 years ago).
That seals have endured for so long seems to demand a sense of humor. I was minding my business on a dive in the kelp forest when an adult seal came to check me out. Curious but shy, the seal kept a wary distance while whizzing in and out through the kelp strands. Gratefully, it settled down in front of me and struck a pose. As I raised my camera to squeeze the shutter, the seal casually rolled over and stared at me. What to do? If I flip upside down to achieve a correctly oriented seal, the kelp will appear to defy gravity by growing downward. I swear this seal was messing with me. I decided to make the picture despite the goofy outcome.
Admittedly, I reap great pleasure from watching animals in the act of being themselves, but seals are also first-rate teachers of life lessons. For example, seals don’t live mostly to work or strive to dominate other species or the world. Seals accommodate us in their space and sometimes even invite us to participate with them. Seals are role models by demonstrating what makes for a satisfying and contented life: hanging out with your tribe, enjoying the day, taking naps, exploring your environment and, of course, making time for play.
As open space continues to diminish worldwide, seeing wildlife in an urban area is indeed a rare treat. If you aren’t lucky enough to have your own underwater seal encounter, observe them with binoculars where they haul out at the Children’s Pool. It’s also a great way to encourage your children to form a personal bond to and respect for the ocean and its inhabitants, along with providing a unique opportunity for them to share with you their insights and observations of truly wild nature.
” Judith Lea Garfield, biologist and underwater photographer, has authored two natural history books about the underwater park off La Jolla Cove and La Jolla Shores. www.judith.garfield.org. Questions, comments or suggestions? Email [email protected].