Earlier this month, Judy, a friend of mine, sent me a photo of Belfast Harbor. It showcased a beautiful winter day, blue skies made bluer by the intense cold, the afternoon sun casting a burnished hue onto the tugboats and snow-covered floats.
I took a closer look. On the floats near where I dock my boat was a white seal in a “banana” pose — a C-curve with the flippers up. The seal’s eyes and snout were covered in black fur, like it was wearing a mask, giving it the appearance of a bandit.
Instantly, I knew it was a hooded seal from the Arctic.
Arctic, or “ice,” seals spend much of their lives around sea ice in colder climates. Hooded and harp seals occasionally migrate to the Gulf of Maine in winter and are typically spotted between December and March. It’s kind of like their Florida.
I wrote back to Judy, sharing my assessment, and then forwarded the photo to Rosie Seton of Allied Whale in Bar Harbor. Allied Whale, in partnership with Marine Mammals of Maine in Brunswick, addresses seal strandings and helps seals that are injured, ill or otherwise not thriving — often juvenile or “weanling” seals that have been abandoned or are struggling on their own.
Rosie confirmed the seal was a yearling hooded seal.
When I asked whether sightings like this are rare, she offered some perspective. “It is now,” she said, “but they used to be a common sight in the Gulf of Maine. We used to see more adults. Now it’s mostly yearlings. The young ones like to explore, to venture out.”
A few days later, after my next row, I examined the docks. Sure enough, there were large impressions on a float two sections away from mine — clearly not created by river otters, another frequent winter visitor.
At the other end of the marina, where Judy had photographed the seal, I saw distinct impressions all over the floats there as well. They looked like the seal version of a snow angel. Through these impressions, I could almost “see” the seal. The suggestion of an Arctic seal is almost as good as actually seeing one, though not quite.
So I used my imagination. I envisioned the seal using its claws to haul itself onto the float, hoisting its blubbery self up with the proverbial “seal kick” for momentum. Perhaps it rolled in the snow, basked in the cold, maybe even ate some of the snow before slipping back into the harbor. It’s a pleasant thought, this young seal resting on the docks in our sweet little harbor. I like that it can find refuge here.
Careful not to disturb the impressions, I searched for the spoils of the seal’s meals — blood or scat — and saw none. I followed up with Rosie and asked, “Could that one seal have made all of those impressions?” She said it likely did.
In December, on a particularly cold morning just before the holidays, I had seen what I suspected was a young harp seal on a float. Its fur was mottled in light brown — almost a tawny orange — and white, reminding me of a calico cat. Later, Rosie confirmed it was also a yearling.
The last time I saw an Arctic seal before this winter was in 2019, when a young harp took up temporary residence on a dock in the inner harbor during a stretch of teens-degree weather. I saw it several times as I headed out for training rows.
These visits coincided with especially cold weather and harbor ice. Harp seals eat snow and ice, which may be how they earned the nickname “ice seal.”
There’s likely little time left to see Arctic seals in Belfast Harbor at this point in the winter. Wanting to mark the visit, I sponsored an ice sculpture of the seal for this weekend’s Belfast Ice Festival.
