With the onset of May I start getting restless. I check our database hundreds of times to see when, in the previous years, the first baby seals started coming in and where they were found. Two hours after high tide, it is impossible for me to stay in the house, because the dike where the first baby seal is found almost every time is just behind our house.
Whatever the weather, I always check the Internet for the water levels first, after which I get into my 40 year old 2CV-van, equipped with a pair of binoculars, and head off to the dike.
I have a fixed route.
I often start at the Dollard to see how many seals are there. At the beginning of May all is still quiet. The mothers have not yet arrived and are still swimming in the outer waters above Rottum and Borkum. But every day, a couple more make their way to the sandbanks in the Dollard. And then, suddenly, you see the first mother with her young! This makes the adrenaline pump through my veins: I start mistaking every stone along the dike for a seal.
Last Saturday afternoon I had a work meeting at my home, but I checked the water levels in between: I had to get to the dike by seven that evening.
That should be possible.
But then my husband started going on about the shopping: I had to get some fish in the village. And well, seeing as I was there anyway, I decided to take a quick look on the dike. And indeed, there was a seal swimming in the Termunten harbour. He is often there, waiting for fish from the fishmonger. I continued my way with my bag of fish, turning left to the dike towards the Dollard to check up on the fyke nets, because many baby seals have been found there in previous years. I used to do this as a kid: I never came straight home, but always took a detour along the dike.
However, to get to this dike you must climb a high fence with barbed wire. There are some concrete steps, but they are very high. Luckily, I sailed over, thanks to the adrenaline rush. At the first fyke there was nothing, but in the distance I could see something white lying against the net. It looked just like a piece of rolled up net, but you never can tell. I could not get a clear view with my binoculars, so I stumbled along the bottom of the dike to the second fyke net. And when I got my head out above the dike again, I saw it: a white ball with a tiny head; a premature seal that had lost its mother. At such moments I usually forget to get out my camera, because I can only think of one thing, to come to the rescue as quickly as possible. This time, however, I did take some pictures first. He was sleeping so soundly, holding on to the net with his flippers. Baby seals often do that when they have lost their mother: they lie against a net, a post or a stone for safety.
Casper, which is how I named him, was born very prematurely and had a full embryonic white fur. This normally disappears at birth, because it is difficult to swim with such long white hairs. A common seal must be able to swim within hours of its birth, as it is born on a sandbank at low tide.
Casper was suffering from hypothermia due to his time in the sea. He still had his umbilical cord, so I knew he was barely a day old. And to have made such a journey in amongst the strong currents in the Dollard!
I took him in my arms, because I had to take him up the steep dike and over that high fence with the barbed wire. But I succeeded! I jumped from one step to the other and landed on the ground with Casper still safely in my arms.
It was a great thing to see that being wrapped up in foil with three bottles of ORS and a hot water bottle restored the tiny animal’s body temperature just like that: He raised his head and opened his eyes.
I am so glad I was able to save Casper!
05-17-2009 Source: SRRC Lenie 't Hart
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