Seal Pup Trapped in a Tidal Rock Crevice

A natural rock crevice on the coast of Maine is a place shaped by water. Over years, over tides, over storms, the sea has worn a narrow gap into the rocks, a gap that is sheltered from wind, that holds pools of water, that smells of salt and seaweed, that, to a seal pup, looks like a safe place to rest. Seal pups rest on rocks. They lie, they watch, they wait for their mothers, they learn the shape of the shore by lying on it. A grey seal pup, spotted with dark marks, small, soft, famously vulnerable on land, had lain down in that crevice, perhaps to rest, perhaps to shelter from wind, perhaps simply because a crevice that was open looked like a place to lie, and had discovered, too late, that a crevice that looks like a resting place is actually a trap when the tide comes in and two large rocks prevent a body from turning.

The pup lay in the crevice, its head up, its body low, and two large rocks pressed in from either side, not crushing it, but holding it with the quiet, unarguable weight of the shore. It could not turn. It could not reverse out of the gap the way it had come in, because the rocks, which had admitted a small body lying down, would not admit a small body trying to turn around. And below it, the tide was coming in. Water, which had been a thin wash at the bottom of the crevice, was now rising, lapping at the rocks, pooling around the pup’s body, turning a resting place into a place that would, in time, become a place of water, not of rock, a place where a pup that cannot turn, that cannot climb, could become a pup that is in water it did not choose, in a crevice it cannot leave.

A seal pup trapped in a tidal rock crevice is in danger from the rocks first, and from the tide second. The rocks hold a body that needs to turn, and the tide brings water into a space that needs to stay dry enough for a pup to breathe, to rest, to wait for help without becoming chilled, without becoming exhausted from holding its head above water that keeps rising. The rescue, therefore, would have to be a matter of speed without haste, of a board and a strap, worked together, before the tide rose further, so that the pup could be lifted, level, to a safe position above the rock bank, where it could be checked without water pressing on it any longer, without rocks preventing it from turning.

The team arrived with a protective pad, with a support strap, with tools for lifting a loose rock that had been checked as stable, and with a plan to lift the pup, not drag it, to a safe position above the rocks. They did not rush to the crevice with hands outstretched, because a tidal rescue punishes haste. One rescuer, a specialist, approached from the side, not from above, so that the pup could see a person, not just a shadow falling across its crevice. The others checked the tide, checked the rocks, checked which loose rock could be lifted safely and which large rocks must not be touched, because moving a large rock in a tidal crevice can shift the whole bank, can close a gap that was just opened, can turn a rescue into a new trap. They talked quietly about the tide’s timing, about the board’s placing, about the strap’s holding, because in tidal work, the first job is always to understand the water before you touch the animal in it.

In the opening seconds, the bodycam POV looked down into the rock crevice, and the image it gave was the image of a small, spotted life in a place of stone and rising water. There, in the crevice, lay the seal pup. Its grey coat, spotted with dark marks, was bright against the wet rocks, its head up, its eyes dark, fixed on the camera, the way a seal pup looks at something new when it cannot decide whether that something is danger or help, whether it should stay or try to move, whether moving is even possible in a space that has only one exit, and that exit is blocked by rocks. Water washed gently around the rocks below it, lapping, not yet threatening, but present, a reminder that the tide was not waiting, that time, in a tidal crevice, is a thing that is measured in inches of water, not in minutes on a clock.

The rescuer with the pad kept his voice low and calm, speaking down into the crevice the way people speak to seal pups when they want them to stay calm, to stay still, to believe that the hands at the rocks are not another tide, not another rock, but help arriving in stages.

“Hey, little one… I see you in there. Hang on, we’re going to lift you out of this crevice, nice and steady.”

The pup’s head moved at the sound, turning just slightly toward the voice, and its body, which had been tense and low, settled, just slightly, as if the voice had told it that staying still was itself a job, and that it was good at its job, that it had been doing its job, lying in a crevice, waiting, watching, for as long as the tide had held it there, for as long as it had needed to wait, and that staying still, while not as active as swimming, was still work, still a task, still something a seal pup could do well, could do with patience, could do until a better job came along, which was, in this case, a board, a strap, a lift, a job that involved being lifted, not just lying, a job that would take it from a crevice to a safe position above the rocks, to a check, a job that a seal pup, given a voice and a board, would do gladly, would do with the trusting stillness that seal pups bring to people, especially to people who are helping, especially to being with people again.

From three to seven seconds, the rescue became a matter of approaching from the side and preparing the board and strap. The specialist approached from the side, keeping his body low, keeping his movements slow, so that the pup did not feel cornered from above. He placed a protective pad beside the pup, so that when it was lifted, it would have a surface to rest on, not rocks, not water, but a pad. He prepared a support strap, keeping it flat, keeping it ready, so that when the board was placed, the strap could go under the pup’s body without twisting, without pressing on its ribs. His teammates watched the tide, calling out when water rose, when a wave washed higher, when the board needed to be placed quickly, but not hurriedly, because in tidal work, speed and haste are different things: speed is placing a board before the tide rises further; haste is dropping a board onto a pup.

The rescuers spoke to each other in short, clear sentences, sentences that left no room for misunderstanding beside a tidal crevice, with a seal pup inside it, with a pad to place and a tide to watch, and they spoke to the pup in longer, softer sentences, sentences that said, in tone, that the pad was ready, that the strap was ready, that there was no hurry, that the pup could take all the time it needed, because time, in a tidal crevice, is a thing that can be given, as long as the tide is watched and the board is placed well.

Between seven and twelve seconds, the team used a tool to lift a loose rock that had been checked as stable, and a teammate slid a support board under the pup’s body. That lifting and placing was the work, and the tide continuing to wash in while the board was being lowered into the crevice was its climax, the moment when a nearly completed approach became a place of new difficulty, not because the rock had shifted, but because the water had risen, a wave washing higher than the last, pooling around the board, turning a board placement that had been planned for dry rock into a board placement that had to be done in water, with a pup that was now lying in water it had not chosen, with a team that had to work, not faster, but steadier, so that the board did not float, did not shift, did not press the pup against the rocks it was meant to free it from. The rescuer did not pull the board. He held it steady, he kept it level, he let the water wash around it, not under it, so that the board became, for a moment, a small, dry island in a rising tide, a surface that the pup could be slid onto, not dragged across, a surface that would carry it up, not a surface that would push it down.

The rescuer who had spoken at the start spoke again, still low, still calm, talking the pup through the rising tide, the way people talk to seal pups when they want them to stay still, just a moment longer, while a board is lowered, while water washes in, while a strap is placed, so that the lift, which had been almost ready, can become truly ready, can become a lift, not a pull from water, but a rise, a board, a safe position above the rocks, a future that is, for a seal pup, defined by dry rocks, by open air, by a check, not by crevices, not by tides, not by water washing in while a board is lowered.

“Easy, little one… tide’s coming in, but we’ve got the board under you. Hold still, we’re lifting you up together.”

A seal pup pulled from a tidal crevice can be injured, can have its body twisted against rocks, its small frame hurt by a sudden pull against water that does not give, and the team did not pull. They held the board steady, they kept the strap level, they let the tide wash around the board, they let the pup’s own stillness carry it through, once the board was truly under its body, once the strap was truly placed, once the lift was, finally, a lift, not a drag from water, not a promise with tide in it, but a rise, a board, a safe position above the rocks. The pup, feeling the board hold, feeling the strap steady, feeling the water wash around, not under, the board, stayed still, head up, eyes on the rescuer, as if it had decided, finally, that a board is better than a crevice, that a strap is better than rocks, that people, even people working in rising water, are better than a tide that keeps coming in.

In the final seconds, two people coordinated to lift the seal pup, on its board, to a safe position above the rock bank for checking, clear of the crevice, clear of its rocks, clear of its rising tide, out onto rocks that were dry, that were flat, that were not a crevice, that were, for a pup, the world as it should be: a world of dry rocks, of people, of a safe place where a pup could be examined, given rest, given time, to become, again, a pup that is not in a crevice, a pup that is on safe rocks, a pup that is safe, lifted out gently, not dragged, not pulled, but supported, held, placed, softly, onto safe rocks where it could lie, could breathe, could be checked, could be a seal pup again, rescued from a crevice, rescued from a tide, rescued, completely, for the first time since it lay down in a gap that looked like rest. The rescuer who had lifted it held the board steady, his voice now warm with relief, spoken to the pup and to the coast as much as to anyone, because the pup that had lain in a crevice was now out, safe, on safe rocks, on its way to a check, to safety, to a future that was not in a crevice, because the rescue that had almost failed at a rising tide had succeeded, because patience had won over haste, because a low, calm voice had won over a pull, because tides, however rising, however washing in, can be worked around, board by board, strap by strap, until a way out appears, even in a crevice, even on a coast, even in Maine, even for a grey seal pup that lies when frightened, that waits when guided, that lifts when given a board and a quiet voice and safe rocks to lift onto.

“There you go… out of the crevice, little one. Safe now, up above the rocks, let’s get you checked.”

It would be checked for any injury from the rocks, for chilling from tidal water, for stress from lying in a crevice while water rose, for the general condition of a seal pup found alone, and, if it was fit, kept safe, given safe rocks, given rest, given a future that was not in a crevice, not between rocks, not with water washing in below it, but a coastline, dry rocks, a home, where seal pups do not need boards, where rock crevices are for resting, not for trapping pups, where a grey seal pup can be a seal pup again, on dry rocks, not in a crevice, not between rocks, not with tide washing in. The crevice, its loose rock to be reset, its bank to be inspected, its tide to be watched, stayed at its Maine coast, a crevice with a story in it, a reminder that coasts, even coasts as ordinary as a Maine rocky shore, are places where seal pups can become trapped when tides rise, and that trapped pups need people with pads, boards, straps, steady hands, and voices that speak low and calm into crevices, that do not pull a pup past rising water, to bring them back to safe rocks. The pup that had lain in its crevice was out, safe, because a team, with a loose rock lifted in a controlled way, a board slid beneath it, a strap placed level, and a voice that waited, that spoke low and calm into a crevice, that did not pull a pup past tide, had given it back safe rocks, and safe rocks, for a pup that has been in a crevice, are everything, is a coastline, is a home, is a future, is freedom from rocks, is life without water washing in below it.