One sun-filled afternoon in August, I set out by boat around the Seven Hogs – na Seacht gCeanna – off the Maharees on the northern side of the Dingle peninsula in Kerry. The clutch of small islands, uninhabited by humans for more than half a century, rises up from the Atlantic Ocean like little dumplings, each of varying shape and size, from the largest, Oileán tSeanaigh (St Seanach’s Island) to the smallest, Oileán Imill (island on the edge). Scattered between are the others: Gorach (the bird hatchery island), Oileán Bó (cow’s island), Oileán Traolaigh (Terence’s island), Inis Tuaisceart (north island) and An Mhuclach Bheag (small piggery island).
Overlooked by the sandstone Slieve Mish mountain range on the mainland, we weaved our way through the rocky islands, and as we approached each one, birds unsettled by our presence lifted up and away. Pairs of oystercatchers whooshed by, wingtip to wingtip, like planes in an aerial display. But the cormorants were less vulnerable to our disturbance; unmoved, they continued to perch on the rocks, their wings and chests facing the sun as they soaked up the warmth like sunbathers.
As we reached the jagged An Mhuclach Bheag, the boat slowed and lingered loosely on the water, its engine quietened. Within seconds we noticed pairs of large, dark eyes fixed on us: grey seals, their heavily whiskered heads lifted high above the water, had surfaced just a few metres away. They watched us, unfazed, as we watched them. How many were there? It was hard to say. They appeared and disappeared like magicians, slipping silently in and out of view, only to emerge on the other side of the boat moments later. It felt playful, like a game of hide and seek, but with a slightly sinister edge. The larger seals, presumably seasoned in their dealings with humans, kept their distance while staring our way, but the smaller ones, unable to resist satisfying their curiosity, edged closer before diving under the water and out of sight.
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Halichoerus grypus – literally, “hook-nosed sea pig” – is the somewhat unflattering, yet accurate, name given to the grey seal, by far the larger of our two native seal species, the other being the smaller, round-headed common seal. The first time they were surveyed was in the mid-1960s, when the naturalist RM Lockley spent two autumns travelling along the coast looking for them in his Bedford dormobile campervan, which had a trailer holding a small sea-boat and a 7ft dinghy attached, which he used to explore the coves and caves. Seals share our fondness for Atlantic salmon, which has long brought them into conflict with fishermen. In the 1960s, a bounty of £3 per seal killed was placed on the seal’s lower jaw, mainly in salmon fishery districts. Perhaps for this reason, RM Lockley found the vast majority of the grey seal breeding population off the west coast, many in caves on remote and inaccessible islands, where they were left in peace.
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Lockley recorded them in their natural habitat – the marine environment – but seals aren’t averse to spending time in freshwater. Exactly why they do this isn’t fully understood, but a fair guess is the promise of plenty of fish to eat, and in this pursuit, swimming long distances up rivers and over waterfalls is no deterrent. In 1984 a common seal was spotted in Lough Gill in Sligo, having made a marathon journey from the sea at Rosses Point to Sligo town – that’s eight kilometres inland – up a series of rapids in the Garavogue River before swimming several more kilometres into the lake. It’s no surprise this happened in February – the same time when Atlantic salmon leave the ocean and enter rivers to breed – so it seems likely that this particular seal could not resist following (and eating) the fish as they moved upstream, much to the concern of local fishermen. Sadly, by April, it was found shot dead.
More recently, grey and common seals have been spotted in Lough Leane, the largest of the three lakes in Killarney, about a 15km journey from Castlemaine Harbour, linked to it by the river Laune. With such a bounty of fish on offer in the lake – Killarney shad, Atlantic salmon, Arctic char, brown trout, ferox trout, sea lamprey, perch and rudd – it’s hard to blame the seals for turning their backs on saltwater and making the effort to swim so far inland in pursuit of a good meal.
Fascinatingly, grey seals will try to drive away other species that share their liking for fish. While birdwatching in an inlet of the Isle of Wight in England in 2022, an amateur naturalist, Clare Jacobs, photographed a white-tailed eagle as it swooped towards the sea’s surface. As it did so, an adult grey seal appeared and barked at the eagle, before spitting in its direction in what researchers later described as “a defensive action to drive the eagle away”. It was the first recorded instance of a grey seal using spitting to warn off other species.
