Under the Surface

I walked the dogs Sunday morning along the south shore of the old Alameda naval air station, and met a people-watching harbor seal.

It’s a bit cooler out here lately, so I wore a jacket and enjoyed the calm of a quiet morning walk, especially after how blustery and windy it was Saturday as I brewed a batch of imperial stout. (Among the day’s minor hassles: attempting to light a propane burner outside with a gusting wind that bent the limbs of our trees and doubled over our tall stalks of bamboo. A friend was coming over and I had ingredients at the ready, including warming yeast due to be pitched that afternoon.)

I haven’t seen as many harbor seals of late. I don’t know if they habitually become scarce during the spring, but the row of seals I used to find out on the farthest reaches of the old wrecked and abandoned pier haven’t been there in recent weeks.

The wintering birds, scoter that summer out on the ocean and ducks and loons that head up to Alaska and Canada, are all gone now. The pelicans which flock here in the summer, gathering in larger and larger squadrons into August, are only beginning to return; I’ve seen a few lately.

Yet today there were two seals out there: one out on the far pier, and another on a warped, crumpled section that broke free and has caught on an old mooring post. This close seal was maybe 20, 30 yards off-shore. Buff white with brown eyes and nose, he followed our progress along the shore with a face curiously human-like, yet dog-like, too. I wished I’d brought my camera, just to catch that inquisitive look.

He watched me closely as I passed the first time then, after I turned back at the end of an open field, he lost interest during my return trip.

I heard a plunging noise offshore and turned to see an early-arriving pelican out on the water; he had just snared a fish and I saw him crane his neck and the fishy bulge of his swallowing as a close-by gull jeered him in an apparent effort to dislodge breakfast.

Then I saw the seal do something kind of odd. He belly-rolled forward a couple flipper pushes, and stuck his face, and only his face, underwater to have a look-see.

He looked around down there for a little bit. It must have been interesting, because he then scooted forward a bit more, so that most of torso was down, only hindquarters still up on the angled surface of the wrecked pier. Now I really wished I had brought the camera, the 2nd and 3rd photos in the series would have been cute.

Then, very smoothly and quietly, his bracing hind flippers let go and he slipped into the water. I checked on the dogs: Ernie close by and mindful of me, Edie out at the far edge looking wistfully across the vast parking lot, hopeful of jackrabbits; they’re fine. I watched the pebbling surface of the water.

After a minute or so, a short distance off, just his face came up for a quick breath, and then he was gone.

I thought about what a world change it was; first up here in the warming dawn air on the old rough wood, facing the rip-rap of the shore with the wide expanse of SF bay behind him and the bluing sky above, the distant peninsula range just catching the early light. Then face down in that murky green/brown world, such a different sensory place, and swimming off to chase down little fishes for breakfast.

We started off again, dogs led by their eager noses, hiking back to the car and off to home for kibble (them) and coffee (me).