Every year, when the White Sea freezes over, a new cycle of life begins in the Arctic. Everything here rests on a fragile balance of weather and timing.
“They’re giving birth!” I jumped up in excitement, bought a ticket and flew to Arkhangelsk on the next Aeroflot flight. But I did not reach the mothers in labour until a day later, when the blizzard finally died down and allowed us to get from the big city to the small Pomor settlement of Letnyaya Zolotitsa on the shore of the White Sea.
Harp seal females were giving birth. I had been waiting for that call from the lodge for almost two weeks. I studied ice-cover maps that made little sense to me and followed weather reports. With enough luck and the right combination of a dozen climatic factors, I might see one of nature’s most astonishing wonders: the icy nursery of harp seals.
Watching the first hours of newborn harp seal pups’ lives on the White Sea is an exceptionally rare experience, possible for only three weeks a year. There are just a few places in the world where this can be done, and northern Russia is perhaps the best on the list, which also includes the Magdalen Islands in the Gulf of St Lawrence and the coast of Labrador.
The harp seal is the most numerous inhabitant of the Arctic region; the local White Sea population numbers more than a million individuals. Every year, tens of thousands of females swim to these icy reaches to give birth to their only pup.
They carry their pregnancies for a long time — 355 days. When the time comes, in late February or early March, the expectant mothers spend several days in a row looking for an ice floe where their baby will be born. Stable, solid ice at least 30 cm thick is the guarantee that a tiny seal will have a chance of survival in this white Arctic world, where pack ice melts quickly and storms grow stronger year after year.
where the pups were born could only be reached by helicopter. That required preliminary reconnaissance confirming that the female seals had arrived in the area and, naturally, clear weather. I was extraordinarily lucky: according to the guides, that year the seals had come so close that the nearest ice floes were only a short flight away. The next morning, the lucky ones, myself among them, flew north.
To my surprise, the White Sea was blue and not locked in ice. Huge ice floes merely drifted across the surface, looking from the height of our flight like white patches of paint — as though someone had spilled a bucket.
The pilot and the guide inspected every ice floe along the way with great care: they had to choose a safe place to land. I was nervous. The white blobs looked fragile, while our helicopter seemed like a huge metal machine of considerable weight. Sergei, a retired military pilot who had flown thousands of hours over the White Sea, carefully landed the helicopter on the white ice crust and, before switching off the engine, packed down the landing area.
On the ice floe, we were asked to follow strict safety rules: literally walk in the guide’s footsteps and listen to every command. That turned out to be the hardest part. In the distance, I had already spotted a female seal, and she had spotted us. We were both anxious: I was anticipating a meeting with her family, while she was alarmed by the arrival of some strange, brightly coloured mammals. Before stepping onto the ice floe, we had listened carefully to the rules and been warned about cracks and open patches.
Even without instructions, it was obvious that we should not approach the animals too closely. We had to keep our distance, remain cautious and quiet in their territory. And remember our own safety.
I did not notice her baby straight away. He peeped out from behind a snowdrift and looked at me curiously. The pup’s black eyes resembled two sparkling onyx stones. Snowflakes had settled on his nose. He lay there like a white cloud, warming himself in the sun, his tiny flippers tucked beneath him. A wave of tenderness washed over me at once: seal pups are, without doubt, among the most charming creatures in the world.
I even felt something like a maternal instinct; after all, that was what connected me at that moment with the female seal who had gone to splash about near the edge of the ice floe.
Like Umka from the old Soviet cartoon, the little one timidly made a few uncertain movements and hid his head in the snow. Then he peeped out again, let out a long call for his mother just in case, suddenly pooped and somehow managed to get himself filthy from head to flipper. Oh yes, these are not the photographs magazines show you. Everyone wants them white and spotless.
The large female seal, weighing about a hundred kilograms, deftly climbed onto the ice and was quickly beside her pup. She kissed him on the nose, performing the ritual that helps establish family ties: by scent, the mother determines, “Mine!” I am a mother too, and I still do the same when I meet my daughter. Having decided that we posed no danger, the seal mother calmed down and lay beside her white child, offering him milk that was rich in nutrients and a quarter fat.
At a lecture on marine mammals held at the lodge before our landing on the ice, I learned that harp seal motherhood is brief: females feed their pups only during the first two weeks. Then they leave their babies on the ice floe forever and go off to mate with males again, continuing this eternal cycle. The young will go hungry, lying out on ice floes that will carry them into the fish-rich Barents Sea.
Only three or four weeks after birth will the pups be able to catch their first fish. For now, their whole existence consisted of doing absolutely nothing on an ice floe.
Another pup was sleeping sweetly nearby in a small snow cave hollowed out by his own body. I carefully crouched down at a respectful distance and took several dozen photographs, desperately resisting the urge to hug, cuddle and kiss this miracle on its black nose.
When you walk across a white ice floe, slowly stepping in the guide’s footprints, it is easy to forget that the dark waters of the White Sea lie beneath you. You do not think about it at all. You simply cannot take your eyes off the animals on the ice and the beautiful frozen landscape, with solidified splashes, caps of piled snow and the bright patches of birth sites contrasting with this white “ice-cream” expanse.
The sun dazzles your eyes as it reflects off the snow cover, while the wind brings an icy freshness, reminding you that you are in the Arctic. It is impossible to explain where I am: somewhere on a drifting ice floe, carried by the wind at a noticeable speed. My phone no longer has a signal, and only the coordinates in the compass app keep changing.
Harp seal pups are not particularly troubled by the approach of people. Some kept dozing, paying no attention at all to the crunch of snow beneath my feet. Others still preferred to make a clumsy dash for it, just in case.
The time set aside for being with the animals passed so quickly that I could barely grasp that it was time to return to the meeting point. The faces of my fellow travellers were full of delight and happiness. A young woman had tears in her eyes from sheer tenderness, and I must admit that a couple of times I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. A young man who had made a fortune in cryptocurrency was smiling. A happy Japanese woman held a toy seal pup to her heart; she had brought it with her.
That evening, over mugs of tea, we relived the emotions of what we had seen, looking through photographs and videos taken on the ice floe. We had to find something to do while waiting for the next flight. Compared with the experience of observing wildlife in its natural setting, the winter activities available to us could not compete in terms of impressions. Of course, we could race along the shore of the White Sea on snowmobiles, ride through the village to the local shop for sweets or catch pike on a frozen lake. But everyone talked only about another landing on the ice.
I buzzed around the pilot, trying to find out whether there was any chance of flying to the ice floe again the following day: would the wind allow it, was snow expected?
The following day, the weather window for flying coincided with the golden hour. Once again, I admired the sea. Over recent decades, the climate has changed, and scientists are concerned. Arctic winters have become milder, the White Sea freezes later and later, and its ice grows thinner. Harp seals are pagophiles: they need ice to survive. Marine animals will follow it ever farther north in search of breeding grounds, making the chance of observing them almost vanish.
Female harp seals are capable of an astonishing trick: they can delay embryonic development, “freezing” a pregnancy for up to four months. All in order to find a suitable place for their offspring to be born. From the perspective of a mother in labour, the White Sea maternity ward is ideal: there are no severe frosts, the ice is still solid, and there are no polar bears around that could attack defenceless pups.
Until recently, however, the danger to marine mammals came not from predators but from people hunting seals. For a long time, the Pomors practised a trade known as vesnovanie, a spring seal hunt. It was once a highly profitable business: they were well paid for the skins and fat of harp seals, which they called “baldies”, while the fashion for the white fur of seal pups in the middle of the twentieth century increased an already good income. Fortunately, times changed, the trade became economically unprofitable, and hunting these animals almost ceased.
The population began to grow again.
Once more, the nearest harp seal rookery proved to be close by. Just ten minutes into the flight, we spotted an ice floe from the air with several females on it, and five minutes later I was already photographing the animals in the sunset light, watching this remarkable stage of seal life in the White Sea. Very soon, adult pairs and young seals will return to the cold waters of the Arctic Ocean, to the very edge of the pack ice, where they spend most of the year without a care.
The next pup I encountered was already very well fed, resembling a balloon and having built up a reserve layer of subcutaneous fat. Biologists call this stage of a pup’s development — there are eight in all — the “fat pup”.
When the pup turned around, I noticed a funny black spot beneath his eye. His moult had begun. Very soon, he would become a “torn jacket”, because grey bare patches would form in his coat, and then a greycoat: his fur would acquire a beautiful anthracite colour, with a dark stripe along the sides that resembles a harp in outline. This is why the animal is called a harp seal in English.
The fur of newly born pups has a slightly yellowish tint, and part of the pink umbilical cord is still visible at the navel. Within a few hours after birth, the fur turns greenish, and only a couple of days later does the coat finally become snow-white, remaining so for about two weeks. Their rapid growing-up is explained by evolution’s understanding that the ice does not last long. Those who survive on these ice floes will return to the White Sea in about five years to produce offspring of their own. And the circle of seal samsara will close once more.
The season for observing seal pups on the White Sea lasts only a few weeks. In Letnyaya Zolotitsa, flights to newborn harp seals are usually organised in March. It is best to allow extra time when planning the trip: the landing date depends not only on the calendar, but also on ice reconnaissance, wind, snowfall and visibility. In unfavourable weather, a flight may be postponed and the order of activities in the programme may change.
First, you need to fly to Arkhangelsk. There is no road to Letnyaya Zolotitsa. In March, guests are brought in by air, on a scheduled Antonov An-2 plane or by helicopter. Flights depend on the season and the weather, so it is better to arrive in Arkhangelsk the day before, without a tight connection to your onward flight. In summer, Letnyaya Zolotitsa can also be reached by water, on a high-speed boat from Kem, but this option does not work for a March trip to see the seal pups.
There is no familiar urban logistics in Letnyaya Zolotitsa: a weather-related flight postponement is simply part of reality here.
Flights to the seal pups operate according to the actual weather conditions. Ice floes are constantly moving, so flight times vary: the journey to the landing site can take up to an hour, while the entire excursion usually lasts several hours.
There are few such programmes on the market: trips are organised by Letnyaya Zolotitsa Lodge and a small number of tour operators.
Seal pups must not be touched, fed or attracted with loud sounds. Watch the animals without disturbing them and keep the distance indicated by the guide. The mother may be nearby, even when she is not initially visible behind a ridge of snow or at the edge of the ice
All the necessary warm equipment is provided at the lodge, together with a compulsory life jacket. You should also bring thermal underwear, a warm second layer of fleece or wool, spare warm socks, a hat, a buff or balaclava, windproof mittens and thin gloves for working with a camera.
Sunglasses are important for photography: snow and ice reflect the light strongly. It is best to keep your phone, power bank and spare camera battery in an inside pocket, close to your body. Bring a sealed case for your equipment, a spare memory card and any necessary medication.
Before the trip, tell the organiser about any health limitations, dietary requirements and the need to keep medication with you at all times.
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