Some western friends spend much time at the telescope (it's mounted on a stand), examining the lifestyle of a group of about twenty seals (common or harbour seals, they say, not grey seals), which inhabit the bay. As low tide drains the bay, the seals haul themselves onto weedy rocks and there bask. From a distance, they appear to be dozing, but close viewing reveals a constant waving of flippers, whiskers etc. Varieties in size, shape and colour are to be seen; some smaller seals (cubs) with white fur, others spotted. An occasional one disports itself in the water, leaping around with much noise (juvenile?). In any event not entirely creatures of habit. Why, for instance, will the group desert one rock for days, only to return en masse later? And what do they eat? Not salmon or white trout, for it is too early in the year for them, if they ever come. More information, please. Apart from the usual group (family, school?) of seals, a pair of others nuzzle each other while playing along the shore - no sign of cubs.
Herons in abundance peering between the rocks. Cormorants and mergansers dive for fish (up to 30 seconds of submersion by our correspondent's chronometer). A pair of oyster-catchers spend 30 minutes on a rock covered with mussels, meticulously stabbing the clumps for a bit of tasty meat. Grey crows seek the same food. Black-backed gulls sail overhead for whatever can be scavanged. And on the shore, three figures laboriously work the rocks for periwinkles, stored in hemp sacks and to be sent on to the continental market. A man in the know suggests they receive £60 a hundredweight; £40 when the supply is plentiful. All of this in snow, hail, rain.