Seal pups and rip tides

Gosh, the sun's out this morning! That spurs me on to tackle two little repair jobs on my caravan, as the departure date for this year's first adventure is only just over two weeks away. I'll be considering my loading-up list in only a week's time.

So let me tell you about the second sunny-day outing last September in Pembrokeshire, before it's just old news. This one, as the post title suggests, involves baby seals and racing waters offshore.

It was 17th September. I wanted to see some spectacular cliff scenery, with craggy offshore islands. I headed for Wooltack Point, which is partly in the care of the National Trust. There is a landing bay, Martin's Haven, from which boats set off for Skomer Island, a Marine Nature Reserve. So the place is a must for bird lovers and sea life junkies, quite apart from those keen on shooting great views in the fresh air.

I think wild creatures are amazing to see, and deserve all the respect and privacy the modern world can give them, but I am not evangelical about them, and they are not my ruling passion. Putting it another way, I feel it would be thrilling to see any wildlife up close, but I'd be mighty scared if they got within pecking or biting distance. It has to be a risk-free encounter. And I'm uneasy about how they might feel about my intrusion. It could easily spoil their day. It's probably best to see each other only from a distance.

So you will never get me to dangle from cliff ropes, nor get soaked through in small pitching boats, just to see some gull or whale. Nor am I ever likely to go on safari to take pictures of irritated lions and rhinos, nor hack my way through a jungle, embracing insect bites and leeches and poisonous snakes in order to see some rare monkey or humming bird that might prefer to be left alone. Nor snorkle through vividly-patterned shoals of coral-reef fish, only to arouse the interest of some hungry barracuda or shark. And I don't want to ride a camel, nor an elephant. Nor even a horse, nowadays. I'm a real no-no! But people will gladly do such things. Good luck to them.

So it was to be strictly a cliff-top walk for me. Although the first thing I saw after leaving the NT car park was the place the boats depart from, with their cargo of birders.

Some location maps first. Click on any of these - or the photos that follow - to enlarge them.

Wooltack Point covers many acres, and is now mainly rough grazing for sheep and cattle. 2,000 years ago the local inhabitants had a settlement here, a little town, defended by a deep ditch across the neck of land that separates the headland from the rest of the Marloes peninsula. So you start by going down, then up again, to explore the headland. I planned to tackle it clockwise, returning via the lookout post.

But first, a quick look at Martin's Haven. There's an information hut to wait in, and a road that takes you down to the beach and the jetty.

If I'm interpreting the notice board correctly, you will (if an adult) pay £11 to have access to Skomer Island, unless a member of NaturalResourcesWales. You will also as an adult pay a boat fee of £11. That's £22 altogether, in cash. What? How much? For just four hours, all told? No way, José! Even if they could arrange for the giant white whale Moby Dick himself to emerge snorting from the surging briny, with Captain Ahab still clinging on. (Though what a shot that would make...)

Their not accepting contactless payment by phone was the clincher. What is a high-tech oldie supposed to do?

In any case, as an Old Age Pensioner I have to watch those pennies! And that's another thing - no age concessions mentioned. Really? Disgusting! I suppose they don't want 'us' on the island, in case we become a medical emergency, or need to go to the loo all the time. Huh.

Still, the haven was attractive. A group of students were heading for the shore.

Once there, they began to hack at the limpets on the rocks - or at least that's what it looked like at a distance. I jokingly said so to a chap I met soon afterwards, who turned out to be their tutor. Aghast, he instantly hurried off to make sure that they were really just counting the limpets, taking careful measurements, and making notes. Whoops. I ruined his day, and may have ruined theirs. I sped off in the other direction, hoping that I wouldn't encounter any of them on my return! 

So, into the ditch then up. Cattle barred my path, but I have a way with cows and they let me pass. Presumably they eat anybody they don't like. Nature red in fang and claw. 

It was glorious in the sunshine. I walked over to the cliff edge. Wow. That's Skokholm Island out there - another part of the Marine Nature Reserve. 

But something or someone was crying out on the rocky beach below. It sounded like a child in pain. Of course I peered over. 

No human child in sight, although they could be hidden by any of those jumbled rocks. Could the cries be from something else? And then I saw it. A thing that looked like a tiny white maggot at this distance, wobbling its way towards the water's edge. It had a long way to go. A seal pup, calling for its mother. Probably hungry, possibly feeling the heat of the sun and uncomfortable, and sounding in dire distress - although those heartrending cries might only be the cries of a youngster unable to see its parent, and feeling lost and alone. No vultures were circling. I calculated that the poor little thing would reach the water in about half an hour, and would feel better when it did. And Mum might then pop out of the water with a snack for her baby.

Hopefully. The cries were very loud and tugged at you. It was hard to walk on. I met another woman doing the headland anti-clockwise. Her name was Philippa. She'd heard the cries too, and I showed her the source. She was very nice, and we had a good old chat for twenty minutes. The kind of person you'd share a little bit more time with, had you both been going in the same direction. 

After saying goodbye, I walked on. With every step, the views got better and better. It was so uplifting. And Skomer was coming into view.

Then I had a full view of the channel between the headland and Skomer. It was clear that a strong north-south rip tide was passing between. And a fishing boat was chugging its way through. I watched it for a few minutes. That's all it took for it to do the passage, at what was certainly a much better speed than normal! But the master knew his business. There was no drama - and no picture I kept of the boat - but in these two shots you can gauge the strength of the current:

As you can see, there was a nasty mid-channel rock to dodge.

The cliffs were getting higher. Caves came into view in the opposite cliff face. To get a better picture, I went as close as I dared to the cliff edge.

Further on, I could look back and see how high the cliff had been, how sheer the drop awaiting me had I stumbled.

Next along, an inaccessible cove. And full of little white blobs - it was Seal Pup City.

Well, 'full' wasn't quite the mot juste, although there were definitely a dozen or more pups down there, plus a couple of parents - which explained why they weren't crying out in anguish like the pup I saw earlier. 

They had a fine vista of Skomer, although I don't think they noticed or cared. It must be very hard to make a seal pup take an interest in nice scenery, and current affairs, and the price of bread.

Now I'd reached Wooltack Point proper, and you had to climb upwards for the full view. I decided that the effort would be worth it. So up I went. It wasn't difficult. At the top, though, the wind was fierce! Nearly blew my hairband off. 

It well-nigh took me into the sea, actually. I clambered down and headed next for the lookout. This was up another hill, top-centre of the Point. A puff-inducing scramble. I asked myself, are you fit? The answer was that despite my years, I was probably fitter than I was ten years ago. But don't go comparing me with anyone who takes fitness really seriously.

The lookout hut was a good place to catch one's breath and contemplate the wide views in each direction. It was also interesting to peer inside through the windows. It looked snug. It wasn't manned at the time, but clearly was in regular use.

I was on top of the world. It was my last day in Pembrokeshire. I couldn't ask for a better memory to cherish until my next visit. 

There was no posse of annoyed students waiting for me in the car park. 

Nor Philippa.