Spot that seal!

The Saimaa ringed seal, earliest resident of Finland's largest lake, is making a return from the brink

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By Timo Rautava on Lake Haukivesi
     
      The wind whips across the surface of Haukivesi and kicks up a short, sharp waves. However, the motor-cruiser Aong darts into the relative shelter of the Linnansaari National Park, a labyrinth of small islands dotted around the large one of Linnansaari itself.
      At 620 square kilometres, Haukivesi is the sixth-largest lake in Finland, and it forms a part of what is known as the Greater Saimaa lake system, a vast 4,000 sq. km. expanse of lakes and islands - and islands with lakes - that sprawls across south-eastern Finland.
      This Linnansaari landscape of rocky, boulder-strewn shorelines, sandy bays, and small islands is also home to the extremely endangered Saimaa ringed seal (Phoca hispida saimensis), a creature trapped here at the end of the last Ice Age, some 8,000 years ago.
     
We want to see a ringed seal, which is among the rarest creatures on the planet. The protection of the animal since the early 1980s has brought results: numbers have increased from the low point of less than 100, and now it is even possible to go spotting Saimaa’s most famous inhabitant on arranged tours.
      In Haukivesi alone, 65 Saimaa ringed seals have been documented, perhaps a quarter of the total population.
     
We screw up our eyes and fix on the large stones between the reeds and the shoreline. "There’s one, basking on that rock there", someone cries out.
      I can pick out the shape of a dark, shiny-coated animal. A pair of button eyes appear to be inspecting the passing boat, but after a few moments, the seal slides into the water as if the rock had been greased.
      A single dive can last as long as 20 minutes, so there is no sense in waiting around for the seal to resurface and go back to its perch.
     
The habits of the Saimaa ringed seal are familiar to our guide Juha Taskinen, a man well-known in Finland for his books and nature photographs. Taskinen has followed and photographed the seals' life here for around 25 years.
      A short distance away we see another two specimens. They soon dive beneath the surface, even though we deliberately refrain from going too close.
      It is quite possible their decision had nothing to do with us. There's a chilly wind blowing, and seals are great ones for staying warm. They actually spend only around a fifth of their lives above the surface.
     
We call off our seal safari for the day. The boat ties up at Kirvessaari, at a sheltered sandy cove, where the Forest and Park Service has built an attractive cooking area.
      Our onboard chef Juuso Niiranen has soon conjured up a blaze at the campfire and is tossing onions, potatoes, and delicious vendace (a small fish related to the salmon and common to these waters) into a large pan with all the panache of a backwoods Jamie Oliver.
      Dessert is pancakes, and coffee from a smoke-blackened pot suspended over the fire. As we enjoy our meal we can look out over the archipelago landscape of the huge lake and ponder on its mysterious whiskered inhabitants.
      On top of these, our sightings include a black-throated diver (Gavia arctica) in flight, a pair of red-throated divers (Gavia stellata), several red-breasted mergansers and goosanders, and some smaller diving birds.
     
Our guide sets up the telescope and tripod to point towards a nearby islet, not much more than a pile of rocks with a couple of trees on it. "Now you can see three birds at once", he says.
      With the naked eye I can make out the nest of an osprey in the crown of a twisted pine tree. A peek through the telescope reveals an osprey sitting on the nest, while on a branch to the right is a cock black grouse, and a whooper swan drifts majestically across the water in the foreground.
      Twilight comes, there is only a faint rippling to be heard from the sandy beach, and the lake is almost dead calm. But about a hundred metres from our vantage point a solitary black wave appears from nowhere. It progresses for a moment or two as a rounded hump on the surface of the water and then slides down and out of sight.
     
After morning coffee, the Aong heads towards the next seal-photo opportunity. We anchor the boat by the shore, around 500 metres from a known basking point. We are downwind, and as we step off we are issued with a reminder that from now on all communications will be through hand signals only.
      We creep via a shallow ravine and a steep slope up to a ridge from where a view opens up on the seals’ resting-place. The telescope is soon set up.
      The local resident blends in so well with the rocks that people who have been in these waters for decades have never caught a glimpse of him. This seal lifts its head, idly examines its surroundings, and allows its body to press against the rock. Through the lens it is possible to see the button eyes close drowsily, but suddenly they are open again and the animal is looking straight at us.
     
Our photographer has sneaked right down to the shoreline bushes, as close as is possible. Will the seal catch sight of a movement through the trees, will it hear the cracking of twigs underfoot?
      Sound the all-clear. The seal turns onto its side and lazily waves a flipper in the air as the sun comes out and warms its coat.
     
Helsingin Sanomat / First published in print 29.5.2004

More on this subject:
 FACTFILE: All over Saimaa
 Feeling rather better, thank you
 Other Finnish nature tour operators

Links:
  Metsähallitus - Linnansaari National Park
  Metsähallitus - The Saimaa ringed seal
  Saimaa Ringed Seal (Virtual Finland)

TIMO RAUTAVA / Helsingin Sanomat