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You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2016/dec/07/seals-sing-siren-song-beyond-lands-edge-scotland-country-diary
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| Seals sing a siren song beyond the land's edge | |
| (35 minutes later) | |
| At the far north-eastern corner of the British mainland the land rises up from the sea like cake from a tin: edges are clean and sharp, layers of sediment cut through the red sandstone like jam. | At the far north-eastern corner of the British mainland the land rises up from the sea like cake from a tin: edges are clean and sharp, layers of sediment cut through the red sandstone like jam. |
| The sun is out, the air is still, and the residents are busy making their preparations for winter in this rare break in the weather. | The sun is out, the air is still, and the residents are busy making their preparations for winter in this rare break in the weather. |
| Starlings reel through the air in their murmurations; like fish in a shoal, they shape and reform, darting one way then the next in tight formation. They are lately arrived from Russia, fleeing the deep freeze. Three dainty blackbirds hop around us – revealed too as tourists by their modest black beaks. | Starlings reel through the air in their murmurations; like fish in a shoal, they shape and reform, darting one way then the next in tight formation. They are lately arrived from Russia, fleeing the deep freeze. Three dainty blackbirds hop around us – revealed too as tourists by their modest black beaks. |
| Even now, at noon, the sun sits low in the sky and casts long shadows. Patches that are never touched by light have grown a thick fur of hoar frost. Tiny fingers of ice crowd for space upon every surface behind fenceposts and hummocks in the earth. Spiders’ gossamer, threaded through the long grass, glints in the golden light. | Even now, at noon, the sun sits low in the sky and casts long shadows. Patches that are never touched by light have grown a thick fur of hoar frost. Tiny fingers of ice crowd for space upon every surface behind fenceposts and hummocks in the earth. Spiders’ gossamer, threaded through the long grass, glints in the golden light. |
| As we round the headland the Duncansby Stacks swing into view. They are two dragon’s fangs, 200ft of rock whittled to cruel points, and colonised by fulmars that chunter and grouse, filling the air with the swearing of seabirds. | As we round the headland the Duncansby Stacks swing into view. They are two dragon’s fangs, 200ft of rock whittled to cruel points, and colonised by fulmars that chunter and grouse, filling the air with the swearing of seabirds. |
| And then a haunting, melancholy sound rises from over the edge. A siren song. But who is singing it? As the wind rises the timbre alters, and I struggle to place it. It sounds like the howling of wolves, the wailing of infants. Or dissonant chords, played on a pipe organ, the mouths of bottles, blown. | And then a haunting, melancholy sound rises from over the edge. A siren song. But who is singing it? As the wind rises the timbre alters, and I struggle to place it. It sounds like the howling of wolves, the wailing of infants. Or dissonant chords, played on a pipe organ, the mouths of bottles, blown. |
| I hop the wire and crawl to the cliff edge to find the shingle strand beneath packed with mottled bodies – grey seals. They have emerged from the sea and beached themselves to breed. | I hop the wire and crawl to the cliff edge to find the shingle strand beneath packed with mottled bodies – grey seals. They have emerged from the sea and beached themselves to breed. |
| Already a few white pups can be seen, liquid-eyed and fluffy and apparently helpless. Their mothers scooch in ungainly fashion between offspring and wave. Further out, the glossy heads of their relatives rise and dive, smooth humps sliding between breakers. | Already a few white pups can be seen, liquid-eyed and fluffy and apparently helpless. Their mothers scooch in ungainly fashion between offspring and wave. Further out, the glossy heads of their relatives rise and dive, smooth humps sliding between breakers. |
| I feel eyes fix on me, and retreat from their glare. Best leave them to it. The seals like their privacy. | I feel eyes fix on me, and retreat from their glare. Best leave them to it. The seals like their privacy. |
| Follow Country diary on Twitter: @gdncountrydiary | Follow Country diary on Twitter: @gdncountrydiary |