Playtime at Lundy Island

Helen Frances, fourth element

Image courtesy of Alex Tattersall

On my first ever dive as a qualified diver in Cornwall, a seal pulled my fin from my foot and tossed it in the water as a dog would toss a ball. From that moment I was captivated but no seals had ever come to play again. The seals of Lundy Island became my focus and a year later, I was ready.

Full of nerves, excitement, and as much Dramamine as my system could cope with, I stepped onto Obsession II as the skipper Andrew announced with a glint in his eye that ‘it’s looking a little bit fresh out there’. Even my buddy Alex paled, and he’s in the Navy.

The two hours that followed have been assigned to the depths of my subconscious, never to be spoken of again. As if by magic, when we arrived at Lundy and rounded the corner into a sheltered bay, the waters calmed and little heads poked through the surface as if to say “THERE you are! We’ve been waiting to play!” SEALS! EVERYWHERE!

Image courtesy of Alex Tattersall

After a friendly briefing from Andrew, we started to kit up and with cameras in our hands and hope on our faces, we jumped in. By sheer coincidence, underwater photographer and fourth element ambassador Alex Tattersall was also on the boat and he appeared to have a strategy. In my naivety, I decided to surreptitiously follow him – surely he would know the best spots for some top seal action? Alex must have been wise to my cunning plan however – by the time I hit the water, he was long gone.

We descended a couple of metres and suddenly there was a big face looking at me. It did not belong to a diver. I knew this because it was cuter than any diver I’ve seen and it swam away with an effortless elegance that made our vain attempts at poise and trim look positively laughable. I tore my eyes away and realised that other seals had come to join us, keen to check out this new offering from Andrew the Skipper, and to see if we were worthy playmates.

Image courtesy of Alex Tattersall

One large female swam past us and latched on to one of the other divers. We watched in joy, fascination and a little bit of envy as the seal pursued him, playing with his fins and tugging at his drysuit. It was beautiful to be so close, but I wanted to play too. I gave myself a firm talking to. “Helen, you’re being too desperate, they can sense it,” I told myself. “Try to act as if you don’t care.” With faked aloofness, we turned our backs and swam away from the crowd. If we could have whistled nonchalantly, we would have. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I felt a tug on my fin. Seals. They’re so needy.

Image courtesy of Alex Tattersall

Image courtesy of Alex Tattersall

For the next 50 minutes, we felt like the new toy in the toy box. Stealthily, the seals would appear, inquisitive and fascinated, pulling fins or gently investigating us with their teeth. Many were young and playful, taunting our slow reactions as they zipped about above us, below us, behind us, tying us up in knots. What became immediately clear was that this was to be a dive where trim and technique was totally redundant. In fact, I swear that maintaining any position for longer than a few seconds is an impossible task when there is a seal on the end of you, gleefully twisting you into an alligator roll. Thoughts of beautiful dive lines went out of the window and I adopted a new mantra – dive like nobody’s watching.

Image courtesy of Alex Tattersall

Like toddlers at the end of a party, the seals began to tire of us – far more quickly than we tired of them. A beautiful female swum close, nosed us gently and nestled herself in the kelp, all played out. It was time to go. Alex and I surfaced happy and full of awe, and I climbed onto the boat’s lift with a big grin and a triumphant shout of “I’VE GOT SEAL SPIT ON MY GLOVE!!”, a trophy that will remain unrivalled… until I go and dive with the sharks….