I was on a mission—again—this time dispatched by the ghost of Salty Brine and his collie, Jeff, who apparently now live full-time in my frontal lobe.
After writing about the Salty Brine State Beach yesterday, the man took up residence in my head like a cheerful DJ who refuses to fade out. I decided I needed a photo of his beach in Galilee—the definitive image, the one that would make Salty tap the microphone in the afterlife and announce, “That’s the one, folks.”
Naturally, I ended up somewhere else. My sense of direction has two settings: “poetic wanderer” and “missing person.”
My compass—both the magnetic and the emotional kind—pulled me to the stone breaker at the entrance to the harbor. There, an eider and two mergansers were paddling furiously against the current, hovering over a patch of seaweed that must have been the avian equivalent of a five-star salad bar. These birds weren’t snacking; they were emotionally involved with kale.
Then I saw it—just for a heartbeat.
A round, shiny dome surfaced up the channel. Near Champlin’s dock.
Head?
Rock?
Flotsam?
Gone. Not flotsam. Definitely not flotsam.
Hmmm.
Seal?
That’s it! I convinced myself there was a seal in the channel.
I was wrong.
There were six seals in the channel!
The water that morning was 34–37ºF (1–3ºC)—cold enough to make a penguin reconsider his career choices. Conditions that require specialized gear, emergency cocoa, and a notarized promise to your spouse that you will not become a human popsicle.
Unless you’re a seal. Then it’s practically a beach day.
Why the Seals Are Here
Point Judith and Narragansett Bay become a winter resort for harbor seals from roughly October to April. They migrate south from Maine and Canada, looking for:
- Ice-free water – nobody likes frozen take-out. (Except Gandpa Joe, but he loves frozen pizza.)
- Good groceries – fish, squid, and crustaceans delivered without an app.
- Safe “haul-out” spots – rocks and jetties perfect for napping, socializing, and what I assume are seal book clubs. Current selection: Fifty Shades of Herring.
They aren’t here to breed—this is more of a seasonal timeshare with whiskers. Populations peak in March, which is basically spring break with flippers.
If our neighbors who head south are “Snow Birds,” these guys are clearly “Ice Birds,” which sounds suspiciously like “icebergs,” but I need to resist the temptation to go off on a tangent. We’ll save that for another day.
Things I Learned While Pretending This Was My Plan
- Hauling Out: Seals leave the water to conserve body heat and dry their fur—think spa day with better mustaches.
- Species: Mostly harbor seals, with the occasional gray seal showing up like a cousin who didn’t RSVP.
- Safety: We’re supposed to stay at least 50 yards (46 meters) away—roughly the distance from good manners to a bad selfie.
I watched them for two hours—long enough to feel like an extra in a National Geographic documentary narrated by my inner child. There are six regulars right now doing the Point Judith circuit: from Champlin’s dock to the Coast Guard station, out to the Block Island ferry slips, then a lazy mid-channel loop, like commuters in waterproof tuxedos, late for a board meeting at SeaWorld Consulting.
They especially favor the fishing fleet when boats unload their catch. I’m fairly certain one seal had a napkin tucked under his chin and was humming the theme from Jaws ironically.
So there I was—chasing the memory of Salty’s Beach that I’d written about just the day before—when the ocean staged a friendly coup. Instead of nostalgia, I got whiskers, blubber, and six aquatic comedians auditioning for my lens. Several times, they rose to get a better look around…at me especially. The whole morning was amazing. They were there all along, and I had no idea!
Which reminded me of that Ann Patchett line:
“Never be so focused on what you’re looking for that you overlook the thing you actually find.”
Salty sent me searching for his beach.
The bay handed me a cast of characters.
And judging by the six wet critics who kept popping up to inspect my camera work…
That’s the seal of approval. (Sorry …Salty would have wanted it this way.)
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