The Gathering on the Skerries

The boat out to the skerries takes less time than deciding to go. The rocks barely clear the water. Grey seals lay all over them in the shapes heavy animals make when they have finished swimming. They were not doing anything. That is what a haul-out is. In a week or two the first pups would arrive.

Polly chose a bull near the edge. "How many are there in your family?" she asked. It is a question that means something in a guesthouse and nothing out here. He thought about it slowly. Everyone on this rock, he said at last, and everyone on the next one.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Almost certainly, he said. He had no way of knowing which ones. Orkney produces about twenty-two thousand grey seal pups a year. That is more than one in ten of every grey seal alive.

Polly tested a phrase. "I want to spend time with my family today." It sounded strange here. So she tried another. "Even though we live far apart, we always keep in touch with each other." That is nearer, the bull said, if keeping in touch can mean coming back and saying nothing.