Part I: Seals teeth and whales ears - Scott Polar Research Institute ...

A few days later, Midwinter's Day, Derek came on another seal count. The two
of us set off on skis across Shallow Bay on a surface that was very sticky in parts, due
to the effect of sea-water flooding out from the tide cracks. We headed straight for
Stygian Cove through Three Lakes Valley, skiing over the frozen lakes, and then
followed the coast around to Elephant Flats again and thence back to base. There
were no seal on the north-facing beaches, possibly owing to the strong northerly
wind and I counted only 20 in all.
Towards the end of June I examined some seal claws which I had collected to
assess whether bands I had noticed in them could be used for estimating age. I also
drew up a definitive programme of seal work for the breeding season. That evening
elephant seals were roaring on Drying Point; they were very late in leaving. Next day
I went over to Shallow Bay on foot to look for them. A thaw continued and the snow
drifts were composed of large wet crystals, so I sank in to the waist in places,
especially climbing up the Stone Chute. I went down towards Drying Point Beach,
but the west and north slopes were covered in treacherous verglas so I contented
myself with a bird's-eye view of the beach and picked out two elephants sheltering
behind the largest rock.
On 29 June I did another seal count, although the weather wasn't promising. The
others weren't keen to come so I went alone on snowshoes. It began to rain very soon
after I left the hut and I was quickly soaked to the skin crossing Elephant Flats,
passing close under the snout of Orwell Glacier, and across the three lakes to Stygian
Cove. There were four elephants there, the only seals I met. I carried on around the
coast as the rain changed to hail followed by wet snow. The wind increased in force
and blew me over the icy slopes, lifting me off the ground during one exceptionally
fierce gust. I took the snowshoes off as the rawhide had become quite waterlogged
and it was very tiring going through the deep snowdrifts on foot. The sea was
whipped up to a confusion of white tops and clouds of spray when the waves hit the
ice foot and grounded bergy bits. The visibility was very low and no ice observation
was possible.
Then, on a sad and memorable day at the beginning of July, I decided to shoot
one of three elephant seals left on the Drying Point beach and took the .45 revolver
along instead of a .303 rifle – for convenience. I still found it difficult to bring myself
to shoot a seal, but screwed up my resolve and fired at the neck (in order not to
damage the skull). This weapon, however, hadn't sufficient power for the task and I
put seven bullets into the animal without killing it. The first bullet more or less
paralysed the hind-part of its body, so had evidently hit the neck vertebrae and
damaged the spinal cord. It was still very much alive, however, and slipped through
a crack in the ice foot into the sea. There I shot it point-blank through the top of the
skull as it wasn't possible to do anything with it in the water. This appeared to kill it
and it floated motionless. But when we tried to haul it out of the water it came to life
again; evidently the coup-de-grace, which had entered the skull above the right eye,
had merely knocked it out – or it was a reflex action. Another bullet finished it, but it
wasn't possible to haul it out of the water. This was a horrific experience, and another
hard lesson to make sure that the first shot was always effective.
I hurried back to base to get a block and tackle to haul it out of the water, and
then when I came back it wasn't there. We looked all around without success and
concluded that reflex action had carried it away. Surely it must be dead? This very
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