The one where you’d ideally be in a dry suit
Report by Emma Wilkinsom
First: a little bit of background.
Where are the Farne Islands? Off the North-East coast of England. So North-East, in fact, that you can pretty much wave to Scotland.
What are the Farne Islands? A rocky archipelago in the North Sea. Formerly home to monks and lighthouse keepers, they are now under the supervision of the National Trust. They are no longer home to any permanent human settlements, but do have lots of resident animals.
I feel like I’ve heard of these Islands before. Why? Potentially because they’re geographically close to, and sound like, their perhaps more famous big cousin, Lindisfarne. (Confusingly, Lindisfarne is further North, and not part of this island chain). You might also have come across the Farnes if you are an enthusiast for ancient monastic cultures, Northumbrian history, or tales of seafaring heroism.
Was this a Clidive monastic history pilgrimage, then? Surprisingly, no. Although it was a pilgrimage in a way — a trip with a singular focus: to see baby seals. These adorable fatsos can be seen dotted around the rocky outcrops of the Farnes, and if you’re lucky, they may also be spotted in the water, learning how to swim — and what unsuspecting divers’ fins taste like.
And now: preparing and starting our seal pilgrimage.
Although I had this trip labelled in my diary as simply ‘SEAL TIME’, it should be said that, for many of our group, there was much more detail to consider. Our Commander-in-Chief for the trip, Fiona, was not only spearheading a group of twelve of us, but also had to navigate the unwieldy logistics of bringing us up to Seahouses fully-equipped – while also working with a dive charter company on the ground to finalise schedules and details, and delegating out other roles among us. It was surely an impressive (read: unenviable) email inbox to be wrangling.
And so, the Farnes group found ourselves at Ironmonger Row on the night before our departure, doing some intense cylinder mathematics. We weren’t going to be able to fill cylinders onsite prior to our first dives, so we knew that two full tanks needed to be loaded for everyone. So far, so straightforward. But, with three different tank sizes on offer, twelve trip divers and various club members also using cylinders in the pool at that time, the simple puzzle evolved into a more unappealing riddle. Gian Maria and Jaka – as Kit Manager and Van Manager respectively – were early trip heroes at this point, patiently identifying and Tetris-ing cylinders into the trusty Clidive van. We waved off the van having definitely packed the right stuff for everyone. Almost definitely.
Then, Friday comes around. The Farnes team hit the road (or rail) at various points in the day, with Jaka and Fiona piloting the van, Ian and Katie coming in from Sheffield, Romain and I willing our rusty Peugeot along the A1, and the rest of the team getting a view of the East Coast from the train. We all converge over the course of the evening at our base – an incredibly cute hostel-style place called ‘The Hides’. As we’re unpacking, we hear from the boat operator that it’ll be an afternoon ropes-off the next day, which we translate as “there’s time to go to the pub”. A further treat was then in store for us, as we stumbled in during the pub’s open mic night. Seahouses may be small in size, but they have powerful lungs for karaoke.
And Then: The Diving
Dives 1 & 2: Big Harcar
We assembled at the harbour, labelled our treasured cylinders, kitted up, and loaded ourselves onto the dive boat. We were on an open hardboat, with seating on both sides and a diving lift at the back. (I also heard rumours about a portaloo onboard, behind the bridge, but I was content not to confirm these.) We had set off in reasonable weather – perhaps just a light spitting of rain. Over the course of the thirty minute crossing out to the grey cliffs of Big Harcar, however, Poseidon himself seemed to have appeared, intent on causing trouble. We were at the epicentre of a real mess of weather – with wind, rain, seaspray and a generally sinister vibe swirling around us.
There are many things that might be comforting to hear before you drop into the North Sea for your first UK dive. Perhaps some reassurances that the visibility might not be that bad; or that it’s all worth it for the abundant sealife and rich history. In reality, however, what myself and Romain (the trip’s two UK first-timers) had mostly been treated to so far was a chorus of: “…really? You’re joking?”. And a few: “that’s so… brave”. And, not forgetting my personal favourite: “why?”. The issue was that we haven’t yet done drysuit training – and so, along with Thomas, we were the only wetsuit divers in the group. Romain and I had each been given two wetsuits by the rental company, intended to be worn one on top of the other. This was designed to make us feel warmer, but had the effect (at least on land) of restricting range of movement and giving us a kind of Michelin Man style.
And so it was that, after shouting a buddy check over the gale, Fiona and I were soon about to giant stride into the swell. The dank atmosphere was starting to make me wonder if I should have chosen something more indoors-y as my new hobby, and so I was very reassured to be going in with such an experienced diver. We plopped in the water and started our descent, but it took me a minute or two to get my bearings – buoyancy felt different to me at first, and my many rented wetsuits were not sitting well with my mask. After a quick trip back to the surface and a pep talk from Fiona, I was ready to try again and begin our seal quest in earnest.
Our first dive acquainted us with the underwater landscape of the Farnes – kelp forests, cliffs, and gulleys. The visibility was probably about three or four metres for most of the dive, giving the whole experience some eerie atmosphere as we wandered through little tracks in the kelp and stone. We didn’t spot any of our seal friends on our first dive, but we were still treated to a big array of creatures making their homes down there: anenomes, corals, swimming crabs, spider crabs, lobsters (regular and squat), nudibranchs, starfish and urchins.
We resurfaced after forty minutes, and I downed multiple cups of tea to kickstart the defrosting process. I was glad to see that Poseidon had chilled out a bit by now, and the sun was ready to thaw out the diving troupe a little. As the boat filled up again, we shared around snacks and stories – it seemed that everyone had had an enjoyable dive, but there were no notable seal encounters as yet. This only fuelled our determination for our second dive. We were heading back down in a similar location, though stepping off slightly closer to shore. Above water, a colony of seals could clearly be seen relaxing all around the island of Big Harcar – but could they be tempted to come and meet us?
Our second dive delivered more magical paths through kelp forests, more crustaceans and flora. Just as Fiona and I were acknowledging our mutual seal frustration via an underwater shrug, I saw an unlikely-shaped torpedo approaching from the left. This was a proper chonker – an adult seal on a mission, not a baby splashing around. He clearly had places to be, because he zoomed straight past us, heading for the shore. It wasn’t the Disney-like underwater meet-cute that we’d been dreaming of, but it was a tantalising sample of it.
Back on the boat, the seal reconnaissance intelligence poured in. Many of our divers had at least seen seals underwater – though Alessandro and Jakub definitely won the day’s seal trophy, as they had a seal come and investigate them for a while, and caught the encounter on camera. I initially expressed my happiness for them, but it only took half a pint in the pub later for that to openly turn to jealousy.
Back at the harbour, we unloaded the boat and sent our cylinders with the charter company for overnight refilling. Once the admin was done, we then regrouped for a lovely post-dive pub dinner, organised by our Catering Manager, Jakub. There was one question hanging in the air over whether we’d be able to dive a second day. Winds had been forecast in Seahouses overnight, reaching up to 70mph. Would we be able to have another shot at finding our white whale / grey seal? Or would we be back on the A1 before we could say ‘pup’?
Dive 3 (St Andre / Wall dive) and Dive 4 (Big Harcar South)
First thing on the next frosty morning, we were all hustling around The Hides, simultaneously getting ready to go diving and packing up our rooms to check out. There was a Schrodinger’s dive situation happening: we were aiming to get to the harbour ready and kitted up for a 9am ropes off, without knowing whether the ropes would, in fact, come off. For the wetsuited among us, this also meant temporarily being in swimming costumes on the harbour, wrestling with layers of damp neoprene. (Anything for these seals.)
We can see the grey waves chopping at the harbour wall, and it doesn’t look particularly encouraging. But – then the cylinder truck arrives, and we think we see another boat of divers going out. The charter company makes the decision that we can go out, and then in pretty quick succession, we’re relieved, excited, and have a lot of loading up to do. The skipper still encourages us to manage our expectations – we might not be able to do the planned dives, as the sea is too choppy to get too close to shore. We’ll definitely see something – just maybe not seals.
The first dive of the day for most of the group was a wreck: the St Andre, a French steam ship carrying iron ore, wrecked in 1908. As the wreck sat below 20m, however, the Ocean Divers among us (and Gabriel, who was my buddy that day) set off on a different route, along a sea wall. Conditions were quite tough on this dive – the current was strong enough that it was a conscious effort to keep your position, and visibility was quite challenging after the storm. It was, however, another showcase of gorgeous corals and urchins – we also saw an extraordinary twelve-pointed starfish as big as a dinner plate, which became my favourite spot of the dive.
The final dive of the day – and the trip! – was back by Big Harcar, but on the South side. This was it: our last chance to make a seal friend. We were being dropped in fairly close to shore, and had seen plenty of seals sunning themselves on the island, as well as bobbing about in the water; chances were as high as they could be. As Gabriel and I were first descending, I thought we were about to win the seal trophy of the day: a seal came within a few metres of us, looped around, and just as I waved to it, it swam away like I’d offended it. I hoped we’d build on that experience over the dive, but alas – it was otherwise a seal-free dive for us. We did see a thimble-sized hermit crab, and watched as it completely housed and then unhoused itself. Not a seal, but still cute.
It turns out, the seal trophy of the day went to Romain and Thomas. On their final dive, they’d seen a seal, who seemed quite intrigued by them. At one point, Romain felt a little tug on his fin, and turned round to see a full-grown seal nibbling on the plastic, playing with it – an absolute dream encounter! The seal then swam off, not knowing what memories he’d given the divers, and what jealousy he had brought to my dinner table.
The trip wrapped up with us unloading on to the harbour, packing the van, booking taxis and piling into various cars. There was a final pub trip for some, a motorway Toby Carvery for others, and – as grossly earnest as it is to say – a general feeling of wonder on my part. How lucky we were to get to see these creatures great and small, and how grateful I was not to get hypothermia. I’m not saying the North Sea in October can’t or shouldn’t be done in a wetsuit, but I will say this: Romain and I researched drysuit training dates even before we’d put the key in the door.
