Baitball wasn’t in a hurry to get back into the water. Who could blame her? Before she entered the hospital in June, something or someone—perhaps a shark—had punctured her tail flipper. She had a nasty lung infection and was rapidly losing weight instead of packing on pounds like elephant seal pups are supposed to do.
A team of volunteers had taken her to Chimney Rock, a quiet corner of the Point Reyes National Seashore and the preferred location for releasing seals that convalesce at the Marine Mammal Center in Sausalito—the largest veterinary center of its kind in the world.
Since opening in 1975, the center has rescued more than 24,000 elephant seals, sea lions, harbor seals, fur seals and other mammals from the stretch of coastline from San Luis Obispo to Mendocino. It releases nearly all the seals here at Chimney Rock, where the quiet and secluded beach juts out toward the continental shelf and cool, rich waters teeming with food.
The six-person release team caravanned to Chimney Rock from Sausalito on a recent Thursday, winding through the ranchlands to the historic Point Reyes Lifeboat Station, just across from Drakes Beach. A bright red marine mammal rescue pickup led the way. Baitball and her two elephant seal comrades, Chutney and Forklift, rode in the truck bed, each in a large pet carrier.
The team lowered the carriers to the ground on a hydraulic tailgate. Then, four people to a cage, they hoisted them onto the sand, lining them up in a row. Standing behind wooden shields, three team members opened the cages in unison and watched the seals squirm across the sand like enormous inchworms, with Baitball bringing up the rear.
Chutney and Forklift headed straight to the water. Baitball followed reluctantly, hauling herself across the beach and testing the water for a moment before returning to the sand. As she looked back at the release team, her bolder counterparts explored a rocky point.
If Baitball was going to take her time, Chimney Rock was the perfect spot to linger. There are no dogs or people around. It’s more sheltered than the opposite side of the headlands, where surf pounds the towering cliffs. “If they don’t want to enter the water right away to begin foraging, they can stay here and rest without being threatened,” said Giancarlo Rulli, the center’s spokesman, who began as a volunteer 19 years ago. “They can relax and decide at their own pace when they want to head back out to the ocean.”
Each winter, hundreds of northern elephant seal bulls and cows show up at Chimney Rock and down the bay at Drakes Beach to breed. About 670 pups were born at Drakes Beach this year, and about 440 came into existence at Chimney Rock. No matter the season, there are elephant seals around to form a welcoming committee for newly released seals like Baitball.
The pups nurse for a month before the moms head back to the sea, leaving them to fend for themselves. The pups spend a couple months exploring the nooks and crannies of the shoreline, teaching themselves to fish and swim before venturing further into the Pacific.
By the time pups become “weanlings” independent of their moms, elephant seals typically weigh close to 300 pounds. They’ve packed on extra weight to carry them through the first month or two on their own.
Baitball was rescued on June 4 at Fort Ord in Monterey County after a concerned beachgoer discovered her on the beach with blood oozing from her tail. Veterinarians in Sausalito amputated part of her hind flipper, which healed, and gave her medication to treat a parasitic lungworm. When she arrived at the Sausalito hospital, she was about six months old and weighed just 101 pounds. By the time she got to Chimney Rock on Aug. 10, she had fattened up to 179.
Not more than a half-hour after the team arrived, their business was complete. They headed to the Inverness Park Market, where they have lunch after each seal release. If they wanted to check up on Baitball, who remained on the sand when they drove off, they could use the online webcam installed at the beach earlier this year.
But lunch would have to wait. There was an ailing sea lion in Bolinas that needed a helping hand. No sooner had they set off, however, than word came that the sea lion had gone out with the tide. The search was off. Lunch was on.
Over sandwiches, they discussed what attracted them to the job and the various roles they play as volunteers. Several had helped in the care and feeding of Baitball, one of about 30 seals at the center at the time of her release. Many animals arrive sick, but some have been injured or entangled in fishing nets or ocean debris. Those who have been separated from their moms while weaning, swept away by storms or surging tides, haven’t learned how to recognize a fish, much less eat one. Others, like Baitball, are just too listless to eat. They receive food through a tube inserted into their stomach.
Inserting the tube, which is about 2 or 3 feet long, requires care. If it slides into the seal’s lung instead of the stomach, injecting the food can kill them. One volunteer straddles the seal and restrains it, while the other inserts the tube. Before injecting food from a 400-milliliter syringe, they listen for stomach sounds to make sure the tube has been inserted properly. If so, a concoction of mashed herring, salmon oil and water goes down the gullet, with medications mixed in for those who need it. A seal might consume two or three portions of this fish smoothie at a single meal. During the busy season, the center goes through about 1,000 pounds of sustainably caught herring each day.
When they’re back in the ocean, hunting for solid food at remarkable depths of over 2,500 feet, bulls can reach 4,000 pounds. Females top out at around 1,000.
Every volunteer at the I.P. Market lunch table raised their hand when asked if they’d ever shed a tear while bidding a seal farewell, including John Beltran of San Rafael, who led the team. He became a volunteer five years ago because his employer encouraged community engagement and because he liked the idea of spending time in the Point Reyes National Seashore. Mr. Beltran grew up in Marin and he had no special affinity for seals, which he thought of as no more exotic than squirrels. But five years ago, on his very first day at the rescue center, his outlook changed.
He was sent to help release an elephant seal pup named Chumlee, who had been transported to Sausalito after Sonoma County Animal Control found her crossing Highway 116 in Petaluma. No one knows why she decided to embark on this misguided adventure.
When she emerged from the back of the pickup at Chimney Rock, Chumlee made eye contact with Mr. Beltran. “It’s like looking into the eyes of a puppy, except their eyes are the size of teacup saucers,” he said. “That was it right there. Now seals have my heart strings.”
Mr. Beltran estimates he’s been on about 150 rescues and releases since then. In August, he went on another. The sea lion in Bolinas was back on the shore, emaciated and lethargic. Someone at the beach named her Svetlana, for reasons unknown.
With any luck, the veterinarians at the Marine Mammal Center will nurse her back to health. In a couple months, volunteers will be transporting her to Chimney Rock.