Waiting on the Weather: Starting This Year’s Seal Surveys

 

In my previous roles working with seals, the weather rarely dictated whether work happened — only how uncomfortable it might be. I’ve pressure-washed outdoor seal enclosures in rescue centers in driving rain, worked through snowstorms at Bird Island with the British Antarctic Survey, and endured intense heat on the Galápagos sea lion project. The work simply carried on.

There were moments when sanity was questionable. Times when it took an hour just to defrost fingers, or when you were so soaked through that it felt pointless trying to dry out. Every seal team also had a bit of a reputation for being hard on equipment — waterproof casings inevitably failed, salt spray found its way into everything, and we were forever asking for help fixing kit that had once again been pushed to its limits by the marine environment.

There’s a saying that pets often reflect their owners, and I’ve long thought there might be something similar going on with researchers and their study species. Working with seals calls for a certain persistence, a willingness to meet the weather, and a life lived outdoors in all conditions — I’ve always liked to think “I’m not made of sugar,” and neither are the seals I have studied.

When I designed this PhD project, drones immediately caught my eye for all their benefits. But, coming from my previous field experience, I was especially excited for the weather-related bonus: I could work only in good conditions. No more battling horizontal rain or numb fingers — what a great day to work outside, or so I thought. My plan to fly surveys throughout the year was quickly described as ambitious. Most drone projects focus on short, condensed study periods, usually in summer when the days are longer and the weather is kinder.

But for grey seals, winter matters. Their key land-based resting periods — particularly during the moulting and breeding season — happen in the colder months. My study site has been identified as especially important during moulting time, making it essential to collect fine-scale, seasonal data, even when conditions are far from ideal.

As I move into my final year of data collection in 2026, the weather has been anything but forgiving. First came the snow — and a lot of it. Thankfully, I have an incredible support network of interns, volunteers and friends! A friend who helped me collect data last January volunteered their services again this winter. He’d never done seal research before but was keen to see what my work involved. I love sharing what I do, having trained many people in the field who’ve never met a “seal scientist” before.

His first survey last year was done in last year in a sunny January day wearing jeans, a thick jacket but no gloves.
“Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough?”
“Yeah, it’s only an hour on a beach.”

An hour, hot chocolates, and a full defrost later, the verdict was clear: okay, yeah — that was colder than I expected. This year he volunteered his services in the snow and turned up in his ski gear. And yes, we successfully completed a seal survey in the snow.

 So far this January, I’ve managed to complete three surveys, despite facing sixteen consecutive non-flying weather days. Last year, the longest stretch without flying was ten days. Now, much of my time this month has been spent in the office, looking out the window and hoping for a break in the weather. I have found myself missing the days when work carried on regardless — when you just went out, no matter what the forecast said.

Fieldwork looks different now, but the waiting, the patience, and the occasional triumph against the elements are still very much part of the job. So, when the weather finally turns and I’m able to get back out to the beach, I’ll be pausing to admire the seals that have remained through the winter storms.