The rocky edges of Seal Cove were there the following morning, August 1, as were the fragrances of pitch from the spruce and pine that grew above the rocks. But the blue sky was gone, replaced by a low cloud that blew from the south, curling over the trees at that end of the cove and dipping down closer to the water, flowing above all like a magic carpet. We put the dinghy over the side and, with our morning coffee in hand, we motored south, toward the seals we knew to expect.

I kept the outboard quiet in hopes of blending in with the exquisite scenery. In minutes, the fog swirled around Robin, wrapping her in its gauze until we no longer could see her at anchor a few hundred yards away.
At the head of the cove, I stopped the outboard and we watched the fog lift and dip and felt a faint breeze that pushed us toward the ledges on the western shore.
The tide was rising, filling in the several mud-bottomed smaller coves that slit the edges of Seal Cove, in the middle of which were two clusters of rocky islands.
On the larger island, there was what could have been a stump. But as we drifted, we realized it was a bald eagle, standing motionless.
We drifted closer and the eagle spread its wings and flew toward the far, eastern shore, dipping toward the dark water and then rising in one powerfull swoop to perch part way up a pine tree.
It was a few quiet minutes later when we noticed another bump on the smaller of the rock islands. We looked through the binoculars and saw what appeared to be a face -- a white face -- just above the rocks.
We drifted closer.


The white face was that of a seal, staring directly at us. We waited for movement, and it came when the seal felt the tide rising around its fat flanks and wriggled a bit.
There were other bumps, in time revealing themselves as two seal pups, apparantly hanging close to Mom.


In time, the tide rose enough to float "Mom" off her rock. We drifted past the two "islands" which were rapidly becoming submerged. As we floated, the seals came up to port, dove, then came up to starboard. They rose at twelve o'clock and then at seven, always 100 feet or more away but clearly not startled to have human visitors.
Robin was back in view and the fog appeared to be lifting, so we returned to her to see what the morning would bring. If we timed it accurately, we could pass through the "boiling" narrows at slack tide around 11 o'clock and be on our way to the next stop, in Booth Bay Harbor.