White Sea: A Journey with Whitecoats

The helicopter cannot land on the ice and shut off its engines – it just hovers. The observers do not have long to disembark with their gear onto the ice.

The whirr of the helicopter engines fades into absolute silence broken only by the cries of the mother seals and the squeals of the whitecoats. Ice fields stretch out to the horizon, glistening under the northern sun.

Despite being only a few days old, a baby seal can growl menacingly, arching its fluffy back.

Whitecoats have that special charm of a newborn.

Before eating, the whitecoat has to undergo a kind of test: its mother smells the hungry youngster to make sure this particular one is hers. Only when she is convinced will she “serve it up.” If the whitecoat is not her offspring, the mother seal will look for hers by swimming around, leaping onto the ice and smelling every youngster she comes across.

An ice field at the mouth of the White Sea; there is a large distance between gaps in the ice and seals gather on both sides, as wild animals in Africa gather by shallow rivers during a drought.

If you get too close, they can bite – adult seals have sharp teeth. Older female seals, which have already seen human hunters and know that coming into contact with them is dangerous, quickly flee and hide underwater.

Young female seals are not afraid of humans, and chase them away from their offspring with a threatening roar.

A newborn whitecoat stares curiously into the camera.

A newborn whitecoat “at home” in the white stillness.

Before the helicopter arrives, a group of male seals rests on separate ice floes, often called “male monasteries.”

Sunset at the mouth of the White Sea.