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When I got to the wreck Easter morning, as you know, I spotted a seal.  In the fog and from a distance, I first imagined it another creature–one more typically associated with Easter but for some reason with a flattened tail and sleeping on the beach.   I gave it wide berth, but when it turned

and looked up, I noticed it was either a deformed bunny sans ears OR  NOT an Easter bunny but rather a seal that seemed to has a sense of boat survey work, the clue being that it was reading Colvin’s Steel Boat Building, Vol. 1.

Having with me a silkie speaker of Halichoerus grypus aka  hooked-nosed sea pig, I thought I’d ask a few questions via translation.  After dispensing with initial interview protocols, I learned that ᐅᒡᖪᒃ , as this young male gray calls himself, witnessed Le Papillon arrive on the beach and was calculating odds of it rolling off the beach in like but reverse manner.  ᐅᒡᖪᒃ  demonstrated as he spoke, and

after astounding me with jargon like panting, racking, hogging, sagging, and hogging some more, he grew quiet, pensively stroking his juvenile whiskers.  “Sooner . . . would have been better than now, but, in my not-so-humble seal opinion, it needs a strong vessel . . .  of several hundred orca-power at least (must be how seals calculate terrific torque) to wrestle the pinky free of this entombing sand and

back to its own element.”

So I risked sounding like a fool and asked the next question . . . which ᐅᒡᖪᒃ  met with such guffaws and  explosive

seal chortles that . . .   totally mortified, I backed off .  . .

I turned back once while leaving;  ᐅᒡᖪᒃ  must have felt bad.  My translator told me she heard him mutter something about “I can’t believe I said that.  I need to learn a bit of tact with these terrestrials.”  Then, he said something about heading for South Street Seaport next . . . . hmmmmm!

All fotos by Will Van Dorp.  No . .  I won’t translate the question into English.  ᐅᒡᖪᒃ  . . . Good luck with your salvage plans.  And all your projects.

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