There are few animals on this earth as endearing as seal pups, and at Reid State Park, I see quite a few of them. It’s not unusual for the little ones to rest on the sand if they become too exhausted to swim, and sick or injured seals also come ashore, so I get frequent reports of beach strandings.

Until last week, I’d never had a report of a seal stranded in the woods.

Initially, I thought my coworker Ron was playing a trick on me, which, let’s just say, he’s been known to do. He told me he had just spoken with a park patron, a cross-country skier who reported seeing a seal in the parking lot near our group shelter, easily 100 yards from the beach.

I studied Ron skeptically. We’ve worked together a long time and are not above playing an occasional practical joke on each other. If he were trying to lure me near some mechanism he’d rigged up to dump a big bucket of snow on my head though, he would have come up with a more plausible story than a seal stranded in a tree-rimmed parking lot — wouldn’t he? I followed him at a safe distance, just in case.

Sure enough, there she was. The little harp seal looked to be about a year or two old. I’m told they leave their mothers after only three weeks, so she’d been on her own for a while, growing to roughly the size and shape of a full-grown basset hound.

seal in the snow

Startled by our presence, the disoriented little seal scooted across the snowy parking lot and into the woods, leaving tracks like an oversized otter.

I called the Marine Animal Lifeline’s hotline immediately. Their rescue operation is fantastic, and I knew someone would be along to collect this animal and bring her to the aquarium in Biddeford, where any illness would be treated and eventually she would be returned to the sea.

Help would have to wait until evening though; the snow was falling harder and travel conditions were worsening. As darkness fell, Department of Marine Resources employee Linda Doughty, whose specialty is marine animal rescue, called to say she was on the road and about an hour away.

I went back to the grove of trees to wait with my flippered friend. “Is this seat taken?” I asked her as I brushed the snow off a nearby log. Not wanting to startle her again, I sat down quietly.

She kept her eyes on me, but made no move to scoot away, and we gazed curiously at each other for quite some time. Sitting alone in the dark has never been a one of my strong points, so I spoke aloud to calm my nerves, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“So … I’m really glad the Red Sox kept Jacoby Ellsbury,” I said. “He’s got great speed.” She stared at me and blinked slowly.

“Did you hear this year is the 75th anniversary of Maine state parks?” I went on. “There will be celebrations all year long. Maybe when you’re out of seal rehab you can come join us.” The seal let out a croaking sound I took to be a favorable response, and for a minute, it almost seemed as if she was as grateful for my company on such a dark and snowy night as I was for hers.

I smiled in the darkness and continued my one-sided conversation until approaching headlights signaled Linda’s arrival. Quickly and smoothly, she threw a small blanket over my companion and scooped her up like a baby, loading her into a sturdy crate for the trip to Biddeford.

Linda reassured me the prognosis for this animal was good. The little pup probably had just confused our beach with a Canadian ice floe, and before she realized her mistake, became lost and disoriented.

As the woods fell silent again I thought about my recent trip to the Hall of Flags at the State Capitol in Augusta, where I watched Gov. Baldacci officially proclaim 2010 year of the parks. During his speech, he referred to Maine state parks as “a Disneyland of recreational opportunities,” a fitting line which I loved immediately.

“You’re right about that, Governor,” I chuckled as Linda’s tail lights faded from sight, “and I’ll bet you didn’t know Reid State Park has a Sea World right in the parking lot.”

The Marine Animal Lifeline hotline is staffed 24 hours a day. To report a stranded marine animal, call-800-532-9551