by Philip Roy
I felt such anguish in my heart. Every muscle in my body was tight. Every molecule inside of me knew I had to protect the baby whale, and I begged that the whalers would pass her by because she was so young. But they didn’t.
“No!” I screamed, and tried again to put the sub between the ship and the whale, but the baby would not leave her mother, and the sailors on the Nisshin Maru could easily spot and target her. As they readied for a second strike, I grabbed the flare gun, aimed it as well as I could, and shot it. “Bang!” went the gun, and then “Bang!” went the harpoon once more. But the flare struck the bow just below the harpoon gun, and the harpoon shot out high, with its rope snaking after it, and missed the baby whale by ten feet. I didn’t wait for them to reload; I shot the flare gun again. This time the flare went over the railing and onto the deck. I heard another bang, but this time I think it was the fire of a rifle. I ducked my head below the hatch. Were they firing at me, or just trying to warn me? I couldn’t tell. I fired one more flare, then jumped inside and motored closer to the baby. I heard pinging on the hull, and knew now that they were firing rifles at the sub. I was not afraid of that, their bullets could not hurt the sub, but I was afraid they might shoot the harpoon at us. If it hit, and the tip exploded, it might puncture the hull, and prevent us from diving. If it hit us below water level, we would sink.
We had to get out of here, now. I could only hope that the baby whale would follow us. I hit the dive switch, and we began to descend. In the last few seconds before the hatch shut, I poked my head out and shot four flares at the harpoon gun in rapid succession. I didn’t wait to see if any of them were on target. I just hoped they were.
Chapter Twenty-seven
MERWIN WOKE A SHORT while later, raised his head without opening his eyes, and asked what was happening. I thought he was still asleep. Nothing, I said. Go back to sleep. So he did. He was exhausted by his injuries, and the work of being at sea. I surfaced a couple of hundred feet from the Nisshin Maru, and went back outside.
The factory ship was positioning herself next to the tanker. The mother whale was pulled onto the stern of the ship by her tail. The beautiful life in her, her sweet personality and sweet songs were gone. She was a lifeless carcass now. Her blood had turned the water red. The Nisshin Maru had done what it was designed to do, and was now preparing to refuel. I didn’t see the baby whale on the ramp, and so had to assume it had escaped.
As I leaned against the hatch with my head on my arms, I wished I could have traded Sheba’s prophesy for another wound to my arm, instead of the death of the mother whale. It all seemed so hopeless to me now—the struggle to save the planet—when there were so very many people who just didn’t care, who were so destructive, and willing to do anything to make a dollar. I understood now that what Margaret had said was probably true, that it was too late to save the Earth. It wasn’t because we didn’t have the technology to do it—we did. It was because we were so destructive. Now I knew who the enemy was: it was us. As I watched the mother whale being dragged up the ramp, I felt a cloud of despair come down over my eyes, and a searing pain settle in my heart.
Only then did I hear the radar. It had been beeping all this time, but I had been too upset to hear it. I rushed inside to look. Two vessels were just three miles away, and were coming fast. I hurried outside again with the binoculars, and scanned the horizon. It was the Steve Irwin and Bob Barker.
I motored closer, and watched as the crew of the Nisshin Maru tried frantically to gather the hoses from the tanker and begin fuelling. But the sea was not cooperating. The swells were growing bigger every hour. The sky had darkened. The wind was strong now. I could tell by how frantic their movements were that they needed the oil desperately. The last thing they wanted to see was the Sea Shepherd Society.
The Shepherd ships came onto the scene like two wild hounds. They circled the two larger ships with an agility and closeness that astonished me. They were clearly not afraid of colliding with the Nisshin Maru, but were more careful around the tanker. The Bob Barker took a position in front of the bow of the giant whaler, while the Steve Irwin boldly proceeded to sail between the two ships. I saw Captain Watson on the bow, holding a bullhorn. He looked furious. I motored as close as I dared, and heard him issue a dire warning.
“You are in direct violation of the Antarctic Treaty! You are forbidden below the 60th parallel. Sail north now! We will escort you out of these waters.”
Captain Watson repeated the message over and over, as the Steven Irwin squeezed between the sterns of the tanker and factory ship. But sailors from the Nisshin Maru began shooting water cannon onto the Steve Irwin, which she shot back. And then, unbelievably, the whaling ship steered into the environmentalist ship, and rammed her up against the tanker. I heard the terrible grinding together of hundreds of feet of steel, like gigantic steel monsters battling. The ships tossed and pitched wildly in the swells. The Nisshin Maru pulled away, and rammed again, and the blow turned the Steve Irwin sideways, which it then took advantage of by ploughing into the stern of the Nisshin Maru. It struck with such force, the whole whaling ship shook sideways in the water. And all of this time, water cannon shot back and forth between the two decks.
The battle raged on for over an hour, causing damage to all four ships. Captain Watson stayed on the bullhorn, informing the whaler and tanker that they were breaking international law. Not only was the tanker forbidden below the 60th parallel, the Nisshin Maru was also, because her bow was not reinforced to deal with Antarctic ice, which was required by international law. “You’re breaking the law! Go back to Japan!” Captain Watson thundered. His voice was severe and threatening. After over an hour of extremely violent clashing between the ships, one thing became absolutely clear: the Nisshin Maru was not going to get any oil. And she must have needed it badly because she suddenly broke out of the fight, pointed her nose north, and cranked up her engines. Black smoke billowed out of her stern. She was damaged. She was limping home with her tail between her legs. Captain Watson declared over the bullhorn that the Bob Barker would escort her. The Steve Irwin would escort the tanker back above the 60th parallel.
I followed them. I would have liked to follow the Nisshin Maru, but even as damaged as she was, she was too fast for us. So we trailed behind the tanker, and her fierce escort. Within just a few hours we crossed back over the 60th parallel. As I caught up to the two ships, I heard Captain Watson give one final warning over the bullhorn: “Don’t come back!” Then the Steve Irwin turned, and headed south once more. She still had the smaller whalers to chase. As the ship passed us, I stood up in the portal and gestured with my arm that I would follow the tanker back to Australia. Captain Watson waved to me, and I waved back. I didn’t think I ever felt so proud as I did at that moment. But my pride was overshadowed by the sorrow I felt inside, and I was glad that from the distance no one could see the tears streaming down my face. The Sea Shepherd Society had saved hundreds of whales by preventing the whaling ships from refuelling, but it was a cruel enemy we were fighting, and I felt hopeless for it. Margaret’s words weighed so heavily in my mind.
A few hours later, Merwin stirred in the bow. Hollie’s tail was wagging, and he was sticking his nose close to Merwin’s face, very gently sniffing at his wounds. He could smell blood. Hollie was an extremely sympathetic dog, and would stay with you when you were sick or injured. I put on a pot of tea, and a pot of porridge. The fresh milk was gone; we would have powdered milk. I peeled the last of the oranges and bananas. I wanted to keep busy. Merwin would want to know all that had happened, and I wasn’t sure what to tell him. One part of me felt I should simply tell him everything exactly as it had happened. That’s what I would have wanted if I were in his shoes, and I felt he deserved that. But another part of me wondered if that would be a mistake. I would tell him about the battle between the ships, for sure, and the outcome, and why we were following the tanker back to Australia. But did I need to cause him sorrow by explaining that the whale he loved so much
had been slaughtered? What would that accomplish? That’s what troubled me: I didn’t want to cause him the pain that I was feeling. It was too discouraging.
“Good morning, Captain.”
I took a peek at the clock. It was late afternoon. “Good afternoon.”
“I hear the engine running full force. Where are we sailing?”
“North. We’re following the tanker back to Australia.”
“She’s going back? That’s great!”
“Yes, it is.”
“How did it happen? Did I miss anything?”
“Yah, you missed a few things. There was a skirmish between the Sea Shepherd Society and the big whaling ship and tanker.”
“The Nisshin Maru? You saw her? And you didn’t wake me? Why didn’t you wake me? I could have helped.”
Merwin’s nose was still swollen like a ball. His face was black and blue.
“Sorry. I figured you needed the rest.”
He got to his feet, but was dizzy and unsteady. I had definitely made the right decision.
“I can’t believe I missed all the action. What did the big whaling ship look like?”
“Bloody, and ugly.”
“And where is she now?”
“On her way back to Japan.”
“Really? That’s fantastic! Gee, I can’t believe I slept through that.”
“You must have needed it. I’m making porridge. The tea is ready.”
Merwin picked up a cup and poured himself some tea. He saw the powdered milk. “The fresh milk is all gone?”
I nodded. “It’s time to go home.” I meant him. I wasn’t going home.
He sighed. “Ahhh…I suppose so. I wish I could have seen everything that happened, but at least the whales are safe now. Did you see our whales again?”
I nodded again, but avoided his eyes. “Yes, I saw them for a little while. Then they swam away.” I felt terrible lying to him. I wished we were on land right now. Hollie and I would go for a long walk, like a couple-of-weeks long.
“Whew! That’s good. Those whales are very special. I really love them. I swam with them, you know. You’ve got pictures, right?”
“Right.”
“Thank Heavens they escaped the whalers.”
“Yah.”
“Do you see now why Captain Watson is my hero?”
“Yes, I do.”
He was mine, too.
Chapter Twenty-eight
THE FIGHT BETWEEN THE Sea Shepherd Society and Nishin Maru had been filmed by both sides, and clips from the films found their way onto Australian TV. Unfortunately, they included footage of me in the portal of the sub, removing doubt in anyone’s mind that I was the one who had sabotaged the tanker in Perth. How could I talk my way out of it now when I was caught on camera trying to do it again? We only learned this because Merwin was listening to the radio on our way back. That made us think that the tanker we were following had probably called the authorities to say that she was being followed by a submarine. We had to sail away from her. While many people might celebrate the actions of the Steve Irwin and Bob Barker, the news broadcaster had used the words “troublemaker” to describe us. And if we got caught now, Merwin would be in just as much trouble as I would.
In an effort to try to reduce the risk, we came up with a plan to get Merwin to shore without entering the three-mile zone. The navy and coast guard would almost surely chase us within the two-hundred-mile economic zone now, and definitely within the twelve-mile territorial zone. If they caught us, they would arrest us, tow the sub to shore, and we’d go to jail to await trial. And who knew how long that would take?
That was dangerous enough, but entering the three-mile zone, especially submerged, would likely be considered an act of terrorism at this point, and they’d probably shoot first, and ask questions later. We’d have to be insane to do it. Also, the closer we came to shore, the harder it would be to escape if we were spotted.
Our plan was to wait for good weather conditions, and then Merwin would paddle the inflatable kayak in from about three and a half miles offshore. He would leave with enough time to land before twilight, climb a cliff, and light two fires in the dark, side by side, so that I could see them from offshore. That would be his signal that all was well, and I would sail away.
If I never saw the fires, I would motor in at periscope depth, and search for him. I’d be able to see him through the periscope for most of the way while it was still light, and wouldn’t leave until I saw the fire signal. I wondered if it would be too far for Merwin to paddle in his condition, but he insisted he was fine, and would enjoy the exercise. He assured me that paddling a kayak was something he could do well. After seeing him in the cold water with the whales, I had to admit he was tougher than I had thought.
We wanted to choose a spot that was isolated, yet not too far from a road. It would be dark soon after he landed, but he’d have his sleeping bag, and could catch some sleep before a long day’s walk back to society. I felt badly for all the trouble he’d have to go through, but he convinced me he was looking forward to the adventure. I could relate to that, too. Hollie and I would have traded places with him in a heartbeat.
After poring over the map, we chose the coastline outside of Port Arthur, next to Tasman National Park. It was too far from Hobart for Merwin to walk, but there was a road there, and he said he would be able to hitchhike. Tasmania was a hitchhiker’s paradise, he said, because people were so friendly, and hitchhiking was a respected way to get around. He picked up hitchhikers all the time. That was something I could believe.
We slipped away from the tanker a little over two hundred miles from Tasmania. She veered very slightly to portside, suggesting she was heading west of Tasmania, and likely towards Melbourne. We veered starboard. From the air, she’d be easy enough to spot, and so would we, by anyone who knew to look for us in her wake. On our own, we’d be almost impossible to find in the vast open sea.
While we were following the tanker, we had to continue taking turns keeping watch and sleeping, but once we sailed away from her, we were able to stop, submerge, shut everything off, and sleep. There was no chance the tanker would turn around and head back to the Southern Ocean now; she had come too far.
Merwin was in great spirits. He had the adventure he had wanted. He had learned how to sail a submarine, and had swum with whales. That he had been beaten up by a water cannon didn’t seem to bother him at all. I was glad I had decided not to tell him about the slaughter of the whale, and the longer we sailed, the more I felt that that was the right decision. It would have ruined his happy memories, and he probably wouldn’t have recovered as quickly from his wounds. He wondered why I was so moody, and said several times he felt I was holding something back. I denied it, and just shrugged. What could I say?
We reached the area offshore from Tasman National Park, and spent twenty-four nerve-wracking hours waiting for the sea to calm. But it never did. Staying outside of the three-mile zone proved to be a lot more difficult that I had expected because there were so many peninsulas, bays and islands. You could be ten miles from the main coast, yet only two miles from a small peninsula jutting out into the sea. With the strong swells came a strong current, continually pushing us closer to shore. Merwin said that I shouldn’t worry, and was keen to get into the kayak and have a paddle. But the swells were almost ten feet high, and I’d lose sight of him in less than quarter of a mile. No problem, he said, he was an experienced kayaker, and I should trust that he knew what he was doing. I didn’t feel so confident. Merwin seemed to have a little of what Margaret had in abundance—the sense of being ready to die when your time was up. I shared no such feeling.
And so, as twilight was approaching on the second day, I motored in to just a mile offshore from Crescent Bay, not far from Port Arthur, and told Merwin to get ready. We would surface just long enough to inflate the kayak—ten minutes or so—he would jump in, and paddle straight to shore. Once he was in the kayak, I would submerge and motor back outside o
f the three-mile zone, keeping an eye on him as well as I could through the periscope. When he reached the beach, he’d climb the cliff and light the fires.
In my last command to him, I told him to wear the wet suit for the paddle in. He emphatically insisted that it wasn’t necessary. I emphatically insisted that it was. What if he fell out of the kayak?
“I won’t,” he said.
As much as I liked Merwin, I was glad that I wouldn’t be his captain much longer. Every order I gave was met with an argument. He was lucky he wasn’t sailing with pirates, because they probably would have made him walk the plank for insubordination.
“How do you know? You fell off the sub.”
“True, but…”
“Anyway, it’s an order. We shouldn’t waste time arguing over it. It’s getting dark.”
He turned his face into a pout. With his nose all red and swollen he looked a bit like a circus clown who had gotten into a fight, and lost.
We raised the portal above the surface just a couple of feet, threw the wet suit out on a rope, and gave it a good soak. Then we pulled it in and submerged again. I helped Merwin get into the suit. He complained the whole time.
“Now I’m taking two important things from you, Captain: your kayak, and your wet suit. Here! You have to take this.” He reached over and slapped his cap on my head. It felt hot and sweaty, but I couldn’t take it off without insulting him. “I was supposed to buy you a new wet suit.”
“I can get another one along the way, and I have the rubber dinghy. I don’t need a kayak, too. Thanks for the hat.” I never mentioned that the kayak had been a gift from Ziegfried and Sheba before I left Newfoundland. I didn’t have to wonder if they would agree with me giving it to Merwin in this situation; I knew they would.
