A few whales in my life

 Many people on the West Coast who live close to the ocean have experience with whales, either Grays migrating between Alaska and Mexico or Orcas that lurk in the coastal waters looking for prey, which gives them the name Killer.  My first exposure, however, came on the East Coast, where I grew up.

When I was about 7 or 8, my father’s parents took me to eat at Gage & Tollner’s in Brooklyn, which they said was the best seafood restaurant in the city.  At the time, we were staying with my grandparents in Schenectady while my father sought medical treatment for his hearing loss.  I have no idea why I was alone with my grandparents in the city, but I remember thinking Brooklyn was far from Manhattan; I remember crossing a bridge to get there, and I remember white tablecloths and complete place settings and the waiter in black coat and tie, not the kind of restaurant I ate at with my parents.  I remember perusing the many paged menu and discovering “whale.”  I don’t remember how it was listed, as steak, chopped, or stew, but I remember being excited.  When asked what I wanted, I said “whale.”  The waiter apologized and said they were out and would not have more until next week.  I don’t remember what I ordered, but the disappointment stays with me to this day.

My second missed whale came on the West Coast at the Makah reservation on the Olympic Peninsula.  As part of the 1855 Neah Bay treaty with the U.S. Government, the Makah gave up 300,000 acres of tribal land in exchange for their continued right to hunt whales,  That treaty established the Makah as the only U.S. Native American nation with a whaling right clearly specified by treaty—though the tribe stopped hunting in the 1920s when Gray whale existence was threatened by commercial whaling.  By the 1990s, the U.S. government declared the Gray whale no longer endangered, and despite objections by many groups, the Makah determined to resume one of their most important tribal traditions.  On May 17, 1999, Makah whalers in a traditional canoe harpooned a 30-foot Gray and towed it to Neah Bay.  To celebrate the successful hunt, the following weekend they held a potlatch.  Everyone who was there received some of the whale.  Deb and I, planning to hike and camp on the peninsula, arrived at the reservation the next day.  We missed the potlach and whale by one day.

We stopped at a local store to get supplies and were attracted to a display of Makah carvings.  One of the carvers happened to be arranging his contribution and I asked him about one of his masks.  He said that when the Makah harpooned a whale, one hunter jumped in the water and sewed the whale’s mouth shut to prevent the whale from filling with water and sinking.  Sometimes the whale was not yet dead and fought back.  The mask, with white skin and a red mouth, represented the spirit of drowned whalers.  Because of my interest, he offered me the mask.

We were at the reservation because when Deb was in college, she visited the excavation of an Ozette Makah village that had been covered by a mudslide about 1560CE (according to radiocarbon dating).  The excavators found more than 55,000 artifacts spanning a period of about 2,000 years; many are now on display in the Makah Museum at the Makah Cultural and Research Center. 

We hiked the Ozette Loop trail, a mostly easy nine-and-a-half-mile walk through lovely woods to the coast.  Among other sights, we found 300- to 500-year-old petroglyphs of Orcas.   

When we kayaked in the Queen Charlottes, we saw Grays.  It seemed that they wanted to stay far from us, but the Orcas were not shy.  In Johnstone Strait, two adult Orcas and a young one swam within yards of our boats, ignoring us as if we existed in a different reality.

In the first photo, a dorsal shows just beyond the bow.  I suggested to our guide that they behaved as if they didn’t know we were there.  He replied, “Oh, they knew.” 

On Sunday, June 17, 1979, forty-one sperm whales beached at the Siuslaw River’s south jetty near Florence.  It was at the time the third largest beaching known.  The next day, I drove with my daughter to see.  The beach was taped off to keep on-lookers away, but I noted that within the taped area people had strips of tape tied to their upper arms to identify them as official participants.  I found a length of tape hanging from a post, cut it, tied it on my arm, and headed toward the nearest whale.  Laurel stayed at the edge of the taped area and told herself the story she told me later that she was going to tell her mother after I was arrested and taken to jail. Even at a distance, the stench was powerful.  As I approached, the smell grew overwhelming.  One of the things no one tells about fields after a battle: Bodies swell, and explode.  For years, I could think about that scene and the smell would return.  Laurel claims she can smell it still. 

I have had encounters with whales since, but this was the most memorable.