A Whale For The Killing (v5.0)

by Farley Mowat

  “Don’t say as I ever see them so thick,” he recalled, “pretty near enough to float our boat on their backs. They was pouring into the Pond like the devil was on their tails. Maybe he was, cause just after we got into Short Reach we see two spouts just abeam of Fish Rock. It looked to we like the whales was having themselves some right good fishing.”

  During the previous several days the Hanns had noticed that, despite its almost landlocked nature, Aldridges Pond was becoming increasingly attractive to the herring. They laid this to the fact that, hard-pressed by the seiners, the little fishes were being driven to seek refuge where the ships could not follow. Whatever the reason, the Pond had acquired a dense herring population which seemed to surge in and out with the ebb and flow of the tides.

  Despite the ominous forecast, it only blew a “moderate breeze” that night. The anemometer on our roof registered forty knots and when Claire and I went to bed we could feel the full reverberation of breakers exploding against the cliffs of nearby Mast Cove, but it was a brief blow. Before morning the wind had hauled into the north, the skies were clearing and the sea was falling out.

  The Hann brothers, hard-working men with big families to support, were early getting out to haul their gear and they entered Aldridges before dawn began to break. They noticed nothing unusual as they thumped across the Pond, but as they were leaving the pushthrough they encountered several whales clustered near that narrow entrance. Vaguely Kenneth wondered if they might be waiting for herring to come out with the falling tide, but he was too concerned just then about his gear to give the matter much thought.

  The brothers were delighted to find their nets undamaged and even more delighted to find them full of cod. They spent several hours clearing and resetting the nets and when, heavily laden, they started back for the pushthrough, they again passed close to several whales surfacing near the entrance. Paying them no particular heed, they poled through the channel, moored their boat to a rock on the north shore of the Pond and began gutting their catch.

  They had been at work only a few minutes when they were startled by what would have been a familiar enough sound outside but which was totally unexpected in the confines of the Pond. It was the explosive whoooof of a spouting finner; and it came from “close aboard.” When Kenneth, a voluble and excitable little man, described the discovery some time later, he was still amazed.

  “I tells you, we was some surprised. We looked up and not more’n a couple of chains off was the fin of a girt whale just slipping down into the water, and the fog from her spout still hanging in the air.*

  * * *

  * The Hanns did not realize that the whale actually was a female, but so impressed were they by her gigantic size that they automatically referred to her in the feminine gender exactly as they would have done had she been a ship.

  “’Twas hard to believe a whale that big could get herself into the Pond. Certainly there was no water for her in the pushthrough, and even the south gut never had no more’n two fathom and a half since ever I see it. But there she was, and looking twice as big as life.

  “We went on cutting our fish, but I tell you we kept a sharp lookout for that whale. She was down for quite a time and when she come up again she was going like a battleship and right on course for the south gut. I give a yell: ‘Doug, bye! She be going to drive herself ashore!’

  “We both stood up to watch her. She never slowed ’til she was fair in the mouth of the gut, and I made sure she was going to end up high and dry. But just at the last of it she changed her mind. She come about so hard she sent a wall of water right out the gut. If they had been a boat inbound, ’twould have been capsized for sure. She turned so quick she heeled right over on her side, and she was some big! We figured sixty, seventy feet and maybe more.”

  During the next hour, while the Hanns finished cutting their fish, the whale went on making these frantic and abortive rushes, as if trying to nerve herself to dare the shallow channel. Time and again she surfaced near the middle of the Pond, put on a burst of speed and headed for the opening. But each time she gave up the attempt at the last moment. She must have known that not even her great speed and momentum would suffice to carry her across the shoals which barred the mouth of the channel.

  “I wondered,” Doug Hann recalled, “was she sounding the rising water ’cause the tide was on the flow. ’Twas near sprinjes* and we thought maybe she might get clear on the top of high water that evening.”

  * * *

  * Spring tides, the highest tides of the lunar month.

  Having finished with their fish, the Hanns found themselves in something of a quandary. They had no desire to be caught in the south channel during one of the whale’s impetuous rushes. On the other hand, they did not much relish the idea of taking their heavily laden boat back into The Ha Ha and out around Aldridges Head in the teeth of the heavy swell which was the storm’s aftermath. Eventually they decided to ease their way toward the south channel, holding close to shore, and see what happened.

  The whale paid no attention to them until they were within a hundred yards of the channel mouth. Here they discreetly nosed their boat ashore, uncertain what to do next. Then the whale surfaced in mid-Pond and turned in their direction.

  “What happened next was the queerest thing I ever see,” Kenneth remembered. “Whenever I see a whale spout before, and I supposes I see a t’ousand, only the top of the head and a bit of the fin and back would come out of the water. But this one... she made a slow start toward me, went under, and next thing we knowed was standing up with her whole head clear of the water, high as a cliff, and staring straight at we out of one big eye.

  “I tell you, it scared me some! Her mouth was closed but we could see ’twas big enough to swallow a dory and room to spare. Then she slid back under. We waited and waited but she were gone pretty near twenty minutes and when she come up again she were at the north end where we’d been cutting fish. I says to Doug: ‘Start the engine, bye! I t’inks she’s going to give we a free passage out.’

  “We never wasted no time, I’ll tell you. We was out through the gut like a rat out of a red-hot stovepipe! Going back down The Reach we talked about how wonderful queer it was for that whale to get herself into the Pond. ’Twas Doug had the best idea of it: ‘’Twas the herring took she into it,’ Doug says. ‘’Twas the herring tells the tale!’”

  ALTHOUGH THE COVE from which the south channel leads into Aldridges Pond is small, it is surprisingly deep, with an average depth of thirty feet over most of its area even at dead low tide. However, at its head, toward the Pond end of the channel, it shoals abruptly to a low-tide depth of five feet, and it narrows equally abruptly to form the mouth of the channel, which is itself some forty yards in length and ten yards wide. Near the inner end of the channel are a number of huge but scattered boulders, some of which are covered by less than four feet of water at low tide.

  On Friday night, January 20, the predicted tidal rise was just under five feet but the actual rise was nearer six due to the heavy sea driving inshore before the brief sou’east gale. Consequently, at full of the tide that night, there was close to forty feet of water in the cove and ten or eleven through most of the channel itself.

  Early friday afternoon the half-dozen seiners which had been working among the Burgeo Islands began to stow their gear and head for port to ride out the coming storm. The last of them left at about three o’clock and the underwater world no longer vibrated to the pound of diesel engines.

  With the return of quiet to their world, the family of finners in The Ha Ha decided to try a change of ground. Perhaps the herring had begun to avoid the restricted waters of The Ha Ha, which were being so closely patrolled by the whales, or perhaps the five great, hungry maws had simply thinned them out. In any event, the whales rounded Aldridges Head and entered Short Reach, where two of them were seen by the Hann brothers as they headed up for home that evening.

  Short Reach, it happened, was alive with herring, and the whales had
good fishing while daylight lasted. However, dusk came early this Friday evening as the cloud came down, dark with the promise of the coming storm.

  With the coming of night, the preferred method of fishing, using reflected light from the abdomen to herd the herring, became ineffective, but by then most of the whales had gorged and were no longer hungry. The paterfamilias, a sleek giant only slightly smaller than his mate, and three young but well-grown progeny of other years were content to idle in the depths and wait for another day. Not so the female. She was still ravenous, and she had good reason for her gargantuan appetite; for she was carrying a calf within her vast womb, a new life growing at such a furious pace as to keep her perpetually hungry. So while the rest of her family took life easy, the female continued fishing in the dark, relying now on the high-speed “dash,” directed at the densest herring schools she could find.

  Locating such schools posed no great problem because her sonar told her where they were, how dense the schools were and the depth at which they swam. Since she could not use the herding technique, it was to her advantage to choose those schools which would be prevented, by some natural barrier, from scattering at her approach. The many coves and cul-de-sacs along the steep, deep shores of the Richards Head peninsula were well-suited to her purpose and it was not long before she discovered that one of them, the entrance cove to Aldridges Pond, was fairly seething with little fishes.

  Her sonar gave her sight in darkness but it was not perfect vision. Although quite capable of defining for her the shape and depth of the cove, it probably did not reveal the existence of the narrow, shallow channel leading into Aldridges Pond. Unaware, then, that the packed mass of herring had an escape route open to them, the female whale came streaking into the cove like the black shadow of Nemesis... only to find that, inexplicably, the school was fading away before her. She would have had no way of knowing that it was pouring like a living river through the channel to seek safety in the Pond.

  The cove was deep but it was dangerously small. If the whale had accepted the fact that her attack had somehow failed, she could have halted her rush in time by gaping her enormous mouth and allowing the inrush to distend her accordion pleats so that the resistance of the water would have brought her to a halt nearly as abruptly as if she had deployed a parachute brake. But the hungry female fractionally delayed applying her brakes. When she did decide to stop, momentum carried her into the mouth of the channel, where the water abruptly and horrifyingly shoaled until her belly touched the bottom rocks. She swung frantically back and forth trying to turn, for a whale cannot swim in reverse. But assisted by the fast-flowing inbound tidal current, her struggles only served to carry her farther into the channel.

  Now she must have known fear; for a great whale that goes aground at high tide is almost certainly doomed. As the tide ebbs, the tremendous body, no longer buoyed up, becomes its own instrument of death. The ribs collapse under the immense weight and the whale suffocates.

  Caught in the tidal stream, and propelled by the frenzied thrusting of her flukes, she moved in the only direction open to her—forward through the channel, contorting herself to squeeze over and between the boulders which partially barred her way. Then, miraculously it must have seemed, the water deepened and she was free.

  There is an average depth of five fathoms over most of Aldridges Pond, and nine in the middle. The whale’s relief on reaching apparent freedom must have been exquisite. It must also have been short-lived. It could not have taken her many minutes to scan the shoreline and to realize that she had escaped... into a trap; a trap from which there was no hope of release except through the channel by which she had entered.

  Then came a fearful moment of decision! To stay was, eventually, to starve; but to dare that channel on a falling tide almost certainly meant death, a quicker one, before the next day came.

  Of course the tide would rise again. Certainly she would know that. But that was not all—and not enough—for this was happening at spring tide and the water would not be so high again for the whole of a lunar month and, even then, it might not be high enough unless accompanied by an onshore gale. Perhaps she knew that too.

  The inexorable rhythm of the tide was the whale’s key to freedom. Throughout the rest of that Friday night she waited for the new tide to rise. It reached its peak late Saturday morning... and the peak was almost a foot below the level it had reached the night before. It was not enough. Nevertheless, she was inexorably drawn to the mouth of the narrow channel which was her only path to freedom.

  THE HANN BROTHERS reached the plant about 4:30 in the afternoon and began forking their fish up on the wharf while an interested audience of plant workers listened to the tale they had to tell. It provided a major diversion in the otherwise dismal routine of working in a fish packing plant.

  “You think she’s still into the Pond?” asked one of the foremen, a strapping-big—almost obese—man in his fifties. “More’n likely. Don’t see as she got a chance to get clear until full tide tonight.”

  “But,” Kenneth Hann told me later, “if I’d a knowed what they fellers had in mind, I’d have told they she was gone clear of it already.”

  Perhaps he would have done so, for the brothers wished the whale no ill. There were other men in Burgeo who did not feel as the Hanns felt.

  9

  ONLY A FEW MINUTES AFTER the Hanns finished unloading their fish and departed for their homes in Muddy Hole, another boat put out from the plant wharf carrying the foreman, George, who had been so interested in the whale, together with four younger men. All five were employees of the plant and they had obtained permission from the manager to quit early in order to go and “see” the whale. They did not go straight to Aldridges Pond. Partway down Short Reach they put in to shore and each man hurried up to his own house, returning with a rifle and whatever ammunition he could lay hands on. When they shoved off again, they were armed with two .30-30 sporting carbines, a .30-06 U.S. Army rifle, and a pair of .303 Lee Enfield service rifles.

  Although these men had all been born on the Sou’west Coast, they had all spent some years away, either in Canada or the United States. Returning home for one reason or another, they had rejected the vocations of their fishermen forefathers and had instead sought wage employment at the plant as mechanics, tradesmen and supervisors. They were representative of the new Newfoundlanders envisaged by Premier Smallwood—progressive, modern men who were only too anxious to deny their outport heritage in favour of adopting the manners and mores of twentieth-century industrial society.

  It was already growing dusk when their boat passed Richards Head and opened the mouth of the cove leading to Aldridges Pond. Suddenly the man in the bow gave a shout, grabbed his rifle and pointed with it. A whale was spouting just off the entrance of the cove.

  The foreman throttled back and the boat slowed to a drift.

  “Son of a bitch must’a got clear!” someone cried disgustedly.

  As the whale sounded, three or four high-velocity bullets whacked into the water and ricocheted, spinning and singing into the darkening air. Although the boat’s crew waited expectantly for the great beast to reappear, it did not do so. Believing it to be the whale reported by the Hanns, and convinced it was now well on its way to sea, the disappointed men decided to head home. George, the foreman, was turning the boat when one man, who had only recently returned to Burgeo after a decade spent working in a Toronto paint factory, spoke up:

  “I never been into the Pond since I was a kid. Let’s take a turn. Might stir up a couple of sea ducks or maybe a seal.”

  Agreeably, George completed a full circle and the boat headed into the cove, crossed it, and nosed into the channel. At that instant all five men were electrified by what they later described as a sort of hollow roar—“like a cow bawling into a big tin barrel.” Almost at the same moment, there was a mighty splash at the inner end of the channel and a drift of spray descended on the boat and its occupants. The men stared at each other in amazement. />
  “Holy Jesus Christ! ’Tis still in there!”

  They ran the boat’s nose ashore on a patch of shingle, sprang over the side and raced across the narrow neck of land separating the cove from the Pond. They reached the crest in time to see what one of them described as “... the biggest goddamn fish that ever swum! It was right into the mouth of the gut and looked to be half out of the water. The tail onto it was like an airplane. It was smashing into the water so hard, spray come right up where we was to.”

  The five men wasted no time. Some dropped to their knees, levering shells into their rifles as they did so. Others stood where they were and hurriedly took aim. The crash of rifle fire began to echo from the cliffs enclosing the Pond and, as an undertone, there came the flat, satisfying thunk of bullets striking home in living flesh.

  “You couldn’t miss,” one of the gunners recalled ecstatically, “I was shooting for the eye—big as a plate it looked. Some was shooting for the blowhole. But them bullets only seemed to tickle it. It kind of rolled a little, turned and slid off into deep water and went down. I guess we put twenty bullets into it.”

  The whale submerged and retreated to the north end of the Pond but after a few minutes, during which the gunners hurriedly reloaded, she reappeared, heading back toward the channel mouth. The men held their fire until she was a hundred feet away and then let fly a concentrated blast. The whale sounded again, this time disappearing for nearly twenty minutes.

  “Some of the lads figured as how we’d killed it, but that was crazy stuff. Take a hell of a lot more’n what we had to kill a thing that big! But George, he figured if we kept shooting every time it come toward the gut it’d give up on the idea and stay where it was to until next day. Next day being Sunday we’d have all day for sporting with it.”