‘What’s he doing?’ Callista asked. ‘Does he have to hassle it like that?’
Jimmy didn’t answer.
They watched as the vet walked into the shallows at the rear end of the whale and pushed at its tail flukes with his gumboot. There was no response. Then he clapped his hands and yelled as he pushed at the flukes again. The whale sucked a quick breath of air and tensed as it tried to lift its tail.
‘Can’t he see it’s buried in sand?’ Callista said.
Jimmy said nothing.
The vet gave a small nod, as if finishing a discussion with himself, and joined the biologists just beyond the whale’s head. They talked amongst themselves animatedly for several minutes. The vet spoke least and stood looking down at the sand, interjecting occasionally.
Callista saw the slim girl go up to them. She must have asked if they could resume their support work, because the vet nodded and four of the team started replacing the towels across the whale’s back. Then the vet came up to the tent looking for Peter Taylor who was up at the dunes making phone calls. Jimmy went to fetch him, leaving the vet with Callista.
He seemed quite shy standing away from her while he waited, hands thrust in his trouser pockets. He shifted from foot to foot, avoiding eye contact, and his agitation made Callista nervous. She wasn’t sure yet whether she could trust his judgment. He seemed so uncertain, so unconfident.
‘You’ve got a hard job,’ she said. ‘I don’t envy you.’
‘These things are never much fun. I’d rather be kicking a football with my son back in Sydney.’ He glanced at her quickly then his eyes skated away.
‘How’s the whale going? I was one of the people who found it this morning, and I keep hoping it’ll be okay.’
‘You’re just the person I need to talk to.’ The vet pulled a notebook and a pencil out of his hip pocket and peeked up at her briefly, then back down at his notebook. ‘Have you been taking any notes? Writing anything down?’
‘Only for the past hour or so. Respirations, movements, things like that. Before that I didn’t have anything to write on, and to be honest, I didn’t think of it.’
The vet nodded. ‘Anything you can tell me could be useful. Just chat and I’ll make notes while you’re talking.’
Callista told him about how they’d found the whale, how it was responding then, where the tide had been, what the weather had been like. She referred to the notes she had taken for Jimmy, mentioned the frequency of breaths and moans, how things had changed since early morning. She wanted to talk about her discussion with Lex, and ask the vet what he thought of Lex’s so-called options, but she wasn’t game and she stuck to the facts.
‘Thanks,’ the vet said. ‘All of that really helps. I can compare your observations with mine and that gives me a gauge of the whale’s deterioration.’
‘Deterioration?’
The vet gave a small smile. ‘They all deteriorate out of water,’ he said. ‘There’s only one way to go and that’s downhill. We monitor how quickly they’re sliding and that gives us a measure of the chances of survival. By the way, I’m Tim Lawton.’ He extended his hand, leaning forward to reach her, reluctant to come closer.
‘What could you tell from your assessment?’ Callista still felt uncertain of him.
‘Things aren’t looking too bad,’ he said. ‘He’s hanging in there. Muscle tone’s not great and breaths are a bit few and far between, but we’ll give him a bit of stimulus soon and try to stir things up a bit. We don’t want to hassle him too much, but if we just leave him lying there, he might forget to breathe. We’ll keep up with the support treatment too. You guys made a great start getting those wet towels on him, but there are a few other things we can do too, before the machinery gets here. We can hand-dig some trenches to free up his chest and tail a bit. Then he’ll feel a bit more comfortable and it might help with his breathing.’
‘Do you think he’ll make it?’
The vet looked at her seriously. It was the first time he had met her eyes directly. ‘It’s too soon to tell,’ he said. ‘There’s a long day ahead of us yet. We’ll just have to wait and see. Here comes Taylor now.’
Tim quickly filled Taylor in on the whale’s status and then asked permission to take some samples. He wanted to try to collect some blood, and also to get a swab from the blowhole. He asked if somebody could take the samples back to the nearest hospital for him. The tests were fairly basic, he explained, but would give him a few hints on how the whale was faring.
Callista watched him pick up his toolbox and walk down to the whale with the two biologists. She was still unsure. She had expected optimism and positivity from him. She hadn’t expected him to be so frank. Of course the whale had deteriorated over the past few hours. She knew it. But she hadn’t wanted the vet to say it so directly. Then again, perhaps there was little room for coddling people in a situation like this. Everyone had to be prepared for the worst.
Tim stopped several metres away from the whale and pulled some large needles and syringes from his toolbox. He poked along the whale’s back down towards the tail, then unsheathed one of the needles. Bending down, he poked around the tail a bit more and then pushed the needle in. Callista looked away, feeling faint. It must be the cold—so many hours sitting waiting on the beach—and the needle looked so large. When she glanced back, one of the syringes was already full of blood. Tim passed it to one of the biologists then he attached another syringe and filled it also. The biologist was busy filling blood tubes. There seemed to be dozens of them.
Feeling weak, Callista sat down and wrapped her arms around her legs. The girl with dreadlocks came over and crouched on the sand beside her.
‘What do you think about all this?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know.’
Callista looked at her more closely. The girl’s hair was wrapped around her neck like a shawl and it smelled of smoke. She was concentrating hard on the vet’s actions, her young face firm and her eyes clear.
‘I don’t like the way he touches it,’ the girl said. ‘Do you?’
‘Not really,’ Callista admitted.
‘It’s a matter of respect. He’s rough.’
‘He’s doing a medical examination.’
‘I don’t care what he’s doing. He lacks compassion.’
‘He’s trying to make an objective assessment. That’s his job. He’s been looking for reflexes, responses, those sorts of things, so he can tell how far gone the whale is.’
The girl shook her head. ‘If he doesn’t have compassion for animals, I don’t see how he can help.’
‘Don’t you think we should give him a chance?’ Callista said. ‘He’s seen more whales than we’ll ever see. And perhaps it doesn’t work to be gentle with an animal that big. The vet said if they leave it alone it might stop breathing.’
‘Do you believe that?’
‘Yes, I do. It’s breathing less frequently than it was this morning.’
The girl looked at Callista with bright level eyes.
‘You’re straight up and honest, like me,’ she said. ‘My boyfriend Jarrah describes it as tactless. But I think there’s too much tact around these days.’
Callista tried not to smile. She didn’t think she’d ever been as forward and confident as this young girl. But the girl was very serious. She wiped the sand from her hand and offered it to Callista.
‘I’m Jen.’
‘Callista.’
They clasped hands.
‘With a name like that it’s no wonder I like you.’ Jen looked knowingly at Callista. ‘I can pick it. I can see things in people. It’s a skill I have.’
She looked around and waved her hand towards Lex who was standing with Jordi watching the vet. ‘Like that guy over there,’ she said. ‘He picked me up on the highway a few weeks ago.’
Callista tried not to tense.
‘He’s the polite type,’ Jen said. ‘He hides behind silence. You’d think an older guy like him would jump at the chance to be
with a young chick like me. But he was overwhelmed. Didn’t know what to do.’
Callista looked at Lex, tingling. ‘Not everyone is what they seem,’ she said. ‘The vet does care. He wants the whale to live.’
They looked back to the whale and watched Tim as he dabbed around the blowhole with a wad of gauze and then dipped inside it with a cotton bud on a long stick, swirling it around. The whale exhaled with a blast. There might be a medical reason for needles and swabs, but Callista felt a surge of nausea. She couldn’t watch anymore.
‘I’m sorry, I have to go,’ she said.
She heaved herself quickly to her feet and walked up the beach.
Twenty-eight
Looking back later, Callista had difficulty pinpointing exactly when things changed on the beach. But there was a distinct turning point when everything shifted from being casual and interactive to being more organised and controlled. That was the moment at which something was lost. But it was inevitable, and it was because of the number of people massing on the beach.
Word had spread via live-to-air reports on radio and TV, and over several hours the beach had transformed. More tents were pitched further back up the sand, folding tables were set up, generators were fuelled and kicked into life, and more and more bodies scurried back and forth from the hill lugging equipment. The chopper came and went, disgorging gear, and cars crowded the horizon in haphazard disarray.
Sue, John Watson and a contingent from the church arrived with bags stuffed with food—sandwiches, chocolate, fruit, sweets—and thermoses of hot drinks. They came with gas stoves and moved straight into two tents. One was set up to cook sausages that Helen Beck provided. Some of the church ladies, led by Mrs Jensen, organised themselves in the other tent to serve tea and coffee.
More media crews arrived. They closed ranks with the other reporters and hung out in tight circles, badgering Peter Taylor for interviews. Callista was surprised they left the vet alone, but Jimmy explained that Taylor was protecting him. Tim had a more important job to do than performing for the media sharks.
As the crowd swelled, things got worse. Soon there were more than two hundred people on the beach. Cordons had to be set up, and Taylor had to call in more staff to handle the crowd. Another tent was pitched even further back along the beach to greet new arrivals and organise them into groups. Volunteers were briefed and trained and a roster was established so they could assist the vet. But the number of people continued to burgeon and there was insufficient work to occupy them all. Yet it was difficult to turn them away. Even if they couldn’t help, people wanted to watch. The mood was anxious. Many people had strong opinions, which they believed were important and deserved to be heard. And as they arrived with all their emotions in their pockets, most of them expected to be allowed to approach the whale, to touch it. Taylor and Jimmy had to explain over and over that it was stressful for the whale to have too many people around.
In the back of her mind, Callista could hear Lex telling her that the public would expect a rescue, that they wouldn’t want the whale euthanased. And now, with all these people milling around and the media hovering with cameras and the tents that had popped up all over the beach, she wasn’t so sure about balance and objectivity anymore. How would this crowd respond if the vet said the rescue had to be abandoned? Would they all just pack up meekly and wander off home?
From outside the control tent where she was waiting to see her father, Callista could see the vet down by the whale, overseeing support operations. The tide had receded from the whale’s tail now, and its flukes lay flat and limp and half-buried in the wet sand. This morning, when she and Lex had first found the whale with the sea still washing around it, it had appeared helpless. But now it was completely marooned, like a washed-up sailing boat left high on the beach after a storm surge.
Around the whale, several people were scooping out trenches in the sticky sand. It was hard work and a good way to keep volunteers occupied, bent over, digging with their hands and piling sand up a couple of metres away from the whale to form the beginnings of a seawall. Other helpers were dousing the whale with sea water. Each time a volunteer approached with a bucket, the whale tensed and lifted its flipper to slash at the cascade of water.
Callista struggled with tears. There were too many people around being too busy. Surely the vet was aware of it. Why was he letting them go on with this?
Jimmy joined her at the back of the tent.
‘Can’t they just leave the poor thing alone?’ she said.
‘The vet would prefer it that way,’ Jimmy said. ‘But the volunteers want to help. And we’d have a riot on our hands if we kept them away. They haven’t just come to stand around.’
The whale dashed its flipper again at a volunteer. As the flipper fell, the whale emitted a deep groan.
‘Did you hear that?’ the volunteer yelled, waving excitedly. ‘It’s talking to me.’
Callista clenched her hands. ‘People have no idea, do they? Has the vet said anything about how it’s going?’
Jimmy’s clear blue eyes met hers and he smiled kindly but sadly. ‘Chances aren’t great, kiddo. You can hear it all for yourself soon. He’s giving a public address in ten minutes. Down by the volunteer tent.’
‘Should we have walked away?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Jimmy gave her a hug. ‘I’d better head back. The machinery will be here soon. Probably in the middle of the vet’s address. You know how it is.’
Callista joined a cluster of people congregating at the volunteer tent where Peter Taylor was standing on a milk crate holding a loudspeaker. She felt someone reaching for her hand and turned, startled, to find Jen beside her with tears in her eyes.
‘I’m so frustrated.’ The girl’s face was wrought with tension. ‘What happened to everything today? It was going fine until all these people arrived. Now none of us can do anything and I’m going mad just hanging around watching.’
Callista nodded, gripping the girl’s hand in sympathy.
‘My dad’s on the rescue team. It’s tricky for them—juggling everyone’s need to be involved and all their emotions.’
Jen glared around at the crowd. ‘I just wish they’d all go away.’
They were interrupted by a short blare of static and then Peter Taylor’s voice over the loudspeaker.
‘Can I have your attention, everyone, please. I’m Peter Taylor from National Parks. And I’m in charge of getting this whale back in the water.’
He looked so cool and calm standing up there. But Callista knew it must be a nightmare overseeing an event like this with everybody wanting to tell you how it should be done and everyone wanting a piece of the action.
‘I have to say how impressed I am to see such a large and enthusiastic public response,’ Taylor said. ‘But I must ask for your cooperation while you’re waiting to help, otherwise our rescue won’t be successful. This is a large whale and operations are going to be difficult and risky. I know things are slow, but our biggest hold-up has been waiting for the machinery. Access to this place isn’t easy and mobilising heavy equipment on a weekend isn’t something that happens quickly. But you’ll be pleased to hear that the bulldozer is nearly through to the beach and the excavator’s just behind it. Once they arrive, we can start getting the whale in position for a return to the water when the tide comes in.’
‘When the tide comes in?’ someone yelled. ‘But isn’t that hours away?’
‘Yes,’ Taylor said. ‘And we have hours of work to do. We have to try to shift the whale onto its chest so it can breathe easier and then we need to get the excavator to work building a seawall around the whale. The idea is to build up quite a large wall. And then, when the tide comes in, we can breach it and the sea water will flood around the whale and float it off the sand.’
Questioning hands went up everywhere in the crowd, and for the briefest of moments Taylor looked harassed by the barrage of people calling out. He held up a hand to stop them.
‘Quest
ions afterwards. The vet is going to speak to you first.’
He introduced Tim Lawton and outlined his experience. Then he passed the loudspeaker to the vet and directed him up onto the milk crate. Tim looked small and hesitant as he faced the crowd and Callista found herself hoping he’d be convincing. Everyone needed an injection of confidence at this time. Not more doubt.
Tim Lawton jiggled the loudspeaker then spoke into it tentatively, his voice quavering slightly. But the crowd waited patiently for him to clear his throat and the general mood seemed supportive.
‘Folks,’ he said, ‘it’s not a pleasant task I’ve been invited along to here today. And I’m sorry it’s going to be a long day for you all. But unfortunately nothing happens fast at whale strandings. It’s hard, because we all know that the faster we get this whale back in the water, the better his chances of swimming away. But first we have to stop and look at where this animal has come ashore. Amazing place, isn’t it? Wild and remote. The locals tell me days can go by without anyone coming here. And so we have the access problem that Peter Taylor mentioned. That’s our first obstacle.’
He switched the loudspeaker into his other hand.
‘The second problem we have to consider is our patient—a stunningly beautiful animal. Enormous, isn’t he? He’s a humpback. Subadult. He’s just nine metres, whereas a mature male should make it out to twelve or more.’ He paused. ‘Unfortunately, there’s still a lot we don’t know about strandings. We have a few theories, but most of them apply to social species, like sperm whales and pilot whales and false killers, for instance. But single stranders like this one we see less commonly. Around here, humpbacks head south with their young somewhere between September and November. That’s when they’re heading down to Antarctica where there’s lots of food available over the summer. Come this time of year, the humpbacks head back up north again to breed. But we don’t tend to see them as much when they’re going north. They tend to swim quickly and further out to sea.
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