The Whale Hunt

We swung at the whale with our machetes, dead, bleeding and putrid. When we were able to release a small part of it, and flesh took off from bone. We cheered. And to the part we’d cleansed, lashed ropes.

When the ropes were neatly fastened and each of us was sure of his lashing, we brought the remaining line to our vehicle.

If taken too quickly you will find it difficult to move; too heavy and foul-smelling, if left too long it may be lured into the bed of another man’s truck and taken away by him.

On the islands that I am from, this activity is not uncommon, but neither-so is it commonplace. The Northern Pacific’s Galapagos; Haida Gwaii, can look at times – a desolate scape. In the sleet, and sleek blue deep of the day, before darkness had extended its full reach, we laid claim to a prized object that’d washed ashore the beach.

The Whale Hunt. Haida Gwaii. Cira 2023.

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