War of the Whales Read Online Free
Author: Joshua Horwitz
constant body temperature below 100 degrees. When a whale strands in the tropical sun, it overheats and dies within hours.
Balcomb dispatched the Earthlings to scavenge as many sheets, towels, and buckets as they could find from the brightly colored houses scattered along the beach. Ten minutes later, they had the Cuvier’s wrapped from fluke to blowhole, with a bucket brigade keeping the fabric soaked in seawater. Four of the Earthlings held a sheet overhead as a canopy to shield the whale from the midmorning sun.
Balcomb heard the radio crackling from the pickup. It was Claridge, reporting that yet another beaked whale, a Blainville’s, had stranded back up the coast, northeast of their house. Balcomb left Ellifrit in charge of the Earthlings contingent and climbed into the pickup.
“Something is going on,” Balcomb thought as he barreled back toward Sandy Point. “Something big.”
He called a neighbor on the radio and asked him to paddle two kayaks out to Sandy Point. By the time he arrived, three of his neighbors had dislodged the Blainville’s from the beach and were standing beside him in the shallows. Balcomb and Claridge waded out to photograph the whale and scrape DNA skin samples for later identification. When the kayakers arrived, they helped guide the animal back out to deep water. Balcomb asked the kayakers to meet them back at Rocky Point as soon as they could paddle out there. As they drove past their house, Balcomb and Claridge ran in to grab a blue poly tarp from the garage.
By the time they returned to Rocky Point, the tide had moved back in—and so had the sharks. A lemon shark and what looked liked two tigers had joined the fray. To judge by the position of the sun, Balcomb figured it was close to high noon. A cluster of young Bahamian schoolgirls dressed in starched blue and white uniforms had stopped on their way home for lunch to watch.
The whale was still alive, though his breathing seemed to Balcomb to be heavy and forced. Meanwhile, the Earthwatch volunteers were beginning to fray around the edges. They had come to the Bahamas to photograph whales, not to stand by helplessly and watch them die of dehydration or be devoured by sharks. Two college-aged volunteers were kneeling by the whale’s head, trying to soothe him with gentle strokes and murmurs. Another one, a middle-aged woman from Cincinnati, swatted flies away from an angry scrape on his tail fluke. She was sobbing quietly to herself but wiped away her tears when Claridge approached with the tarp. The sight of dorsal fins circling in the water just offshore wasn’t helping morale.
Earthwatch team and neighbors with a second stranded Cuvier’s beaked whale at Rocky Point, March 15, 2000.
Balcomb threw Claridge a look that she recognized as “You’re the den mother here. I’m the guy who keeps the boats running.” But she had more pressing business to tend to. She crouched low to examine the coral cuts on the whale’s belly, which were starting to congeal and clot. A promising sign, unless it meant he was dehydrating. At least his eyes were still clear. She collected a skin-scrape sample and peeled back a towel to study the scarring on his flank. “Zc-12,” she said as Balcomb photographed the dorsal fin from both sides.
The kayaks arrived, and Balcomb motioned to them to stop offshore on the far side of the shark swirl. Now Claridge took charge of the Earthlings. “Who knows how to shoot video?” she called. One of the younger women raised her hand. “Okay, get the camera from the truck and run tape, with time-code stamp. And stay out of the water when you’re shooting. You four, lose that canopy and help me with this tarp. The rest of you gather some pieces of driftwood up there,” she said, pointing toward a nearby house. “Something you can swing like a bat.”
Claridge peeled back the wet towels and sheets with the tenderness of a mother removing a child’s Band-Aid. She examined the animal for other
Balcomb dispatched the Earthlings to scavenge as many sheets, towels, and buckets as they could find from the brightly colored houses scattered along the beach. Ten minutes later, they had the Cuvier’s wrapped from fluke to blowhole, with a bucket brigade keeping the fabric soaked in seawater. Four of the Earthlings held a sheet overhead as a canopy to shield the whale from the midmorning sun.
Balcomb heard the radio crackling from the pickup. It was Claridge, reporting that yet another beaked whale, a Blainville’s, had stranded back up the coast, northeast of their house. Balcomb left Ellifrit in charge of the Earthlings contingent and climbed into the pickup.
“Something is going on,” Balcomb thought as he barreled back toward Sandy Point. “Something big.”
He called a neighbor on the radio and asked him to paddle two kayaks out to Sandy Point. By the time he arrived, three of his neighbors had dislodged the Blainville’s from the beach and were standing beside him in the shallows. Balcomb and Claridge waded out to photograph the whale and scrape DNA skin samples for later identification. When the kayakers arrived, they helped guide the animal back out to deep water. Balcomb asked the kayakers to meet them back at Rocky Point as soon as they could paddle out there. As they drove past their house, Balcomb and Claridge ran in to grab a blue poly tarp from the garage.
By the time they returned to Rocky Point, the tide had moved back in—and so had the sharks. A lemon shark and what looked liked two tigers had joined the fray. To judge by the position of the sun, Balcomb figured it was close to high noon. A cluster of young Bahamian schoolgirls dressed in starched blue and white uniforms had stopped on their way home for lunch to watch.
The whale was still alive, though his breathing seemed to Balcomb to be heavy and forced. Meanwhile, the Earthwatch volunteers were beginning to fray around the edges. They had come to the Bahamas to photograph whales, not to stand by helplessly and watch them die of dehydration or be devoured by sharks. Two college-aged volunteers were kneeling by the whale’s head, trying to soothe him with gentle strokes and murmurs. Another one, a middle-aged woman from Cincinnati, swatted flies away from an angry scrape on his tail fluke. She was sobbing quietly to herself but wiped away her tears when Claridge approached with the tarp. The sight of dorsal fins circling in the water just offshore wasn’t helping morale.
Earthwatch team and neighbors with a second stranded Cuvier’s beaked whale at Rocky Point, March 15, 2000.
Balcomb threw Claridge a look that she recognized as “You’re the den mother here. I’m the guy who keeps the boats running.” But she had more pressing business to tend to. She crouched low to examine the coral cuts on the whale’s belly, which were starting to congeal and clot. A promising sign, unless it meant he was dehydrating. At least his eyes were still clear. She collected a skin-scrape sample and peeled back a towel to study the scarring on his flank. “Zc-12,” she said as Balcomb photographed the dorsal fin from both sides.
The kayaks arrived, and Balcomb motioned to them to stop offshore on the far side of the shark swirl. Now Claridge took charge of the Earthlings. “Who knows how to shoot video?” she called. One of the younger women raised her hand. “Okay, get the camera from the truck and run tape, with time-code stamp. And stay out of the water when you’re shooting. You four, lose that canopy and help me with this tarp. The rest of you gather some pieces of driftwood up there,” she said, pointing toward a nearby house. “Something you can swing like a bat.”
Claridge peeled back the wet towels and sheets with the tenderness of a mother removing a child’s Band-Aid. She examined the animal for other
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