Greenpeace

Hi All,

It sounds like Nathan and the crews of the Esperanza and the Arctic Sunrise are keeping the whaling fleet on the run.  This is the first time we've had enough speed to prevent the whalers from losing us, and it is having a dramatic impact on their ships' ability to find and kill whales. 

The Japanese Government is NOT happy.  Check out their exchange of open letters with Greenpeace Japan:

OPEN LETTER TO ICR FROM GREENPEACE JAPAN

28 December 2005
Hiroshi Hatanaka
Director-General
The Institute of Cetacean Research
(CC: Fisheries Agency of Japan)


Dear Dr. Hatanaka,

Thank you for your reply to our original letter of 22nd December which outlined both our demand that you immediately recall the whaling fleet from the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary and our commitment to peaceful protest.

We welcome your acknowledgement that "Greenpeace's intention to highlight environmental degradation of the seas with the aim of protecting the marine environment is in itself laudable."

Whaling in the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary is conducted using our (Japanese) tax money. However, Japanese citizens have not been informed by you about what is really happening in the waters around Antarctica. For instance, the fact that whaling is conducted in the Antarctic whale sanctuary, designated by the International Whaling Commission, and that your organization with a Japanese company, Kyodo Senpaku, are the only ones conducting whaling in the Sanctuary has not been well communicated. Also the hunting of 10 fin whale this season, an endangered species, and the more than doubling of the quota for minke whale to 935, have also not been well communicated to Japanese citizens and media.

Your arguments only focus on trying to justify your whaling. Yet the place you are conducting the whaling needs to be given more attention. Antarctica is globally recognized as an important environmental barometer of planetary health because of its crucial role in the ecosystem. This is widely recognized even by the Japanese government because of the threat to the ecosystem from climate change. The Southern Ocean demands exceptional measures to prevent further destruction of biodiversity. 

Your ships and ours are on the high seas and governed by international law and so your attempts to claim areas of the high seas for exclusive use are without foundation. This arrogance is just one more reason why you are subject to criticism by the international community.

Also, you have not communicated to the rest of the world the truth regarding the fact that most Japanese people rarely eat whale meat. Nor that Nissui a founder and one third owner of Kyodo Senpaku, which owns the whaling fleet, have told Greenpeace Japan that it has no desire to see a resumption of commercial whaling at this moment because of the low demand from the market place. The image of "Japanese people eating whale meat frequently" is misleading propaganda which you created, and this has to be corrected.

Our purpose of being in the Southern Ocean is to protect the sanctuary and defend the whales by communicating the information from the sanctuary in addition to the information expressed above.

As we have already communicated in the last letter to you, dated 22nd December, Greenpeace takes safety issues very seriously, not only for our crew but also for your crew and ships. We have never harmed any of your crew or ships, and will not do so in future. This was communicated, 21 December, by radio from the Bridge of the Greenpeace ship MY Esperanza to your captain on the Nissin Maru, when we first encountered the whaling fleet.

Further, Greenpeace Japan spoke by telephone to Mr. Yamamura, the CEO of Kyodo Senpaku on the morning of 22nd December, telling him that we are bound by the principles of peaceful non-violent direct action and that we did not intend to board any ships. As you might know, he kindly agreed to communicate this to the captains of the fleets.

Greenpeace crews are trained not to respond violently to violence. If you take a closer look at your videos and photos, your crews are the ones directing fire hoses at the faces of boat drivers and crew and of hitting one Greenpeace crew member with a heavy object.

Regarding your accusation of piracy and that Greenpeace "crewmembers disregard the international law of the sea and repeatedly engage in the illegal and dangerous hindrance of our research activities." Nothing could be further from the truth: not only is Kyodo Senpaku killing whales in breach of the IWC resolutions and the Southern Ocean Sanctuary, but they are operating in violation of the 1972 International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea (COLREGS). 

Greenpeace ships have a legal right to peaceful navigation and to bring the activities of the whaling vessels to the world's attention.  This does not appear to be understood by the captains of the whaling fleet who have undertaken a number of dangerous manoeuvres apparently aimed at intimidating the crew of our ships.  Already, there have been serious violations by your crew that provide justification for concern in terms of safety and international maritime law.

For example, on 21 December the catcher Kyo Maru 1 approached the Esperanza from behind, on the port side. Because the Kyo Maru 1 was the overtaking vessel, she was required by Rule 13 to give way, but she did not and twice collided with the Esperanza, attempting to force her out of position. Nobody was harmed in this incident because our ship gave the way to Kyo Maru 1.

We urge you to require the whaling fleet to obey the COLREGS at all times. Our captains and crew are already committed to this.

Of course, what we are documenting in the Southern Ocean is not something you want the world to see. However, it is hypocritical to call Greenpeace a violent organization or threaten our Japanese activists with "indictment and criminal prosecution" given the facts of what actually happened.  

Finally, you expressed concern about the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society. As we said in our letter of 22nd December, Greenpeace is an independent environmental organisation and is not cooperating with Sea Shepherd.

We wish you and your crews in the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary a peaceful New Year and urge you to make it the year in which whaling in the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary finally comes to an end.

Junichi Sato
Campaigns Director
Greenpeace Japan


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
OPEN LETTER TO GREENPEACE JAPAN
 
27 December 2005
 
Mr. Junichi Sato
Campaigns Director
Greenpeace Japan
 
Sir:
 
Greenpeace's intention to highlight environmental degradation of the  seas with the aim of protecting the marine environment is in itself  laudable. However, your organization's actual behavior is nothing but  an opinionated display of self-righteousness.
  Contrary to your organization's mission statement to carry out  "non-violent protest", your boats pursue our research vessels; your  crewmembers disregard the international law of the sea and repeatedly  engage in the illegal and dangerous hindrance of our research  activities in the Antarctic. I strongly request Greenpeace stops  pursuing our research vessels immediately and refrains from coming any  closer in future.
 
Since December 21, in spite of repeated warnings and requests to move  away, your activists continue to approach the Nisshin-Maru and our  other vessels. Your organization continues to put in danger the lives  of your crews by trying to board our vessels. In short, these actions  amount to piracy. While such actions put at risk the lives of your  activists, which is your choice, it also puts at risk the lives of our  crews as well.
 
I draw your attention to the fact that the crews of your Zodiac boats  are coming in front of the harpoon. Though we pay prudent attention to  ensure their safety, the explosive grenade harpoon, as well as the  high-caliber rifle used as a secondary killing method, renders the  situation an extremely dangerous one. There is also the risk of your  crews' entanglement in the harpoon rope and, needless to say, once the  harpoon has hit the whale, the area surrounding the vessel becomes  very hazardous. The carelessness of your obstructive activities has  the potential of provoking a serious accident. Once again, I strongly  suggest that you immediately stop these stunts.
 
As you may be aware, an accident has already occurred. At the time of  passing a whale carcass from a sampling/sighting vessel to the  Nisshin-Maru, the crew of one of your Zodiac boats ignored our  warnings, became entangled in the wire and capsized. Your boats and  your obstructive activities are creating a situation where, sooner or  later, an accident involving serious injury or worse may happen. If  any other such accident happens as a result of your illegal  disturbance, Greenpeace will be to blame: it is your organisation that  is creating this risky situation. Any accident involving your  activists will be your exclusive responsibility.
  The captains of the Nisshin-Maru research fleet, which is registered  in and operated under the laws of Japan, have the duty of ensuring the  safety of our crew and vessels. Any trespassing onto these vessels by  any member of your organization shall be dealt with in accordance with  Japanese law. The data of Japanese Greenpeace activists engaged in the  obstruction of Japan's whale research program will be submitted to the  authorities as evidence for indictment and criminal prosecution. Furthermore, any escalation of Greenpeace's violent activities would  correspond to piracy as defined by Article 101 of the United Nations' Law of the Sea.
 
Your websites show that Greenpeace is now co-operating closely with  the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society to further your activities in  the Antarctic. The Sea Shepherd boat, the "Farley Mowat", has already  foolhardily tried to approach the Nisshin-Maru and deployed a mooring  line with the intent of entwining her propeller. These are extremely  dangerous actions. It is widely known that Sea Shepherd has engaged in  criminal and violent activity in the past, such as setting fire to and  sinking whaling vessels in Iceland and Norway and fishing vessels in  Spain and other countries.  
Sea Shepherd is a terrorist organization ? their members use threats  of violence, sabotage and an open disregard for human life in  furthering their cause. From your recent activity and acknowledgement  on your websites, I can only conclude that Greenpeace is colluding and  co-operating with Sea Shepherd; that you have recognized Sea Shepherd  and are proclaiming to the international community that Greenpeace  itself is kindred to the same violent and eco-terrorist approaches  that Sea Shepherd is well-known to undertake.
 
 
Hiroshi Hatanaka
Director-General
The Institute of Cetacean Research
 
 
For more information, contact:
Mr. Hideki MORONUKI
Far Seas Fisheries Division, Fisheries Agency, Ministry of 
Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries
Tel: +81 3 3502 2443

An update from Nathan. 

Today, for me personally, was one of the greatest days I've ever had.

In my first blog post I wrote about how, 17 years ago, seeing footage from the first anti-whaling campaign led me into Greenpeace and, ultimately, to my involvement in this current campaign. I vividly remember pointing to the monitor with the tape running of an inflatable trying to thwart the harpooner, turning to my father and saying, "I want to do THAT". At the time, it was a dream. Today, that dream was finally realized.

Over the past month, the Billy G has been fitted with a high-powered fire-fighting pump, originally manufactured for mounting on a fire engine. The pump sends seawater down a pair of fire hoses on each side of the cockpit and through two pipes pointing straight up.

These pipes are tipped with tapered custom-built nozzles that shoot the water either straight up or out like a peacock tail. Working with the wind, the driver can then position the Billy G to send a wall of misty water up in front of the whaling boat's bow.

So today, we fired it up. The whaling boat was not pleased. With some finesse, we could position ourselves upwind and send water higher then their crow's nest, soaking the spotters, pilot and captain on their open perches. After taking a good twenty minutes of bridge soaking, courtesy of the Billy Greene Custom Whaling Boat Rinsing Service, the captain changed course for an ice field. Within a half an hour, the ice density in the water was increasing and it reminded me of the scene in the Star Wars movie where they enter the asteroid field: We were rocketing through a field of drift ice at nearly 20 knots, dodging all sorts of sizes of bobbing ice - ranging from basketball-sized chunks to house-sized pieces - while trying to keep the water on their crow's nest.

Often we had to be close and right off their bow. The ice density kept increasing. They started blasting their horn at us to signal their course changes, as they had to maneuver around the larger pieces as well. Then they stopped doing that, choosing instead to surprise us with sudden course changes.

Phil kept ahead and off their bow and helped us position the spray. It really was not easy to steer around ice everywhere while keeping an eye on the movements of the hunter ship and the positioning the water spray to land on their bridge. Phil earned some horn blasts as well, as he often had to cut across their bow to find his way through the ice in the lead and to keep an eye on us aside. But cutting across their bow didn't matter - they were intentionally using their bow to drive us to the side anyways.

Then the Yushin Maru #2 captain decided he'd up the ante; his next tactic was to drive the Billy G into the ice itself. He would constantly correct course to put large chunks of ice in our path while leaving himself just enough room to skirt by. Fair enough. We're faster - not by much but just enough - so we'd just increase speed, steer around, and be right back on him. He'd also change course to change the effect of the wind on our water trail. Fine: we'll come around the other side. He'd increase speed. We'd match him. He'd try to steer his stern into us. Fine, we'd move up on his bow more.

 So the ante went up again. He steered into a huge field of pack ice. Pack ice is amazing stuff. Flat as a table, low on the water, and (if you're driving a boat with a relatively thin aluminum hull) uncomfortably dense. The hunter boat slowed considerably, but could essentially break through this ice with no problem. We could not. At times the ice was gathered in clusters meaning we had no choice but to fall in line on his stern and wait for an opening. At other times, we would navigate our own route - wandering our way through the maze of leads and false leads.

Finally, we earned the horn, and a lot of it. But keep in mind, HE chose to drive us into the ice field and drive me repeatedly into ice; if he was upset about poor visibility, he could chose to slow or halt.

This went on for four unrelenting hours. Into the pack ice, out of it, into drift ice, then into a little open water, then into more, new pack ice. Ice everywhere. Constant course changes. Having to turn around in dead-end leads to quickly retreat and fall back to their stern wake to follow their ice breaking. Skirting through gaps with inches on each side. Once we actually struck a shelf underwater and came to a full stop. Phil came to us and with his crew helped us to just barely get out in full reverse. Once, frighteningly, we hit a desk-sized piece straight on at good speed, jumping up and over it. But for all the ice, we came out unscathed.

The harpooner did come out to his perch. But he didn't stay there too long. He looked quite annoyed. And very wet.

We passed icebergs the size of mountains, basking in full, cold sunlight, just breathtaking. The churn of our drives and the ships propellers made the water a light, milky, iridescent cerulean blue and white stream within a deep, clear ultramarine sea. In my experience, it was an epic contest set in the most stunning natural amphitheater, beyond anything I could have ever imagined. It was, even less than a day after just experiencing it in reality, simply unbelievable. It was a dream, a real dream.

But the real dream-come-true part was that this hunter boat did not find or shoot a whale with us beside him. Everything he tried we foiled. Eventually we turned back only because we need to take on fuel for our boat and pump. We had gone almost 25 miles from the mothership with him, much farther than they will normally go from the factory ship to hunt. And he was empty handed.

For one day at least, I can say we faced off with a whaling captain, and thwarted him. It takes a massive effort to get a small boat like the Billy G to Antarctica to do this: it's a huge task to simply operate a ship like the Esperanza and all its support infrastructure. There's a complex web of communication and coordination woven between offices around the world. There has to be a link that goes all the way from the individual who eagerly sends us a donation all the way to us down here, using the equipment they bought us, eating the food they paid for, putting on the survival gear they donated.

Because of the efforts of the entire crew on this ship and all of the folks involved in Greenpeace worldwide who put this effort together and, most importantly, the supporters who give us what we need to make the effort, I was the very lucky soul to actually get behind the wheel and get a chance to protect these whales - 17 years after a dream was born. That truly moves me. It's such an honor to be given that chance, I find it hard to talk about without tearing up.

For me, that's what Greenpeace is about.

And we'll try it do it again tomorrow.

Merry Christmas to all. Thinkin' of ya

(photo Copyright Greenpeace/Davison)

First thing this morning around 7.30am we were in our inflatable boat the African Queen racing towards the whale hunting vessel, the Kyo Maru that had its harpooned manned. Just as we got to its bow the harpooned fired and the whale was struck just below her (she looked very feminine) left fin. Our mouths dropped as we watched the harpoon line zigzagging in the water with the whale writhing like a fish caught on a fishing line hook for a good five minutes, meaning that the neither the harpoon nor the explosive device had killed her.

Our eyes and hearts could not believe what we were seeing as the whale repeatedly lunged out of the water a few metres in front of our inflatable. She was trying to swim away and stay on the surface to breathe but the harpoon and vicious wound in her side was pulling her down. For a moment when she looked straight at us, I saw straight into and through her eyes and could see her mouth gaping open appearing to let out a sound. She looked at us with immense suffering and fear and I knew that she was asking; "Why is this happening? Please help me."

It took two gunshots to her head from a crewmember onboard the hunter ship before she succumbed. The moment was filmed on camera forever and in our minds for a very long time - and I truly hope that no one ever has to view it. The merciless, violent brutality of this whale hunting is beyond comprehension. For the rest of the day I have been fighting back tears and afraid to sleep as then the silence will bring back the visual reality of this morning's horror.

Later on Mathijs and I swerved through the ice packs blocking the Kyo Marus harpoon fire for three hours. Finally the harpooner got his kill just 10 metres off our inflatables right side. It was one of three whales swimming together and by the look of it one of them was a baby. We had been protecting and praying so hard that these whales would swim under an iceberg or something. I managed to climb on top of the dead whales body when it finally surfaced and held its fin for a while before being blasted off by fire hoses. Then along came a small iceberg so I jumped on it and floated out of range of the fire hose jets coming from the Kyo Marus bow. I must admit the look of dismay I had on my face when I looked up at the whaling crew and they were looking down at Mathijs and I with smugness and laughter.

-Mikey 

(photo ©Greenpeace/Davison)

 

When I saw my first whale in the wild I cried joy-filled happy tears. I also cried today when I saw a family of three minke whales, one of them a baby, all swimming along together. But this time I can't stop crying, I can hardly breath and it feels like my heart is being strangled in my chest, for I have just witnessed the violent death of a creature so sublime, so exquisite and of such wordless beauty that I am now numbed by the extremity of my own selfish pain.

I was standing in the sun and icy wind on the bow of the Arctic Sunrise. Just ahead of us the whale hunter ship the Kyo Maru was in pursuit of the three minkes which were just swimming along doing what they do, heading somewhere with their own plan, for their own reasons.

Spirits were high onboard as already today our tiny little inflatable boat had foiled the whalers attempts to harpoon at least two different minke whales, both of which had escaped and disappeared into the pack ice. The hunter ship may be bigger and faster than our little boat but no matter how many fancy moves it made there was just no shaking us off...and then out of nowhere the three minke whales appeared and rather than the usual squeals of joy heard when whales are sighted, a tangible and almost visible shadow of dread descended...one boat and three whales...suddenly we needed a miracle.

For over half-an-hour the inevitable was postponed but there was no way to cover and protect all three whales. I stood on the bow of the Sunrise physically and emotionally frozen but with child-like hopes shimmering in the back of my mind. Maybe the whales would decide to turn 180 degrees and disappear? Maybe they would hold their breath longer than we ever thought possible and swim away unseen...

The grenade-tipped harpoon exploded like a cannon as it hit one of the whales. It hurt my ears and its fading echo was replaced by a primal cry escaping from my soul through my mouth accompanying the cries of the two other crew standing near me. I can only thank god that I cannot hear the cries coming from that sacred and exquisitely beautiful creature that was now being dragged from the water, away from its family and away from life...

-Lally

(photo ©Greenpeace/Davison)

Although my last post was about the Kyo Maru, it's worth mentioning that it is not alone in behaving like that. We've put our boats off the stern of the factory ship many times on past expeditions to slow the whaling process down, and in my experience all the hunter ships will muscle our little boats right out of the way. So today we tried something new, and Kyo went well over the line in response.

I should start by saying this is something we've wanted to do for years (at least I have), but we needed a ship as maneuverable as the Esperanza to do it safely. I'll also need to explain a bit about how the whaling process works: Three ships go out hunting. When they harpoon a whale they tie it alongside, and bring it to the factory ship. A cable from the factory ship is used to pull the whale up its stern ramp. The whole transfer process happens at about 5 knots (6 mph/9 kph). More importantly, if the whale is tied along the port (left) side of the hunter, then the ship has to be positioned behind and a bit to starboard (right) of the factory ship before they can transfer the whale.

Today, Frank parked the Esperanza right about where the hunter ship wanted to be - approximately 100 metres (roughly 100 yards) behind the factory ship. Close enough to wreck havoc with their transfer process, but far enough back to stay safe.

After pushing through our boats the Kyo came alongside the Esperanza from the stern, and very deliberately steered right into her. People on board the Esperanza tell me our whole ship shook at the bump, although I don't think it was intended to cause damage. While the crew of the Kyo turned their fire hoses on our ship, their helmsman backed off and came in again - most likely trying to push the Esperanza out of the way. But the Esperanza is quite a lot bigger and more solid than our rubber and plastic boats. The whaling ship couldn't move her. As he had during the entire incident, Frank steered a steady course.

The only comical aspect I have heard about this whole dangerous episode, was John's report of a lone Kyo deckhand, futilely running around with a fender, trying to cushion the impact.

There we were Mathijs and I in a small Nouvarina inflatable pursuing the Nisshin Maru closely up ahead, with the Esperanza nearby on our right side. The chop and swell coming from the other boats in the water and the Nisshin Maru changing course at speed was causing quite a choppy stir in the water.

Suddenly a whaling hunter vessel with its whale catch attached to its port (left) side was moving in to position to transfer its catch to the Nisshin Maru and moving fast towards us on our little Nouvarinas port side. So we quickly put on the throttle and aimed to cross her bow before she moved into position for a whale transfer process. This was so that we would not catch the swell coming off her fast, hard turns in the water and to get ahead of her so that we would be amongst the transfer process rather than be left behind in the choppy wake.

With the fire hoses spraying us, whale blood spray coming out of the outlet holes on the Nisshin Marus hull and little iceberg bits in our path, the situation was a bit hairy. Next thing I know I feel our inflatable rolling over on to its right side steeply like it was floating in midair (which I think we may have been) and I knew the boat had crossed its point of no return and was going to flip. So instinctively I dived out of the boat to clear its hull as it was flipping over.

It happened so quickly that I did not even have a chance to look around to Mathijs who was driving, to say something along the lines of "Mama Mia". My last memory before over-turning was a hunter vessel heading towards us and so I thought to myself 'surface, see where it is and doggie paddle outta here!' As soon as I hit the water I covered my head and realised my survival suit hood was not on and letting icy water in. As I surfaced I was looking for Mathijs and trying to grab a line from the upturned inflatable in the water.

- Mikey 

And suddenly there it was. After a month and a day at sea, there on the horizon sat the factory ship of the Japanese whaling fleet, the infamous 'Nisshin Maru' and she was getting closer by the second.

Yesterday our two ships split up to increase our search area and the Esperanza spotted the whaling fleet this morning at 07:30. So we headed at full speed towards her and towards the whalers.

Our ship was a hive of activity and anticipation and she shuddered with the extra exertion of 'full speed ahead'. When we arrived our captain immediately called the Nisshin Maru over the radio and asked them to leave the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary and return to Japan or we would start 'non-violent direct action' to stop them killing whales. There was no response. So without delay our four inflatable boats and their crews were lowered into the water ready to meet up with the four others simultaneously launching from our sister ship.

The plan was simply to form a circle round the Nisshin Maru with our flags and banners - written in 10 different languages including Japanese - flying high to let them know in no uncertain terms that we have arrived and we mean business.

And for about three seconds everything went according to plan. What spoiled the plan was the arrival of one of the three hunter ships to transfer a dead whale to the Nisshin Maru for 'processing'. So we did what any self-respecting "Ocean Defenders" would do. We tried to stop them.

The 12 to 4 watch, normally just Naomi and Hana. But tonight several others were on the bridge to admire penguins standing on a nearby chunk of ice. We were near the ice edge, in a field of large icebergs with lots of smaller bits littering the water. Everyone was on a sharp lookout for dangers to navigation as well as wildlife. Naomi pointed to a distant whale blow, which Nathan checked out through binoculars. Seconds later he was saying, "Am I hallucinating, or is that a ship?"

It was indeed a ship. Very far off. Just on the visual horizon. Drifting. As yet, unidentified. The time was shortly before 2:00 a.m.

The whaling fleet consists of three hunter ships, a factory ship, and two spotter (observation) ships that range far from the others. The spotter vessels are used to chart the ice edge, look for whales, make observations, and (in the past) track Greenpeace ships so the rest of the fleet can avoid us and keep working.

This one is a spotter vessel. The last thing we wanted to find, or rather, the last thing that we wanted to find us. By the time we are close enough for a positive ID, they have surely seen us. Frank (captain), now on the bridge, immediately called for the helicopter crew (already awake and standing by) to get aloft to look for the rest of the fleet. Engineers were also woken, to prepare for maximum speed. Spare hands scanned the horizon.

Game on, advantage whalers.

(Post written 3:40 a.m. ship time)

What an amazing year it's been for me… January 2005 Sumatra, June 2005 Greenland, and now in the Southern Ocean. Which freak gets to go to the Arctic for summer and then onto Antarctica for summer in the same year? Two cold summers in one year??? At Greenpeace one never knows what one's going to get. But I can bet on it…you can't get it anywhere else.

I was shrieking in Greenland at the littlest iceberg. I am silenced here… The ocean is so mighty, making me feel so small. The birds that fly around us make me feel trapped… The sun is as distant as land. I tried asking Arne our captain how big the Southern Ocean really is. And he just shrugged…somebody surely has it figured out he said…I was left staring at the map, following the Southern Ocean stretching along the planet uninterrupted. Wild mighty ocean, the mother of them all... I am but a tiny little creature awestruck.

Life on board is strange...its not like sailing to anywhere else…the Southern Ocean…churns, churning all the water and air...and us. Quite literally and not just physically.

Sleep eluding us all…makes us raw…tender... The mind and heart too swim around... too much work just trying to keep a thought in place...hats off Lally...you doing your blogs in bad weather!!!

But how the balance returns once the sea calms… How can we forget that we are a part of this magnificent act of creation? We are living it Breathing it Every moment.

I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world right now, no matter what. So bring on the hardship, bring on the struggle...for no beauty comes without some pain.

From the Arctic Sunrise

- Isha
Awestruck cookie!

First of all, thanks to those of you who've written back with nice things to say about these postings - it's good to know folks are actually reading them, 'cuz I know they're sometimes quite long. For me, it's nice to write because I don't keep a journal and I'm sure after this trip, it'll all get blurry fast. So if you feel like dropping a line and telling me what's up in the world (George Bush resigned, the Seahawks are leading their division, Bill Richardson lead a 5.11 at Seneca, etc,) that'd be just lovely. Even though I'm slow to reply, you just wouldn't believe how nice it is to get an email when you've been at sea already for over a month and don't have television, the morning paper or much of a grapevine!

I hate to be such a boat obsessed geek, but the biggest news from here - as far as I'M concerned at least - is that, after a solid month of work, I think the Billy G. is finally fully ready to go get 'em. A lot of work has been done, but I can't tell you much about it 'til we engage the whalers. The boat came to Cape Town in fine shape, but fitting it for the specifics of THIS work, both in terms of making her match up with the ship operations as well as tricked out for the whalers, made for a long list of things to do. For those of you who know the boat, I think you'd raise an eyebrow over what she looks like now. As we say around here, she's been "Monster Garaged". I still want to paint flames on her somewhere, but I'm thinking my colleague Dan might not be too keen on that...and don't worry Dan: we did all of it with very few little alteration to the boat itself.

More of the crew has had time at the wheel and many have gushed afterward about just how fine a boat she is, in her handling and stability (we took her out on a pretty rowdy day again for about four hours last week and had a wild, wet, good time working against the ship. This time, neither the boat nor any of the crew took much of a beating). I've probably said it before, but I just love this boat. I enjoy working with all of our equipment, but it's cool when you get to work with something in a way where you've covered almost every inch of it at some point and come to know it almost personally.

-Nathan 

(photo©Greenpeace/Sutton-Hibbert)

One of the many good days I've had out here so far was when we put the Billy Greene in the water for the first time since both the boat and I took a beating. It was a splendid day: the water and wind were mostly calm, and we were in a field of icebergs of all shapes and sizes. For a guy who likes to describe things, I gotta say it's hard to figure how to describe the icebergs - someone on the bridge said it was like drifting through a modern sculpture exhibit, except these are constantly-changing, naturally forming structures that are not made with permanence and fame in mind.

Their forms and shapes vary wildly, from smooth, soft, Henry Moore-like creations to sharply angulated monoliths recalling the mesas and superstructures in northern Arizona. Countless cracks, facets, planes, holes, peaks, fissures, formations... a thorough lesson in variations in geometry and grace.

They were lit by different light all day, as down here the weather changes rapidly: within two hours we went from snowing, blustery conditions, to clear blue sky, to fog, back to a light snow, then broken clouds with beams of penetrating light at 'sunset', which this time of year lasts a couple of hours. When the sun lights up an iceberg directly, and there's darkness in the background, it's just breathtaking... Driving among these giants is a real treat - I just can't stop grinning all day, though ya gotta look out for the 'small' ones - it wouldn't be wise to smack into even the smallest chunk in the water with the RIB [rigid-(hulled) inflatable boat] - they may as well be rock as far as we're concerned. The Arctic Sunrise kept fairly close to the Esperanza as we weaved in and out of the icebergs, sometimes passing on either side of one, in tandem. We were close enough to wave to each other on deck and figure out who was who...

We put the boat in without a hitch, easily took on two more folks from the pilot door, and after training hauled her onboard with no problems at all.

At the end of the day, most of us were on the bridge, gawking at icebergs. This crew tends to keep their noses down in their work, but the show we got in the ice field captured all of our attention and most of us were like little kids up on the bridge, pointing here and there and running around, taking snapshots and shaking our heads in wonder...

Perhaps even better, however, was that we spotted our first whales of the trip that morning, and my first whales ever! I ran alongside the bow as it rubbed and rolled and eventually dove under. The cherry on the cake of a perfect day already.

- Nathan

(photos ©Greenpeace/Davison)

Not many folks elect to put small boats in the water off a ship in the Southern Ocean; Greenpeace is among the few who do. Our ships always carry rigid-hulled inflatable boats with them wherever they go, and we train continually for using them in a variety of seas and circumstances. While the crew on the Esperanza is well experienced in rough weather boat launching, it's something new for me - although I've operated Greenpeace inflatables for years now, this is the first time from a ship.

One particular day earlier last week should serve to give you an idea of the working environment down here, and the nature of "launch and recovery" operations on board. "Launch and recovery" refers to taking the boat off the deck of the ship with a crane, bringing it over the side railing (where we, the driver and one crew, climb in), lowering it down in the water and releasing it after we start it up.

A few days ago we launched in pretty rowdy seas, to do some testing of recent modifications and some driving training. While the launch conditions were not outside what the crew considers safe, it was an eye-opener for me: We just don't get water like this very often in the Chesapeake Bay!

The launch went pretty smoothly overall and the seas seemed ok. Our first goal was to pick up a few folks from the pilot door. As we came around to make the approach to the pilot door, we had a strong following sea with over 14 foot or so foot waves and the Espy was rolling fairly well. What I didn't expect was how much chunky stuff the ship has running along her hull: There's a half-pipe seam below the pilot door that sticks out at least a good 9 inches or so, plus some diagonal bar work on either side of the door. I came along side ok, but when I tried to turn in to hold the boat aside, the solid aluminum bow structure at the front of the boat would catch on some of that stuff and then trouble began. A few times we got hooked up with the ship and then bucked off; another time the ship came down on the tip of the boat's bowpoint and drove us down, swamping us pretty good. The captain made a course and speed change along the way which eased the wave action some, but it was still very difficult not to get tangled up.

I backed off and gave it a thought, realized that I had to avoid getting the bow too close in, and came around for a second pass. That time, I never made contact with the aluminum bowpoint, and had the boat steady along the pilot door. We were rising and falling at least a dozen feet at a time. Sometimes we were halfway up the pilot door, sending water into the 'wetroom' and being only a few feet from our colleagues standing inside, then a second later we'd be falling and the hull of the Espy would rise up and tower above us.

We tried like hell for something like half an hour, but it was never safe enough to load anyone. We finally abandoned the effort and headed over the Arctic Sunrise, about a half mile away, to pick up some dental supplies our doctor asked us to retrieve - on the way there and back we were climbing waves like mountains, literally climbing up one side, easing over and then running fast down the backsides.

When we came alongside for recovery, the sea had really picked up. Despite that, we came onto the painter very smoothly and things were going well. The crane came down and there were some tense moments as we were bucking around a lot due to the waves and the ships' motions, but we finally snagged the hook and clipped in.

As we were being raised, I noticed the leg lanyard (which connects the driver to a 'kill switch' that automatically turns the engine off if the driver falls overboard) was still attached to me and had taken a turn around the lifting strap, preventing me from moving up to the seat area, the safest place to be during lifting. As I leaned down to take it off, a wave rolled the Esperanza and we sailed out from the railing about 4 or 5 feet. I felt the sensation so I glanced up to see what was happening, but it was too late - we were heading back at the ship hard and fast and before I could duck, the boat hit the ship and I slammed my cheekbone on one of the metal grab handles on the side of the cockpit. It was a solid hit. Jetske, my crewmember, was right on top of it and was telling me to sit down low in the boat, which was indeed a good suggestion at the time. If I'd gone overboard, even in my survival gear, the day could have ended very badly. As it is, I was on deck by noon the next day, pulling aluminum off the bow.

The bosun said something sound to me about the incident. He said, "Experience is a hard teacher: she gives you the test first, then she provides the lesson". We've made the modifications to the boat now, and I can't wait to get back in it again.

- Nathan

(photo ©Greenpeace/Sutton-Hibbert)

[This update is actually from a while back, but Nathan only recently wrote it up. He's already been back out training quite a lot since all this. In fact, boat training is going on pretty much every day the weather permits.

The photo is from today. These spiffy bright orange helmets you'll see our drivers wearing were bought especially for this expedition, and the necessary communications gear to go with them has only recently been installed.]

Seeing my first whale in the wild was one of the most amazing moments of my life. It's also one of the only times I can remember experiencing the slightly weird phenomena of crying happy tears. That is until yesterday when I saw another one.

It was afternoon smoko (aka 15:00 tea break) and everyone had emerged onto the helideck for a well-earned rest. The sun was out, the sky a vivid blue and the light was extraordinary, brighter and sharper than I've ever seen. To greet us on every side were spectacular picture book icebergs, the kind you imagine exist only in documentaries and an amazing array of sea birds cruised alongside the ship. To complete the picture the heartbeat-hum of the ships engine was accompanied by the sounds of the crew oohhing and aahhing and cameras were out in force.

Only a few whales have been spotted since leaving Cape Town. The best chance to see them is if you do watches on the bridge where looking ahead for icebergs and sneaky little growlers (smaller and rather dangerous chunks of ice that hide just on the waterline) is part of your job. Andy and Mikey who were on watch between 04:00 and 08:00 yesterday morning saw around twelve humpbacks. Not bad for a mornings work!

Anyway, there we were on deck when the cry of "Whale!" was heard and everyone clustered staring in the direction of the pointed finger. The thing with whales is that they only have to come to the surface to breath and different species can stay under the water for different amounts of time. But after a few moments we saw the classic blow of misty water and then with a flick of its tail it was gone.

What is it about seeing a bit of a tail flicking out of the water 100 meters away that can make you cry? To be honest I have no idea but whatever it is it's why I'm here and why we have to work together to stop companies like Nissui (the guys that own Gorton's) from killing them to make a few bucks.

The team onboard these ships have come together from all around the world. To be effective we have had to join forces, to become a crew with the common goal to do everything we can to stop whales being killed. But the reality is without a global crew we are just temporary fix and a drop in the ocean.

Yes we will save whales but we will not stop this ridiculous killing if we, the people of the earth don't pull together and take action. Whales can’t speak for themselves so they need your voice. Please join us and do whatever you can to help make this happen.

Take Action! Tell Gorton's to reel in its Japanese parent company and help put an end to whale slaughter.

- Lally

(photo ©Greenpeace/Davison)

"It was like a hole opened up in the ocean and we fell into it".
Andy on the Arctic Sunrise at around 04:00, 12/05/05

The last twenty-four hours onboard the Arctic Sunrise have been a bit of a nightmare. On Sunday afternoon, after two beautiful days of fair weather sailing the sea started to get a bit frisky and by the evening it was obvious we were in for some pretty nasty swells. But it wasn’t until 04:00 that we fell into a hole in the ocean and achieved our first 70-degree roll.

From my cabin in the hold it sounded like the contents of the ship had exploded. The exact moment it happened, despite my alarm clock having hit the wall and ejected it's batteries a couple of hours earlier, was earmarked by every single item in my cabin leaping in the air and flying towards the door followed by a huge crash as everything in the ship did the same. I actually laughed out loud. Or maybe it was hysteria.

When I emerged it looked like we'd been burgled. The contents of the galley had set themselves free and in the lounge several shelves of books were happily sliding back and forth across the floor. The hold, once cleared of its own debris was transformed into a network of rope handrails so you could make it from one side to the other without falling. An inspired idea.

Later I made a few half-hearted attempts at writing a web log but the third time my laptop and I literally hit the wall I called it a day.

For now things have calmed down slightly and the ships new rolling technique is random up-and-down circles, which have a loop-the-loop rollercoaster effect. I feel like I'm on a permanent funfair ride with the disadvantage of not being able to get off and have some cotton candy.

- Lally 

(photo ©Greenpeace/Davison)

The sea down here is always in motion: always rolling, forming waves and dissolving them, colliding with itself, shifting forms and colors, casting illusions and revealing secrets - it seems more like a million small seas with separate agendas rather than one large one - like the liquid version of a NY subway terminal at rush hour. And it IS vast beyond any comprehension: we've been making a constant speed for the past 8 days and are still very far from our destination. Since our departure, the only indication of ANYthing of the human world on the radar is our sister ship.

You take in the sea in the deep darkness at the end of the day, take a stab at six or seven hours in the bunk, get up in the morning, put in a full day, have dinner, relax a short spell and return to the bridge and only then recall that over that entire cycle of events you were being carried several hundred miles further on an ocean that seems quite similar to the last one you viewed. Three days at that pace from my hometown and you'd have crossed the deep prairie, ascended a massive steppe, traversed a stunning mountain range and entered fully into an arid desert. Here, it is just a few steps across the surface of an unfathomable sea.

Look at a common map of the world. Usually the equator is not placed in the center, but about 2/3 the way down, because so much of the earth's land is in the northern hemisphere and the mapmakers figure the land is what folks want to know about. Find a map with an accurate scale of the planet and you'll get an idea of just how much water there is down here...water which is never stilled - with it's endless companion wind, which cross-hatches it, pounds it, eggs it on, whips it, animates it. And this is during the summer season, when this ocean is considered 'calm'.

One of the few things on the map you'll see down here is the "Antarctic Convergence Zone", a rather inelegant name for an amazing phenomenon, according to my colleague Kieran, a veteran of several Antarctic journeys. It's where the frigid waters and dry air of the Antarctic Ocean meet the warmer waters north. The zone is almost continually experienced as a thick, quiet mist, days in crossing, as the air and waters collide. When you emerge on the southern side, the drop in temperature is immediately noticeable and the air much drier. From that point on, you have to mind your skin condition and the portholes on the ship will fog up since we'll be a lot more humid inside than the environment outside. It sounds like a cool thing to experience to me, a convergence belt encircling the southern sea.

Take Action: Tell Gorton's to reel in its parent company, and help put an end to commercial whaling once and for all.

- Nathan

(photo ©Greenpeace/Davison)

It's around 8 p.m., and the evening is winding down. We've got a following sea, so the ship is riding pretty smooth right now. In a following sea, the poop deck is the place to be, as you can watch the waves come up on us, and loom high above before our stern kicks up and we take the wave under us. Until the last minute it doesn't LOOK like that's going to happen. If the wave is large enough and you're going slow enough, it CAN indeed come crashing down onto the deck from above, which was referred to as "being pooped", a lovely expression.

Fortunately, the waves are large but not that large or fast enough to poop us. But if the wave is not dead on astern, we get sent lurching and slicing down its side, often taking water across the deck over the scuppers. Every time we get sent rolling to one side it's a sure bet we'll rock almost as far the other way, so water comes aboard on one side, runs the deck like a pack of crazed pigs and dumps out the scuppers on the other side: if you happen to be out on the deck when that happens, if you aren't quick enough to hop on top of something on deck you'll end up with deck boots full of icy water. The poop deck is used a lot since it connects to so many active work areas on board, and we've been at sea long enough that pretty much everyone knows the distinctive sound of water coming over the side. It's a common scene to see folks choosing to work or move near something they can hop on top of when the water comes for a visit.

This morning while Jetske and I were sorting and stomping cans for recycling (she's our on-board "garbologist" - I'll explain that some other time) we sliced hard into a wave. I was heading into the 'wetroom' (the room just off the poop deck that serves as a workshop and portal between the dry areas and the deck) when I heard her yelp in surprise and looked back to see a wall of water and the can bucket in mid-flight. At first I was deeply concerned she might have got swept over board (under captain's orders no one is allowed to work out on any deck alone due to sea conditions), but the water cleared and there she stood, one hand on a tight line, fully doused from head to toe in near-freezing seawater, among a constellation of smashed aluminum. We ran around and chased up the loose cans like a hockey team down by a point in the final minute, saving them from being swept overboard, just managing to wrangle them into the bin before she went in for a change of clothes.

- Nathan

(photo ©Greenpeace/Sutton-Hibbert)