Whale hunting with gun and camera / A naturalist's account of the modern shore-whaling industry, of whales and their habits, and of hunting experiences in various parts of the world

by Roy Chapman Andrews

“I was standing on the bridge with the camera focused and pressed the button as they rose to the surface.”

I was standing on the bridge with the camera focused and pressed the button as they rose to the surface. An instant later came the crash of the harpoon-gun and the nearest whale, throwing its flukes and half its body out of the water, turned head down in a long dive.

“You got him,” yelled the Captain, and it was evident that Sorenson had hit, for the heavy rope was running out at a tremendous rate. Fifty, seventy-five, one hundred fathoms were taken almost before we knew it. The man at the winch tried to check the hissing line but the brake could not hold. Half a mile of cable was gone before the rush ended and the Captain rang for half speed astern. When the whale felt the heavy drag of the vessel he stopped and sounded, sulked on the bottom for nearly half an hour, and finally reappeared in front of the boat, about three hundred fathoms away, blowing strongly.

The steamer was sent astern at half speed and the line held by the winch. The steady, relentless pull was too much for even his wonderful strength, and slowly we neared the whale. Back and forth he dived across our bows, tugging at the line and sometimes gaining a few fathoms from the grinding wheels. At last he rose directly in front of the ship and Sorenson sent a second harpoon crashing into his side.

Stung to renewed efforts by the biting steel, the whale dove at right angles to the vessel’s course, keeling the boat far over to port. I was standing on the wing of the bridge waiting to get a picture when the Captain shouted:

“An instant later came the crash of the harpoon-gun and the nearest whale, throwing its flukes and half its body out of the water, turned head down in a long dive.” The cloud of smoke, the rope and wads from the gun are shown; the harpoon has buried itself in the whale.

“Quick! Give me a hand, sir, or he’ll cut the line on our bow!”

I dropped my camera and jumped to the wheel which the Captain was whirling frantically to port. Bracing ourselves, we held it hard over and the vessel responded almost instantly, relieving the strain on the rope, which was sawing back and forth across the bow.