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

My excitement was at fever heat, for since the water was fairly smooth I was to try my luck at shooting. When the canoe was lifted over the side, we slid away from the yawl, out of the harbor, and into the upper end of the tide rip, with hardly a sound save the drip of water from the paddle blades. On the gunwale in front rested the end of the heavy shotgun loaded with a lead ball, and at the right lay the slender harpoon, the line neatly coiled and fastened to a bulky cedar float.

“A big white fellow slipped under only a hundred feet away, headed directly for us.”

We had hardly three hundred yards to paddle and in a few moments were in the midst of the whales, the short, metallic puffs as they spouted sounding on every side. There were many young animals in the school, their brownish bodies showing in striking contrast to the snowy backs of the old ones, and we drifted quietly among them, waiting to pick our specimen. It was a sore temptation as whale after whale passed close beside us, and time and again I sighted along the rusty barrel of the gun at a swirling patch of water, only to drop the muzzle as a brown back appeared at the surface. The old whales seemed to know that danger lay in the silent gray object which had appeared so suddenly near them, and with the nicest accuracy gauged the shooting distance, keeping just within the safety zone.

We floated along on the current, passing most of the school, and headed for a little group of white animals which were feeding a short distance away from the others. They did not seem to be disturbed as we neared them, and we hardly dared to breathe when a big white fellow slipped under only a hundred feet away, headed directly for us.

Up he came with a rush and down again, so close that we could see the water run in little ripples off his snow-white back. My fingers trembled on the trigger of the gun but he was still coming toward us and in a few seconds the telltale patch of green water began to smooth out right ahead. I fired at the instant there was a glint of the snowy head over the long brown gun barrel.

The shock of the heavy charge whirled me half around in the canoe and there was barely time to snatch the harpoon before we were at the spot where the porpoise was thrashing about on the surface of the water. At a side thrust from the iron the whale threw itself high into the air, falling back in a cloud of spray. A mad rush to one side and again the ghostly form shot from the water, the white body writhing as it fell back.

The whale fought desperately to free itself, rushing from side to side and lashing the water into foam with its flukes. We had thrown the float overboard at the first leap and were waiting a short distance away for a second shot. The animal’s struggles finally became less violent and as it lay on the surface trying hard to keep upright I fired a second ball into its neck; with a last convulsive twist the beautiful creature slowly sank. We paddled for the buoy which was bobbing about near us and checked the carcass before it had gone far down, raising it to the surface by forcing the canoe ahead.

The two men in the other boat had been watching from near the shore and when they saw that the whale was dead paddled out to help us tow it around the headland into the harbor near the yawl. We beached it in a sandy cove where the gray rock wall rose in a jagged mass, making a perfect background for the white body, its purity intensified by the bright red streaks of blood which dripped from the bullet holes. There was something almost uncanny about the picture, the beautiful, ghost-like animal, a very Spirit of the North, seeming strangely out of place away from its ice-bound home.

Its body was unmarked by the slightest tinge of color except at the outer margin of the tail which was bordered with grayish-brown. Also the short broad fins or flippers, strongly upcurved at their ends, were edged with brown, becoming darker at the tips. The small head, which, unlike most cetaceans, joined the body by a distinct neck, ended in a short stubby snout, or “lip,” and seemed remarkably out of proportion to the animal’s size. Each jaw was armed with nine, rather weak, cylindrical teeth, the well-worn tips showing that our specimen was fully adult, although not old.