My First Beluga Whale Encounter
Summer of 1981 I encountered a beluga whale for the first time. Bullets flew in all directions from several boats - including ours - and I thought "this is not water safety!". Rifle men in the bow of each boat aimed and shot as the whale submerged and reappeared, submerged and reappeared - swimming for its life but needing air. The hunting boats zigged and zagged crazily to follow the whale. On shore, family members of the hunters in the boats yelled "taika! taika!" - there! there! - and pointed frantically when the whale popped up for a breath. Excitement and hope rang out from the shore and across the water to the hunting boats. On the other hand, the men in the boats looked calm, intent and in control. Bullets flew.
I was a passenger in a boat - an 18 foot open Moosehead freighter canoe with a motor (40 hp I think) on the flat transom stern. There were six of us in the boat. My future husband, his parents, a younger brother (taken out of school for the day) and a 2-year old niece. We were traveling to Sentry Island just north of the small hamlet named Eskimo Point at the time but is now offically called Arviat. This is all on the west coast of the Hudson Bay. Sentry Island is a traditional site with many old tent rings and other artifacts. Very important in the Inuit culture for that reason and, also, as a hunting and fishing destination. Over the five years I lived in Arviat when I was married and had young children, we made several trips to Sentry Island. Each time memorable. Hauling in nets and nets full of char, my daughter falling in the water, being attacked my arctic terns. Impossible to forget.
However, it was on my very first trip that I encountered my first beluga whale. We came upon the raucous but controlled hunting scene as we approached Sentry Island. No time to deposit us women and children on the beach. The men switched into hunter mode. One in the bow with the rifle and the other steering zig zags to position the shooter for a good shot. Another wrinkle in the scenario was the fishing net strung out at right angles to the shore. The whale and boats had to avoid it or risk getting caught up in it. Eventually, though, the whale entangled himself in it which slowed him down just enough for a hunter to get a good shot. Good for the hunter but not so good from the whale's perspective.
How did I feel about that? Coming from a culture where my food was grown or raised? I was excited and jubilant. I was impressed by the quiet skill and persistence of the hunters. I was impressed that I or no one else was shot in the process. My eyes were open to what it took Inuit women - typically outwardly reserved - to be excited, jump up and down and shout. I suppose I felt the triumph and happiness of the hunters and their families.
I didn't feel sorry for the whale or mourn its passing. I was impressed by his beauty, size and persistence to preserve his life. This day, though, he became the valued prize in a competition with humans. The competition could have gone either way and it often does. I wouldn't have felt sorry for the hunters if the whale had won.
The beluga was hauled on shore. It's a difficult task to get a dead, slippery weight of several hundred pounds high enough on shore to skin and cut it up. Belugas don't come with hand holds. The white outer layer of skin and fat (muktuk) was cut away in large squares and rectangles. Little slits were cut in each piece as handholds. The pieces were divided amongst the people there. Eastern arctic people don't eat whale meat so the carcass was left to return to the ocean to feed other animals.
I tried a small small piece of muktuk that day for the first time. It's like chewing an eraser. Cutting off the outer skin and just eating the tissue underneath is supposed to be better technique. It didn't work for me. Years later I had pickled mutkuk and I was hooked. Pickling made it soft, flavourful and especially good in salad.
Years later when we lived in Arviat I found myself in another beluga whale hunting scene similar to my first one. This time I was the driver and my three young children were also in the boat. I still don't know how I managed to steer the boat in those crazy zig zags under full throttle and in shallow water. But I did and we captured one of the six belugas swimming in synchronized pairs. Again, I was ecstatic at our success while at the same time the wild beauty of those creatures brought tears to my eyes. Today, when I hear the word "beluga" I remember how I felt that day.
I was a passenger in a boat - an 18 foot open Moosehead freighter canoe with a motor (40 hp I think) on the flat transom stern. There were six of us in the boat. My future husband, his parents, a younger brother (taken out of school for the day) and a 2-year old niece. We were traveling to Sentry Island just north of the small hamlet named Eskimo Point at the time but is now offically called Arviat. This is all on the west coast of the Hudson Bay. Sentry Island is a traditional site with many old tent rings and other artifacts. Very important in the Inuit culture for that reason and, also, as a hunting and fishing destination. Over the five years I lived in Arviat when I was married and had young children, we made several trips to Sentry Island. Each time memorable. Hauling in nets and nets full of char, my daughter falling in the water, being attacked my arctic terns. Impossible to forget.
However, it was on my very first trip that I encountered my first beluga whale. We came upon the raucous but controlled hunting scene as we approached Sentry Island. No time to deposit us women and children on the beach. The men switched into hunter mode. One in the bow with the rifle and the other steering zig zags to position the shooter for a good shot. Another wrinkle in the scenario was the fishing net strung out at right angles to the shore. The whale and boats had to avoid it or risk getting caught up in it. Eventually, though, the whale entangled himself in it which slowed him down just enough for a hunter to get a good shot. Good for the hunter but not so good from the whale's perspective.
How did I feel about that? Coming from a culture where my food was grown or raised? I was excited and jubilant. I was impressed by the quiet skill and persistence of the hunters. I was impressed that I or no one else was shot in the process. My eyes were open to what it took Inuit women - typically outwardly reserved - to be excited, jump up and down and shout. I suppose I felt the triumph and happiness of the hunters and their families.
I didn't feel sorry for the whale or mourn its passing. I was impressed by his beauty, size and persistence to preserve his life. This day, though, he became the valued prize in a competition with humans. The competition could have gone either way and it often does. I wouldn't have felt sorry for the hunters if the whale had won.
The beluga was hauled on shore. It's a difficult task to get a dead, slippery weight of several hundred pounds high enough on shore to skin and cut it up. Belugas don't come with hand holds. The white outer layer of skin and fat (muktuk) was cut away in large squares and rectangles. Little slits were cut in each piece as handholds. The pieces were divided amongst the people there. Eastern arctic people don't eat whale meat so the carcass was left to return to the ocean to feed other animals.
I tried a small small piece of muktuk that day for the first time. It's like chewing an eraser. Cutting off the outer skin and just eating the tissue underneath is supposed to be better technique. It didn't work for me. Years later I had pickled mutkuk and I was hooked. Pickling made it soft, flavourful and especially good in salad.
Years later when we lived in Arviat I found myself in another beluga whale hunting scene similar to my first one. This time I was the driver and my three young children were also in the boat. I still don't know how I managed to steer the boat in those crazy zig zags under full throttle and in shallow water. But I did and we captured one of the six belugas swimming in synchronized pairs. Again, I was ecstatic at our success while at the same time the wild beauty of those creatures brought tears to my eyes. Today, when I hear the word "beluga" I remember how I felt that day.
posted by Karen B. | 11:14 AM
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