Uncle follows quest for an elusive giant bowhead

RONALD H. BROWER

November 08, 2007 at 10:47AM AKST

For The Arctic Sounder

It takes me a while to begin writing, and when I do, it takes me a while to gather my thoughts to start my writing.

It is not that I don't have enough to write about, it just takes me a while to get my subject selected so I could start writing. Today, I want to write as fast as I can about my uncle and whaling.

This is about a bowhead whale hunt. My uncle, Tom, has been preparing for this particular hunt for several months. He has waited longer than usual because he wants to get the largest whale he has seen since commercial whaling ceased in the Arctic Ocean.

Now it is time to launch the boat. It is an old Boston whaleboat designed to take a large crew of 12. There are only eight on board, and that is just fine. We have brought on board enough gear to last us about a week without coming ashore.

My uncle says the whale we are going after is rather elusive and scares quite easily when she hears the sound of a motor. She always stays in the sea ice away from the coast and is very elusive.

My uncle has been watching for her and observed her behavior patterns for several years. She had a calf the last two years he observed her. This year, she is alone ... and according to our traditions is available for the hunt.

Uncle Tom is an old-time commercial whaler and is a great storyteller, especially about the old days. Today, he is one of the 45 whaling captains of Barrow. He is nearing retirement from whaling, but he is insisting on one more great adventure before he will turn the crew over to his oldest son.

We know he has lived an exciting life in the Arctic and is still full of energy.

"Anybody who thinks they will not last two weeks in the sea better get off now," my uncle commands as we prepare to launch.

It has now been two days in the sea weaving through the ice, and we have not seen any sign of life. This is unusual because there are normally a lot of whales, seals and polar bears where we are.

Our engine is silent, and we are drifting with the sea current drawing us toward the Siberian coast, many miles west of us. My uncle knows that the large whale is somewhere in the jumble of sea ice and merely drifting along as she is feeding on plankton and the krill we see in the water.

The sea is full of little life, but where are the big animals? We maintain silence as we continue to drift with the currents.

In the distance, we suddenly see a large ice floe moving opposite of everything. It is swiftly moving in our direction pushing all of the smaller ice and rubble off of its way. We stay the course and soon the huge ice floe is coming upon our suddenly little craft.

Behind this huge mass of moving ice is clear water, churning in large swirls as the ice floe makes its way through the rubble of smaller ice bergs. We maintain silence as it passes us. We have to work hard to push the ice away from our vessel so we do not get stove in by the smaller icebergs. What power this ice has.

Suddenly, we are free of the ice and we are now riding the wake of the huge ice mass. The whirling wake draws our suddenly tiny vessel toward the massive iceberg and we see its churning and bubbling movement has stirred the bottom of the sea, causing it to boil upwards behind it as it cuts through the rubble ice.

We continue to wait in silence, our captain readies the harpoon, and moves up front ready to strike should any thing surface. We wait ... but not for long.

There she blows!

She has been feeding behind this huge mass of ice. It is as if my uncle knew what to expect. The swirling water draws us toward the whale and we do not move. The whale does not dive, and we are now upon its back.

My uncle strikes the whale just as it starts to dive and we hear the thunderous muffled explosion of the whale bomb going off.

Whumph!

The whale float is thrown overboard and the line is drawn rapidly into the water.

Every one stays away from the rapidly uncoiling rope. To get caught would mean instant death.

All of a sudden, all is quiet. Not a sound. And the whale surfaces on its belly dead.

My uncle had killed it with just one strike between the neck and the head. We hold a vigil of silence as we draw ourselves to the whale with the rope. The spirit of the whale has given its body to this worthy hunter.

With a quivering voice, my uncle breaks the silence and offers a prayer to the provider for giving him what he asked for – a great bowhead whale, the largest ever caught in our community. It will feed many people.

With a great burst of joy, he announces the catch. "Hey hey hey ... Yeaah."

Others also burst into a joyful chorus for the gift of the whale.

The whale is towed to Browerville and landed in front of my uncle's house by the beach. Many come out to help cut up this magnificent creature, and it is food for the whole town. In the next two days, more than 2,000 people come by the house and are fed by the whaling crews' wives and friends until the cutting is done.

What a joyful time this was.

Today, the jaws of this great whale stand upright in front of Brower's Cafe for all to see.

My Uncle Tom has passed now, but I like to recall him as a great storyteller in the times I had with him and best of all, he was quite a whaling captain in his own right.

Tavralaq. That's all for now.

Ronald H. Brower Sr. teaches the Inupiaq language at the Alaska Native Language Center, University of Alaska Fairbanks, where he also is a student. He submitted this for his English class last semester. Brower can be reached at ronhbrow3@aol.com