orcalab blog

We walk out of our kitchen door at dawn and are greeted by the whooshing blow of a humpback whale that ends in a whistle… whew!  So great.  The sounds of humpbacks blowing have become such a routine part of our acoustic scene that we are no longer surprised; we are however, always charmed.   And then there are the songs, which over the last few years we have begun to look forward to with great anticipation.

A short while ago, the night of October 23^rd, we were awed by the high highs and  low lows of a humpback song in Blackfish Sound that lasted a full hour; it was followed a few hours later by another that lasted nearly 2 hours.  The humpbacks are becoming ever more numerous and comfortable in this territory which was once their northern home, so their annual return is almost routine.  It’s likely the songs reflect their increasing sense of security as they settle in and their numbers grow.

Here is a brief sound clip from that marvelous October 23^rd song (OrcaLab 100 members can hear a larger section):

HB_HI_2011_DAT_229 (part)

Every now and then we become aware of the chatter of Pacific White sided dolphins, who rush through Blackney Pass and into the Strait or Blackfish Sound, sometimes hundreds at a time, half of them airborne, disappearing as fast as they come, their purpose obscure.

A few moments of their chatter:

PWD HI_2011_DAT_223 part

And constantly, day and night, we are aware of the growls of sea lions hauled out on rocks along the way and across from us:

sealions 11.6.11 part

It’s as though we’re in a surround sound theatre.   On Halloween, as entertainment for ourselves and the Orca-live audience, we hung a microphone outside the lab for a couple of hours in the dead of night, to catch the growly sea lion chorus… definitely spooky!

The presence of the sea lions may account for the large number of visits by transient orcas lately.  Sometimes, they’ve just cruised through, perhaps looking, and other times they’ve shown a definite interest in a potential feast. Though the sea lions may, and sometimes do get out of the water, they’re just as likely to stay in it or even jump in when the transients approach.  It looks like safety in numbers, as sometimes when approached by transients, the sea lions, who have clustered together in a patch of kelp, craning their heads as high as they can, suddenly start thrashing their bodies about, churning the water white, possibly making a target difficult and the consequences of an attack potentially dire – after all, they are huge, with fearsome teeth and jaws.  It seems to be an effective strategy, as we’ve seen transients move on several times after being hounded by a flailing mob of scores of sea lions.  The ultimate outcome, however, includes the possibility of the transients returning when the scene has quieted down, and a sea lion is isolated enough for an attack to succeed.

We think the transients must have had quite a few successes over the past few weeks, as we’ve heard them calling numerous times, even for hours on end.  If the belief that transients are only vocal after a kill reflects reality (it does make sense, as they are stealth hunters) they must have succeeded on several occasions.

Transient HI_2011_DAT_224 part

We seldom witness an attack in Blackney Pass, though we have seen some over the years, and sometimes we think it happens during the night, when it’s too dark to see.  This year, it seems there have been more transient sightings than ever in our area, and quite a few attacks have been reported.

On October 16^th, in broad daylight, we witnessed a spectacle in Parson Bay, directly across Blackney Pass from OrcaLab that held us transfixed for hours.  We’d been listening to vocal humpbacks in Blackfish Sound during the dark early hours, and watching as many of 6 of them in Blackney Pass after it got light.   Then, about an hour before noon, we suddenly became aware of the presence of a group of transient orcas in the middle of Parson Bay.  They were going back and forth in the usual manner transients put together an attack.  Very close by, there was a humpback whale.  The sight was unsettling – we have never witnessed an attack on a humpback, and don’t want to.   Concerned, we strained our eyes through spotting scopes, trying to figure out what was happening, and finally concluded that it was unlikely the transients were targeting the humpback, but rather a sea lion we couldn’t see.  Then lo and behold, 2 more humpbacks went into Parson Bay, stopping right in the middle of the scene.  It was a jaw dropping sight.   We speculated that the new arrivals may have joined the original humpback as added security, in case of an attack, but as time went on, with the humpbacks cruising back and forth in a feeding mode, without an obvious care in the world, and the transients moving back & forth doing whatever they were doing, we concluded that we were most likely seeing normal behaviour on the part of both species – grabbing a bite to eat.   It just happened they were in the same place at the same time.  Eventually, the transients moved on, and not long after, the humpbacks left too.  Whew.

Uncomfortably surrounding all the excitement and buzz of the humpback, transient, dolphin, sea lion scene, has been a profound silence on the part of the resident orcas we’ve come to expect as a highlight of our Fall.  October, in our memory, is chum fishing month, when the orcas come to feast on the big fatty chum salmon as they head south, spending hour after hour at the entrance of Blackney Pass and Johnstone Strait, picking off the chums as they flood through.  It used to be a given that much of G clan would be here, along with others, and it is true that their presence has become less reliable in recent years.  But there’ve been no blanks in our October history, till now.  The last summer residents left on September 24^th, sooner than usual, but for ages we expected to hear them again, anytime.  Now we go to bed at night without expectation.  Whatever the explanation may be, the sudden change is disquieting.  It’s not as if there were no fish.  To the contrary, the chums returned on time, and in numbers sufficient to make fishers smile and feed 2000 people who crowded into Alert Bay’s Big House for a fabulous recent potlatch.

The orcas’ absence is a mystery, and a worry.

By Paul & Helena November 5, 2011

postcript November 10^th:

Wouldn’t you know it?  Just after we finished writing the above, which had been a work in progress for a couple of weeks, we heard from our colleagues at CetaceaLab on Gil Island that they were hearing G-Clan calls, and that they had received a report of 30+ orcas heading south in nearby Squally Channel.  Two days later, in the early afternoon on November 8^th, we heard “G” clan calls in Blackfish Sound, and shortly afterwards saw the G17s (all 9 of them) making their way through Blackney Pass towards Johnstone Strait.  After such a long silence, it was a moment of great excitement, but oddly, apart from a few calls after the orcas entered Johnstone Strait, we’ve heard nothing since.  We don’t know if the orcas continued to the east, or whether they made a quick turnaround and a fast exit.  Once again, we are wating.

Signs that Fall is here are everywhere. It’s dark when I get up at 6am, the first hint of a new day on the horizon; the forest floor has turned gold and green as the cedars shed their summer cloak; honeysuckle leaves litter the boardwalks and garden ground; bright red honeysuckle berries are being plucked by tiny wrens; jays are sitting in the apple tree, feasting on the fruit we imagined as apple pie; the last roses are fading; fronds of great bull kelp are landing on the beach, food for next year’s garden; the sudden daybreak howl of sporty boats heading to the hot fishing spots where we have our hydrophones has gone; sea lions are beginning to heave their huge bodies onto haul-out rocks along the way; most of our assistants have left, heading back to school or home; and in their absence we are spending more time in the lab at night, recording the voices of the orcas, who are still here. We love this time of year. When it’s sunny or at least not raining, the light is soft and generous, the days are still long and warm, and the orcas are still endlessly fascinating.

A few days ago (20th) a crowd of orcas suddenly appeared in Blackfish Sound. We had no hint they were coming, though if we had read the mood of the A30s and A23s as they rested, socialized and frolicked for hours near the entrance to Blackney Pass correctly, we might have guessed something was up. Eventually, a single “ping” heard on the Flower Island hydrophone alerted us to the presence of G clan orcas, either the I11s or I31s, and not long after we heard the voices of G1s followed by A1s. Woohooo… it looked like we were back to party-time, as so much of the preceding weeks of this summer has been.

The tide was ebbing at the time, with slack a couple of hours away, so we didn’t expect the new arrivals to come into our view soon. Instead, we waited, hoping they would choose Blackney rather than Weynton Pass for their entry to Johnstone Strait. At exactly slack tide, the A30s & A23s made their move, travelling swiftly north through Blackney Pass and (one might imagine) into the arms of the G3s, I11s, A34s, A36s and A12. It was so sweet, watching and listening to them arrange themselves, as first one group would appear, only to turn back, then another with the same result, and then another, until the parade began and all the orcas (more than 55 of them) made their way into Johnstone Strait. Acoustically, they presented us with a wonderful mix of clan and family voices (sadly not heard by Orca-livers as our internet connection was down) that faded into silence as the orcas made their way east in Johnstone Strait. And then, without a rub or a word so far as we knew, they vanished.

An entire day passed, without news – despite active searching efforts from whale watchers – apart from a possible sighting of the A34s far east in Johnstone Strait and a confirmed sighting of transient orcas near Campbell River. It was as if the entire event was a mirage, or a dream. Then, another day later, the A36s brothers, with A12, were sighted to the north of us in Queen Charlotte Strait. Putting that together with the hint of an A5 call heard during the preceding night but not located as to origin, we knew that at least some of the crowd had returned. What transpired for most however, remains a mystery. We just don’t know whether the G clan groups managed to sneak past our hydrophones without breaking silence, or took another route “out”, or whether they remained closeted somewhere in inlets to the east (unlikely). So many eyes and ears practicing vigilance, but no clues. What we do know, is that late afternoon on the 23rd the A36 brothers, with A12, swam back into Johnstone Strait via Blackney Pass, entirely silently save for a few calls at the “corner” as they entered, and that a few hours later they returned in the company of Simoom and her A34 brood, singing in wonderful and soothing harmony as they made their way west and eventually northwards. Whether and when they will return, we know not, but we have the comforting assurance that all is well in their world.

‘All is well’ is a fair summary of our impression of this summer’s scene. In contrast to previous recent years, we didn’t see the restless pacing of groups back in forth in Johnstone Strait – east one day, west the next – that had us worried about food supply and in particular Chinook salmon abundance. Rather, for weeks on end during the second half of July and through August, it seemed like the old days had returned. We came to expect that orcas travelling east in the Strait would turn around after a rub and head back to the west, stopping for a bite in Robson Bight and continuing on to Blinkhorn or Turn Point, socializing and foraging along the way, before turning back to the east again and repeating the cycle; or heading out through Weynton Pass or Blackney on the ebbing tide and returning on the next flood, all the while at ease. We loved the social mixing that occurred, and welcomed the return of the Bs, who all but gave us a pass last year. When the I15s came to town, as happened on several occasions, they did their usual number, driving the social intensity up and up with their crazy excited voices, until it seemed the very fabric of the ocean would burst. The only answer to such tension was a day off, agreed silence on all sides, until the recovered orcas, energy back, were ready to greet old friends once again, with voices raised as if the parting had been for an age instead of a day.

Among the many wonderful moments of this summer, we marked the return of Springer (A73) yet again. This was the 9th time Springer has returned since her repatriation to her community and family in July 2002. Her presence has become so regular that we expect to see her every year, and have taken to leaving our “Welcome Home Springer” sign up over the winter, rather than taking it down and waiting for her to return before putting it up again. We do, however, take it down briefly each year and repaint it, so it’s fresh for her arrival. This year, we used some odd paint (tempura) in the initial repainting, which spattered when raindrops hit it, so the sign was down for some time before it went back up. I started to get a bit nervous about the delay, because it was already August and Springer was due anytime, but finally we had it up, and it looked great. Whether it was coincidence or not, that very night (August 9th) Springer returned, heading into Johnstone Strait via Blackney Pass accompanied by all the other members of the A4 pod, and the A5s as well. It was a couple of hours before midnight; the tide was flooding, so their passage was easy. Several of us stood on the lab deck, listening for blows, while Tomoko and Helena sat inside, managing the recording. At 10:45pm, perhaps reacting to a sound, I glanced inside the lab, to see Helena and Tomoko, both beaming, with arms raised in celebration… Springer was back! She was in Blackfish Sound at the time, and half an hour later in front of the lab, where, the listeners swore, several of the orcas paused and floated at the surface, one of them clearly vocalizing in air, before carrying on. It was an easy stretch of the mind on that magical night to imagine that this was Springer checking out her sign, through darkness and all. Improbable, yes perhaps, impossible… hmmm.

Also on the wonderful list was the return of Uni, the glaucous-winged seagull we’ve come to admire and love for longer than we’ve known Springer. She’s here all winter, leaving in May and returning late August or in September – this year, she came back on August 24th. Uni is a great hunter with a secret that none of the other seagulls have managed to figure out. She paddles around the kelp floating at the surface, looking intently into the water, and then suddenly ducks her head in, emerging with a green urchin in her beak, which she takes to shore, breaks open and eats. The other seagulls sometimes crowd around her watching jealously and eating her scraps, but she reveals nothing and has little tolerance for company. Watching Uni is one of the delights of our days, as are the hummys, the ravens, the harlequins and fox sparrows… the actual list is much longer.

Did I mention boat noise? Well there is even happy news about that. This morning, CBC Radio reported that 5 cruise ships are tied up in Vancouver Harbour, disgorging their 20,000 passengers for a day’s shopping and sight seeing, before heading off to warmer climes. Yesterday, all 5 of them passed through Johnstone Strait, one after another, blasting it with underwater noise from end to end. But yes, it’s the end of the cruise ship season, and the boat noise that comes with it!

So Fall has arrived, and with it, almost on cue, the first schools of finning chum salmon are flooding into Johnstone Strait. Chums are the orcas’ second favourite food, and we’ve become accustomed to the orcas hanging out at the entrance of Blackney Pass, hour after hour, picking off the chums as they swim through. The Gs are especially fond of this season and this part of their diet, but we’ve been missing them the last few years. If the first signs we’re seeing are followed by more, perhaps the Gs will be back, others too, and our Fall will be as full of orcas as this endless summer has been.

Posted by Paul
September 25 2011

A rare April encounter brought the first hint that the A5 pod might have suffered an unexpected loss. The young adult female, Nodales (A51), was not with her family, though all the A5 matrilines were present.  She and her 2010 baby were both missing.  Denial, and no further sightings of the group until much later, kept faint hope alive.   Perhaps she had just been missed in the stormy seas that day. As Spring rolled on and the whales began to gather further north, there were more disturbing but not entirely confirmed dispatches regarding Nodales. The pod had by then dispersed into smaller groups, so it was still difficult to draw a firm conclusion.  Tension grew and then reality set in as more reports were received.  Nodales’ brother, Surge (A61) was observed travelling with his A5 cousins in the A8 matriline, and Nodales’ oldest, Codero (A85) was sighted travelling with Ripple (A43)’s family.   It became increasingly likely that the family bonds Nodales had nourished had come apart, and that the survivors had found new homes.

I left for the IWC meeting in Jersey UK before the first 2011 summer season arrival happened on July 8^th.  The first calls, heard out of sight in Blackfish Sound, led to great anticipation and excitement.  The season had taken longer than usual to get underway. Everyone’s patience, however, was rewarded by a beautifully calm pass-by close to the Hanson Island shore.  Surge was in the lead, just ahead of Havannah, and for a brief moment, hope was renewed that all the previous rumors and reports would prove to be false and Nodales would again swim into view.  Not to be, and the joy of the first season’s encounter was soon tinged with a poignant and permanent sadness.

Nodales had a significant role within the A5 pod, as the anchor to one of the pod’s three matrilines.  This responsibility came to her in 1997, when she was orphaned at 11 years of age.  Her mother Sharky (A25) died unexpectedly, eerily at the same age (25 years) as Nodales when she died 14 years later.  Sharky’s death left Nodales to care for her three year old brother, Surge.  In those early days, the two orphans were often at the tail end of the pod as it travelled, and it seemed as if Nodales was not entirely confident of her place. As time went by, the distance between her and the other pod members shortened, and by the time Nodales had her first baby, Codero, in 2005, she was fully integrated.

In 2002, Nodales had an important part to play in the orphaned Springer’s reintroduction to her community.  Springer latched on to Nodales just three days after her release.  It seemed a comfortable fit and Springer, for weeks afterward, was always at Nodales’ side. Nodales was very helpful to Springer, intervening when Springer attempted to go close to boats, a disturbing habit she had picked up during her isolation in Puget Sound.

A51’s loss, at just 25 years of age, a young female approaching the prime of her life, is another huge blow to the A5 pod, which has already been hit badly over the years we have known them.  The captures that happened in 1968 and 1969 were devastating to the pod, probably taking out one matriline entirely, along with parts of 4 others.  Of the 12 members taken into captivity, just Corky (A16) remains alive.

The release of the adult females A9 (Eve) A8 (Licka) A23 (Stripe) and A14 (Saddle) after the 1969 capture gave the pod a chance at a future.  Its fortunes have waxed and waned in the decades since, with the pod sometimes increasing its numbers, and at other times suffering setbacks.  After A9 died in 1990, her sons A5 and A26 (Top Notch and Foster) travelled together for many years, but when they eventually died, the A9 matriline was lost.  Now, with A51’s death, and the splitting up of Surge and Codero, it looks like another matriline (the A14s) has gone too.  It is possible that Codero is female, but the behaviour we have seen – Codero associating mostly with males – suggests not.

As if to balance the feelings’ scale, we’ve had a wonderful, heart-warming time watching A12 (Scimitar) cruising in and out of Johnstone Strait, snugly sandwiched between the two A36 brothers (Kaikash & Plumper), the threesome looking for all the world as if they’ve been together their whole lives.  Not so, of course, but it is their 3^rd year, and now looks like being forever.

Scimitar seemed so bereft after her second son Nimpkish (A33) died in 2009.  They had been such a constant for so many years, following the death of Pulteney (A31) Scimitar’s oldest son, in 1997.  Scimitar and Nimpkish had taken virtually every breath together for more than a decade, so we were immediately concerned for Scimitar when she lost the close companionship of Nimpkish.

Fortunately, Scimitar’s daughter Simoom (A34) intervened, and brought Scimitar close to the Johnstone Strait early in the summer of 2009.   Once there, in a favourite place she had known since babyhood, Scimitar appeared to resume an almost  “normal” life, though alone, hunting and rubbing as she moved back and forth in the Strait, until others arrived.

The ‘others’ were initially Tsitika’s A30 family, which Scimitar joined immediately they appeared, and then, when the three A36 brothers came in too, she switched over to them for company.  The A36s have been a constant in Scimitar’s life ever since, their bond not interrupted even by the sad death of Cracroft (A32) in 2010.  Now, when we think of Scimitar, we think about the A36 “boys” she is with in the same frame.

Meanwhile, Scimitar’s bonds with her offspring undoubtedly remain strong.  Her daughter Simoom (A34) is now a grandmother herself, several times over, making Scimitar a great granny.   Though she doesn’t spend a lot of time with Simoom these days, they do visit occasionally, most recently on July 31st when Simoom brought her growing brood (there are now 8 “A34s”) into Johnstone Strait for a quick tour, and left with Scimitar among them.  The A36 brothers tagged along, of course, and just a few days later were back in the Strait with Scimitar safely lodged between them.  The sight, as they say, was enough to make a grown (person) cry.

Sorrow and joy, such has been the beginning to summertime 2011.

Posted by Paul August 14^th 2011

Thanks to Rob Williams & Erin Ashe for their photo of Nodales and her 2010 baby.  Thanks also to Leah Robinson for her photo of A12 with the A36 brothers, as well as for the humpback photo below.

Humpback "Freckles" off CP August 13 2011. Leah Robsinson photo

One would never have known it, observing the celebratory scene in the room after the close of business on Day Four of IWC 63, as old friends and enemies said goodbye to one another for yet another year, but the International Whaling Commission passed through a watershed in Jersey.  I was so stunned and dismayed that I barely took a photograph, not wanting to reveal in retrospect, even to myself, the gap between what was surface and what was real.

For the whales, there was a brief moment of light, following the hard-won agreement that annual dues of members may henceforth only be paid by bank transfer.  It doesn’t entirely eliminate the rampant corruption Japan has used as a tactic to win its way, as bagmen will still be loose in the room, but it does limit the core opportunity to add new votes year by year until the job (a 3/4 majority) is done.

For Japan and its cronies, there was a total victory that amounted to a putsch.   Virtually everything that happened in the room was dominated or controlled by Japan.  At the outset of the meeting, the new Chair, South Africa’s Commissioner Herman Oosthuizen appeared to be in control, firm and even handed, but it didn’t take long for Japan to tilt the scale.  Following a technical glitch mid morning on Day One, Japan managed to slip into the mix of sympathy for its plight after the recent disasters, a simple request for a change in the agenda, moving “Safety at Sea” from Day Three to the first item on Day Two.  It was a fatal decision by the Chair to agree, because once Japan got hold of the reins of the meeting, it never let go.

“Safety at Sea” is a difficult issue for many pro-whale members.  On the one hand, they understand that Sea Shepherd ships are the single obstacle standing in the way of Japan’s outrageous behaviour in the Southern Ocean Sanctuary.  But on the other, they are obliged to pay at least lip service to Japan’s complaint that it is a victim, rather than the aggressor.  Meeting after meeting, Japan kidnaps the room with its dramatic slides and videos, and easily achieves consensus condemnation of Sea Shepherd tactics.  Some members are brave enough to point out that the IWC is the wrong forum to bring the issue into, that it is powerless to act beyond words, but this does not deflect Japan’s purpose, which is to ensure that it gets its way in the rest of the meeting.

Getting its way was something Japan achieved big time in Jersey.  My pre-meeting thought was that perhaps Japan might use the occasion to consolidate the outpouring of international sympathy and good will it received so freely, following the horrific March 11^th earthquake and tsunami, by signaling concessions over the internationally sticky issue of whaling (http://orcalab.org/blog/?p=832).  I must have been dreaming, as I was immediately proven far from the mark.  Rather than making friends and amends, such as by announcing an end to its “research” whaling in the Antarctic Sanctuary, Japan was ready to pounce.  The device it used was the “Private Commissioners’ Meeting” which takes whatever subject the Chair deems tricky behind closed doors.   About all Japan has to do is get (or rely on) one of its clients, such as tiny St. Kitts & Nevis, to erect a wall of obfuscation and diversion around whatever topic it chooses, and the Chair takes the meeting into a private session, of which there is no official record, and from which only rumours flow, for as long as it takes to reach “consensus”.  There is then a brief open-session announcement and discussion of the result, but it is a fait accompli.

“Consensus” has become a tool wielded effectively and with great precision by Japan and its cohorts at these meetings.  Far from being a means to achieving agreement over divisive issues, it is now a powerful bully weapon, one brandished primarily by Japan, but with the willing consent of surprising others such as the USA and New Zealand, who could formerly be counted on the whales’ side.   In this meeting, they were joined by the new Chair, who at first glance is a fair bloke, but who threatened to end the meeting and resign, if consensus could not be achieved and a vote forced.

The topic in this instance was the proposal of the Buenos Aires Group (BAG) of Latin and Central American members, to create a South Atlantic Whale Sanctuary which would adjoin the existing Southern Ocean Sanctuary, providing additional protection for whales, and also open the door to significant research and economic opportunities for coastal communities along its borders.  The proponents have been admirably patient, so far waiting 10 years to achieve their goal, but the mere idea of yet another sanctuary for whales sticks in the craw of Japan and the Nordic whalers, who regard any safe place for whales as a threat to their very existence, and oppose it by whatever means lie at hand.  “Consensus” has become the means of the day.   In its application within the IWC, it has become a farce, a place-holding puppet sitting in the wings waiting for the “future” of this vacant body to unfold, with Japan patiently holding the strings.

Everyone know that Japan is using “consensus” to force its will on the weak-minded, yet virtually no-one objects, and at this meeting, no-one was willing to insist on even a single vote.   Moreover, everyone was willing to toss out a role for “Civil Society”, a given in international fora such as CITES, in the vague hope that this gesture might bring a modicum of good will into the proceedings.  Not a chance.

Such is the state of democracy at the International Whaling Commission.

The moment of truth for this meeting, which revealed Japan’s face in full HD, came when Assistant Commissioner Joji Morishita took the floor at 11:20am on Day Four, ostensibly to speak not for Japan, but on behalf of the “sustainable use” faction.  Clearly, there had been prior discussion of what followed.  Morishita san is noted for his linguistic skills, which he now used first to state that he would need more than 2 minutes to speak to such an “important issue” (no comment from the Chair) and then to praise the spirit of the meeting, which had achieved “wonderful positive outcomes” such as the agreement about Safety at Sea.  It was important to keep building trust, and voting could negatively impact this vital exercise.  Assuring the meeting that he didn’t want to engage in a hostile act, the Assistant Commissioner for Japan then announced that the Sustainable Use Group would break the quorum of the meeting, by leaving the room, if a vote was called for.  A short while later, after several nations pointed out that voting is a normal democratic procedure, i.e. nothing to be afraid of, Brazil & Argentina indicated that they still wanted a vote, and the Chair asked the Secretary to prepare for one.  At that point, reiterating that it was not a hostile act, Japan rose and left the room, accompanied by 21 other members.  It was the Play of the Day.

No-one witnessing this scene, which led directly to the abrupt termination of the meeting 9 hours later, could have had any doubts about Japan’s determination to use any means at hand, legal or not, to impose its will.  The mask was off.

Seeing the good will Japan arrived with lying in tatters on the floor, like some discarded child’s toy, brought a deep sense of sadness to those, like myself, who love and admire Japan in so many ways.  Why are Japan’s leaders not in tune with the world majority on this issue?  It’s beyond me.

Ironically, what happened in Jersey may ultimately prove beneficial to the world’s whales.  Nothing could be clearer than that, despite the good intentions and diligence of some members, the IWC is incapable of resolving even a subset of the issues faced by cetaceans, large and small, and the oceans they inhabit.  It is past time for the IWC to be assigned its proper historical place: a footnote.

Perhaps the best place to begin again is at the United Nations.  The UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) certainly has enough scope in its mandate to add protecting cetaceans and their habitats to the long list of issues and problems it already deals with.  As Monaco’s brilliant IWC Commissioner, Frederick Briand, said in a recent address to UNCLOS in New York, calling for protection of all cetaceans in all oceans:

Marine migratory species of cetaceans, all 76 of them, are a major component of the world ocean.  By definition they do not belong to a particular place, and even less to a specific party.  They are our common heritage, vested in the trusteeship of the community of nations, for the benefit of current and future generations.

Bravo.

posted by Paul Spong, July 23, 2011

It turns out that yesterday’s unity may have been more of a lapse than a sign that real progress for whales might be achieved in the fractured body that is the IWC.

The morning began with an outline of the Order of Business for the last day of this 2011 meeting: Safety at Sea; Sanctuaries; Scientific permits; Environmental and health issues; Conservation management plans; whalewatching; co-operation with other organizations; other Scientific Committee activities; Conservation Committee; catches by non-member nations; infractions 2010 season; date and place of next meeting; election of Chair and Vice Chair; Advisory Committee; Summary of decisions and actions; Other matters.

It was a long list, but the Chair looked fresh and ready to roll when the meeting opened a little after 9am.  Though it got underway 38’ behind the planned schedule, the Chair’s method for ensuring brief interventions (cutting the mic off after 2’) offered promise.

As things turned out, only agenda item one, Safety at Sea, got past the starting gate.  Japan had done the work of preparing its resolution well, consulting widely and lining up supporters on all sides.   The language, while mentioning Sea Shepherd protests, was non-provocative and pointed to the primacy of the International Maritime Organisation in maritime safety issues.  It did not call on the Netherlands or Australia to do anything specific, but rather called on all governments to take “appropriate measures”.  Beyond Australia reiterating that it fulfils all its legal obligations, there was little comment, and the resolution slid through easily, by consensus.

The next agenda item was the proposed South Atlantic Whales Sanctuary.  It was introduced convincingly by Brazil, on behalf of the “Buenos Aires Group” (BAG) which consists of all the Latin American countries who are IWC members.   A lengthy list of brief statements were made in support, making it clear that a majority of members favour the proposal, and then Palau announced its opposition, citing an absence of scientific merit as its reason.  India appealed to Palau not to break consensus, which Palau eventually agreed to, but opposition sharpened when Iceland spoke against the proposal.

Just an hour into the day, after the first NGO interventions of the meeting were made, the Chair called for a half hour coffee break, to allow time for the sides to come together.  The break turned out to last a full hour, at the end of which a rumour spread that Japan was prepared to walk out with its supporters, denying the meeting a quorum, if a vote was called for.   That is exactly what happened next.  When appeals by Ecuador and Columbia fell on deaf ears, the Chair asked the Secretary to prepare for a vote.  Monaco pointed out that voting in a democracy is not a bad thing, that in fact it is normal when agreement can’t be reached, and that it is a right even a single country could insist on.  After Poland suggested a short break, the Chair asked if Brazil and Argentina wanted to go for a vote.  When they replied affirmatively, Japan rose and left the room, taking along Cambodia, Cameroon, Cote d’Ivoire, Gambia, Iceland, Norway, Nauru, Mongolia, Mauritania, Guinea-Bissau, Grenada, Kiribati, Morocco, Korea, Ghana, Palau, Togo, Russia, Tuvalu, St. Kitts and Nevis, and St. Lucia.

At 1156 am the Chair called for a private Commissioners meeting, suggesting it would take just 10 minutes.  Eight hours passed, during which the Chair made several appearances announcing delays.  As time passed, the rumour circulated that this meeting would simply end without further discussion, and the South Atlantic Sanctuary proposal would become the first item on the agenda of next year’s meeting.  That is what happened in the end, possibly because at one point the Chair threatened to resign if a vote was held.

At 8:33pm, after a document outlining what had happened was distributed, the Chair finally brought the meeting back to order.  There was no further discussion of substantive matters.  All the items on the long list of unfinished business, including the lengthy report of the Conservation Committee, which had done a great deal of work, were agreed without comment or debate.  Voting for the Chair and Vice Chair will be by mail.

Next year’s meeting will be held in Panama.

It has been a very long time since I could end a day at an IWC meeting reporting something positive, apart from the camaraderie that accompanies these annual excursions into the world of real whale politik, as seen through the eyes of the vanishing breed called whalers, and newly minted whale lovers.  For about as long as I can remember, moments in which I felt even a tinge of optimism about the outcome of the decades long struggle to change human perceptions of cetaceans, and alter the course of their destiny, were few and far between.  The last time was 30 years ago, in 1981, when I became so convinced that a moratorium on wholesale whale slaughter (commercial whaling) would come about, that I didn’t feel a need to attend the next year, when that victory was achieved.

In the years since 1997, when I returned to the IWC in a fit of panic, having finally realized that the ‘kill or not to kill’ issue wasn’t over, the tide has been ebbing slowly but surely.  Over the last few years, I’ve become increasingly pessimistic, as the whalers, led by Japan, gathered strength.  Last year, the whales dodged a bullet when they escaped the spectre of the world’s most powerful nations joining hands with some of the smallest, in agreeing that it was time to start the cycle of terror again. Fortunately, more sensible heads prevailed, and the moment passed.

This year, the issue of “Future of the IWC” (meaning how to satisfy the whalers) was pretty much off the table, but remnants of resistance remained.  The agenda included a “future” item, as a place-holder; and a determined band of mostly Caribbean hold outs sat firmly at the table, stalwartly opposing the efforts of the UK and EU to bring the IWC into the 21^st century via a simple device aimed at “transparency”.

The device is called a bank transfer.  It is the ordinary means by which funds are moved around the world these days.  At the IWC, the mere mention amounted to an outrage in the eyes of some members, who have been accustomed to depositing large amounts of cash into the hands of the Secretariat in exchange for the right to vote.

Though the source of these funds was unknown (Japan is the Prime Suspect) the result has been that dozens of new votes on the whalers’ side have come into IWC meetings over the past decade or so.  And in more recent years, efforts to achieve “consensus” have ended in one stalemate after another.  The losers in this scenario have been whales, increasing numbers of whom have been killed annually, at no consequence for the killers.

Last year, after the failure of the “future” initiative, led by the USA and New Zealand, serious thought was given to ways in which the IWC could be reformed, to bring its procedures into the 21^st century, and shine the light of “openness” into its murky corners.   During the past year, the Finance and Administration Committee has been drafting changes to the Rules of Procedure aimed at accomplishing this.  Lo and behold, one of its recommendations was that annual dues should be paid by transfer of funds between a bank account of a member government and the IWC account.  The European Union made the proposal initially, but when Denmark objected, the UK took it on.  Eventually, the EU members joined hands and the proposal moved forward in their joint name (see yesterday’s story).  Unfortunately, moments after the proposal was introduced by Poland, St. Kitts and Nevis raised a Point of Order, and the rest of the day was lost.

Today, the morning was lost in the same manner, and when coffee breaks turned into Private Commissioners’ meetings, much of the afternoon was consumed as well.  Sitting on the sidelines, it was impossible to avoid the impression that the only way out of the deadlock was to hold the first vote since 2007.  Many in the audience were looking forward to having a vote at last, as a way forward.  Time dragged on, as the private meeting, promised as taking up to an hour, dragged into more than two.  Eventually, at nearly 5:30pm, the meeting resumed, and it became apparent that via some wizardry, consensus had been achieved.  The UK, as the chief defender of the rule change was satisfied, and New Zealand got heaped with praise for its success in bringing the sides together, or at least close enough to agree.

Henceforth from now, payment of IWC dues will be by bank transfer only.   The IWC, having hit rock bottom, can now begin the journey of saving the whales all over again.

Yes, it can.

posted by Paul Spong

July 13, 2011

It didn’t take long this morning, for the slightly rosy glow at the end of yesterday to vanish.  The morning session was supposed to open with the report of the Finance and Administration Committee, but Japan managed to have the “Safety at Sea” agenda item moved forward.  As a result, the first part of the day was taken up with a description of the woes faced by Japan’s “research” whalers in the Antarctic, who year after year, have had to contend with the opposition of Sea Shepherd ships and crews.  A dramatic slide and video presentation, replete with imagery from the whalers’ point of view, was followed by a plea to the Commission to condemn the actions of Sea Shepherd.  Japan will present a resolution to this effect before the meeting ends.  It requested that the flag and port states (Netherlands and Australia) make it difficult or impossible for Sea Shepherd to operate its ships, by denying vessel registration and refusing entry to ports for fuel and supplies; and additionally that the US act against the non-profit Sea Shepherd Conservation Society.  It was clear from the responses that all of these nations think the IWC is not the proper place for such a discussion, as it is in fact powerless to act.  Rather, as has been pointed out repeatedly in the past, the International Maritime Organisation is the appropriate forum for Japan to seek redress in.  The remaining time up to the morning coffee break was occupied with harsh words from numerous delegations who vocally supported Japan’s complaint, and more restrained words from others, like New Zealand, who concur that illegal actions should not be tolerated, but regard protests on the high seas as legitimate, and added that Japan’s actions in killing whales inside a sanctuary themselves skirt the boundaries of legality.  The latter message was clear – if Japan wasn’t killing whales in the Antarctic, Sea Shepherd vessels wouldn’t be there.

Half the morning taken up with an exercise that many thought pointless, it was on to the report of the Finance and Administration Committee (F&A).  Much praise was heaped on Australia for its work on the report, which contains numerous uncontroversial recommendations for changes in the Commission’s procedures.   Among them is a move to biennial meetings of the Commission, which would begin after the 2012 meeting, so the following meeting would happen in 2014.  The work of the Scientific Committee would continue, with meetings held annually, but they would be separated in time from the Commission meetings.  The scientists’ report would be tabled well in advance of the Commission meeting, and available on the IWC web site, thus providing members with a much better opportunity to consider Scientific Committee recommendations than hitherto.   So far so good, but troubled waters lay ahead.

The issue of broader NGO participation in the Commission’s work has been lurking in the background for years, with some members calling for greater inclusion of “civil society” and others deathly afraid of it.  Norway is point blank opposed to NGO participation, so is Iceland, with the other whalers concurring though not quite as vocally.  There is real fear over the thought, heaven forbid, that NGOs might be allowed to speak on virtually any subject, at the Chair’s discretion, despite the fact that NGO participation in CITES and other international organizations has long been permitted, with beneficial results.  The US and many others are open to greater NGO involvement, and believe it would be a positive change.  Such was the recommendation of the F&A Committee, but it clearly didn’t stand a chance and the matter was left open.

Storm clouds matching the skies above Jersey this day were gathering well before lunch, with St. Kitts and Nevis leading a protest over the visa problems some members were having.  The Secretariat had given clear instructions about visa applications months ago, but apparently, the Cote d’Ivoire Commissioner is still stuck in Paris.  Possibly hoping for a swift resolution, the Chair called for a long lunch break.

After lunch, things moved quickly into the war zone that is so familiar from years past.  Monaco gave a brief speech, pointing out that always attempting to reach consensus could have a negative effect, silencing some members and causing others to lose interest; differences of opinion are healthy; everyone coming into the room shouldn’t have to wear the same uniform; there should be a vote from time to time; and besides, he likes world music and world food.  A profound moment of silence followed, and then the F&A report moved on to the matter everyone was waiting for – what to do about cash payments of fees?   The F&A Committee’s recommendation was simple, have dues paid by bank transfer, the explanation in part being that the Secretariat is uneasy about handling large amounts of cash – in 2009, more than $27,000.  The reaction was anything but simple, with St. Kitts & Nevis joining Ghana and Antigua in convoluted explanations of the difficulties inherent in the operations of small countries, where money is scarce.  For a while, it looked like the issue could be settled, with the Secretary agreeing that bank drafts are an acceptable method of payment.  Possibly he should have stopped there, but he added that a draft would have to clear before voting rights could be restored (the Secretariat has been burned before).   If that moment had passed, Poland might  have had its chance to present the EU proposal for reform, but it was not to be.  St Kitts quickly moved on to challenge the legitimacy of the EU proposal, first questioning the timeliness of the submission (there is a 60 day rule) and then when the Chair approved that, demanding that all the member states identify themselves on the document.  Virtual chaos followed, the Chair first calling for a 5’ break which turned into an intense 15′ stand up discussion in the middle of the room, then a long coffee break, and finally an announcement by the Chair that the Commissioners were going into a private meeting.

By 5:30pm, with no sign of the Commissioners emerging, it was clear that the day was lost.  After another hour passed we heard the outcome, though not the details of what happened inside that private room.

The battle will resume at 9am tomorrow.

posted by Paul Spong,

July 13, 2011

Jersey is a pleasant and friendly place of about 100,000 souls, close enough to France to have more than a sprinkling of French names for streets, and close enough to England to have the familiar sound of cheerful English voices warbling out of pubs and cafes. Outside the city of St Heliers, green fields surrounded by hedges abound, and inside them, wooly white sheep and Jersey cows loll about or stroll around.  The island atmosphere is relaxed for good reason.  This little state, just 47 square miles at high tide (quite a bit bigger when the tide is out and enormous beaches appear) is in the UK but not run by it; it recognizes the Queen but does not pay English taxes; it is close to Europe but is not in the EU, and therefore not bound by its rules.  There is virtually no unemployment, and almost half of Jersey’s GDP comes from the financial sector.  Altogether, it seems like life is pretty laid back and easy here, no worries.  That is, no worries until the Whale Wars came to town.

Today, the narrow street outside the venue was filled with the sound of beeping and blaring car horns as drivers sped by, responding to signs held by a small band of demonstrators calling on them to “honk for whales”.  Not even a whisper penetrated the meeting, but the demonstrators sang for hours; two of them were escorted off the hotel premises, and apparently some of the Japanese delegation felt intimidated at lunchtime.  I doubt that was the intent, as the watching police all wore smiles, but am also sure the feeling was real enough to cause the IWC Secretary to apologise profusely to Japan at the end of the day.

Entering the venue inside felt like entering a vast and very dark cavern.  All the surfaces are black, the ceiling is high and curved, and the long lines of black-topped tables almost disappear out of sight.  The illusion is that the room is filled with very small people, and given the timbre of much of the conversation, perhaps there is some truth to that.  Certainly, there was no discernible Mind in these waters, despite Norway’s recognition of sentience in cetaceans.  It came as a token offering to whale lovers, and was quickly dismissed by Norway on the grounds that other animals and birds possess sentience as well.  Apparently to Norway, this makes imposing unholy levels of suffering on innocent beings an acceptable practice in the civilized world.

The order of business of Day One quickly took us through credential and visa problems, along with non-payment of fees encountered by some delegations, with St. Kitts & Nevis winning a day’s delay, but it does seem the voting list will be smaller than previously.  We’ll know by Wednesday.  By then, we should also know the outcome of the UK’s initiative on governance, which it now seems is back to being an EU initiative, where it began.  It’s unclear what happened to Denmark’s veto of the proposal, but it is a good sign that the EU is now united behind it.   Tomorrow, we should know more, possibly even whether one country is willing to call for a vote.  This needs to happen, if the proposal fails to achieve consensus, which is almost certain.  If a vote does happen, it will be the first in years, and possibly a sign that things really are changing at the IWC.

In the meantime, the meeting is wading through the work of the Scientific Committee, which includes “abundance estimates” of a long list of species up for grabs, should commercial whaling be allowed again.  One wonders at times if anyone is paying attention, as there is very little comment or questioning of the information and recommendations.  Eventually, and possibly not far away, the Scientific Committee will come up with real numbers for population (“stock”) estimates, and real numbers for quotas, rather than modeling and estimating.  At that point, everyone in the room will suddenly be awake, and the shouting may begin again.   For the moment, praise for the work of the Scientific Committee, and politeness towards adversaries is the order of the day.  There is some testing of the waters, however, as in the almost rough exchanges over Iceland’s outrageous treatment of fin whales.   Monaco inserted the first probe, pointing out that the Scientific Committee would set a number of 48 or thereabouts if its procedures were followed, whereas Iceland killed more than 250 fins in just 2 years.  The comment was followed by a quick rejoinder from Iceland (it sees no problem) and then a series of thrusts from the UK, New Zealand, Australia, and the US.  It was a skirmish only, but a clear sign of what’s to come if substantive issues hit the floor.

Despite the occasional rumblings, this was a fairly easy day for all, about the only real glitch being a technical one – the microphone system failed entirely at one point during the morning session, forcing a 15’ break before coffee time.  There was even a round of hearty laughter when the Russian Commissioner made his first intervention.  As is customary, he thanked the host country and praised its people, except that in translation it came out as “thanks to Jersey and its very nice and hostile people.”  Regardless of whether they’d seen Lost in Translation, everyone enjoyed the moment.  Later, after the day’s proceedings ended, a 2 hour reception hosted by Jersey and the hotel’s owner had the entire assembly, regardless of side, ending the day in a jolly mood.

Tomorrow, when Financial and Administrative matters are the first agenda item, we will begin to see the shape of this meeting.  Meanwhile, some encouragement can be drawn from the 23 EU members joining hands in a reform proposal that now excludes touchy references to NGO participation, and in the hints that the US is prepared to go at least a little way towards becoming a whale advocate again.

posted by Paul Spong,

July 12  2011