Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Friday, July 20 . . . Duck Tales
Today’s main event is the arrival of Marc. He’s tall, rugged, and very friendly. He was on an island about six hours away from Blanc Sablon in Labrador, living in a cabin with three other guys. Their task was to catch, mark, and build nests for the Eider ducks. He talked about the little scurrying feet of the ducklings and how, unlike most parents, the ducks did not struggle once caught. As he explained his adventures of plastic bag showers, close encounters with whales and seals, and of course the ducks, all I could think about was these ducks must be smart because they trust the men that they won’t hurt them. Which I would not expect since they are endangered from over-hunting. Our day itself was not so exciting but we got to learn about all the invigorating trips Marc had taken. We listened half in envy, half in amazement.
Tuesday, July 17 . . . Cod Tongue
Adrian returned today, half asleep. She woke up at 2 a.m. to go fishing with Garland, the same man who took us out to see the turtle. She brought back freshly caught cod, which she gutted herself. With the filets she also served us Cod tongues. She cooked up a side of tongue for us and as strange as it sounds I knew I had to try it. I stopped thinking about what I was eating and again just let it enter into my mouth. As Sophia and Adrian sat there watching me with bulging eyes, I grabbed for another one. It certainly did not have the fishy taste or texture I would expect a tongue to have. I couldn’t believe it, but I liked it. We all went to sleep early, following the lead of an exhausted Adrian. Later that night, I got up and walked outside my door, and to my surprise there was an owl gliding with such grace and peace through the orange streetlights.
Monday, July 16 . . . Back for More
After talking to Trish and the DFO, we discover that the measurements we took the day before were not enough. We drive back to Forteau, returning to the tail at 5:30 pm when the tide is low and I don’t have to venture into the water again. Rudolph has a sharp knife and helps us cut off a piece of blubber to take back for sampling. The knife cuts right through as though it was a piece of ham not the flesh, blubber, and muscle of a humpback whale. The tail is completely out of the water, so we measure it from the tip of the fluke to where it had been cut. We add 32 inches to our measurement to determine that it was a 28-foot-long humpback—only a baby. Rudolph is stunned when he tries to turn the tail over. He can barely lift it and stares at me as he thinks back to the day before. Sophia then informs us that for every foot of a whale it weighs a ton. The day before I had struggled with two tons through the frigid water in which icebergs float.
Sunday, July 15 . . . Whale's Tail
My alarm rings at 6:47 and I slowly climb out of bed, continuing only because I know I’m going to see a dead whale. Hands on work. We drive out to Labrador and the drive seems much longer than usual, but I still notice every lake, every small tree and every wave. The morning starts out foggy in Blanc Sablon, but as we travel the sun begins peering out from behind the mountains. We drive down a dirt road, past a lighthouse and to a cove where the waves are never small. The fog has returned. The horn from the lighthouse is blowing loudly, carried by the wind. The same breeze blows my hair and sends chills down my back. I walk over the uneven stones along the shore. Through the fog a black shape appears in the water, and as I walk closer the humpback comes into sight, floating with the waves, stuck in the surf.
The first thing I notice is the missing fluke. Then I see the gas-filled whale flopping every which way, pushed by the waves. I take down notes as Sophia and Rudolph measure the whale as accurately as they can without entering the water and getting caught in the waves. It measures 25 feet long without the fluke. The usual adult humpback measures between 36 and 45 feet long. We decide it must still be young.
Doing as much as we can, we head back, stopping to climb to the top of the lighthouse; it is the tallest lighthouse in Labrador and Newfoundland. At the top we can see the neighboring town and the water extending to the horizon. The foghorn is loud in our ears and the light is bright in our eyes.
On the way home, we stop in the store and talk to some locals. We find out that the whale was caught in a fisherman’s capelin net, and they cut off the tail to untangle it. However, the whale had a mysterious hole in it and the fishermen had not called the DFO when they first saw it was tangled. We drive to the next town, where an iceberg floats by; it is as large as a four-bedroom house. It clearly stands out against the aqua blue of the ocean. As we continue to talk to locals we learn that the tail has appeared in Forteau. Forteau is two towns away from Blanc Sablon so we turn around and head back.
We drive onto a side street in Forteau and come to a little beach next to the wharf. About 30 feet out floats a black and white blur. We attempt to take pictures, when suddenly it hits me. I’ve been wanting to go swimming ever since I’ve seen a wave break on the shore up north, so I roll up my pants, take off my socks and shoes and my sweatshirt and begin walking in. I feel the cold water on my toes but the adrenaline pumps through me. By the time the water has come up to my knees I am completely numb and have no control of my feet. I continue moving my heavy legs until the water reaches my pants, and I know there is no turning back. As I keep walking I don’t even realize that I am right at the tail and the water is up to my waste. My waterproof case is on my camera so I begin taking pictures of the fluke, catching the design. The white and black outline design is used to identify each whale. Rudolph yells at me to pick the tail up. Nervous, I call for the gloves from Sophia. She balls them up and Rudolph throws them out to me. I head down into the ice water until only my head is out of the water. I realize the tail is too deep and too heavy for me to pick up from the rod of the tail. Rudolph suggests I lift up the corner of the fluke with my foot. Still feeling disconnected from my legs and feet I follow his directions and reach down to grab it. With the help of the water I drag it until my frozen muscles can't move anymore.
I get back to shore on numb legs. Frozen, I put my sweatshirt on, unroll my pants, and pull my socks over my sandy feet. In the car they turn the heat up so I stop shivering. I finally gain feeling in my whole body and am anxious to take a warm shower. We arrive home; I clean up and call my mom, unable to sleep from all the excitement. I rest for the rest of day, rewarding myself with a day of laziness.
The first thing I notice is the missing fluke. Then I see the gas-filled whale flopping every which way, pushed by the waves. I take down notes as Sophia and Rudolph measure the whale as accurately as they can without entering the water and getting caught in the waves. It measures 25 feet long without the fluke. The usual adult humpback measures between 36 and 45 feet long. We decide it must still be young.
Doing as much as we can, we head back, stopping to climb to the top of the lighthouse; it is the tallest lighthouse in Labrador and Newfoundland. At the top we can see the neighboring town and the water extending to the horizon. The foghorn is loud in our ears and the light is bright in our eyes.
On the way home, we stop in the store and talk to some locals. We find out that the whale was caught in a fisherman’s capelin net, and they cut off the tail to untangle it. However, the whale had a mysterious hole in it and the fishermen had not called the DFO when they first saw it was tangled. We drive to the next town, where an iceberg floats by; it is as large as a four-bedroom house. It clearly stands out against the aqua blue of the ocean. As we continue to talk to locals we learn that the tail has appeared in Forteau. Forteau is two towns away from Blanc Sablon so we turn around and head back.
We drive onto a side street in Forteau and come to a little beach next to the wharf. About 30 feet out floats a black and white blur. We attempt to take pictures, when suddenly it hits me. I’ve been wanting to go swimming ever since I’ve seen a wave break on the shore up north, so I roll up my pants, take off my socks and shoes and my sweatshirt and begin walking in. I feel the cold water on my toes but the adrenaline pumps through me. By the time the water has come up to my knees I am completely numb and have no control of my feet. I continue moving my heavy legs until the water reaches my pants, and I know there is no turning back. As I keep walking I don’t even realize that I am right at the tail and the water is up to my waste. My waterproof case is on my camera so I begin taking pictures of the fluke, catching the design. The white and black outline design is used to identify each whale. Rudolph yells at me to pick the tail up. Nervous, I call for the gloves from Sophia. She balls them up and Rudolph throws them out to me. I head down into the ice water until only my head is out of the water. I realize the tail is too deep and too heavy for me to pick up from the rod of the tail. Rudolph suggests I lift up the corner of the fluke with my foot. Still feeling disconnected from my legs and feet I follow his directions and reach down to grab it. With the help of the water I drag it until my frozen muscles can't move anymore.
I get back to shore on numb legs. Frozen, I put my sweatshirt on, unroll my pants, and pull my socks over my sandy feet. In the car they turn the heat up so I stop shivering. I finally gain feeling in my whole body and am anxious to take a warm shower. We arrive home; I clean up and call my mom, unable to sleep from all the excitement. I rest for the rest of day, rewarding myself with a day of laziness.
Saturday, July 14 . . . A Day Off
The weather doesn’t look very nice today, but we decide to get out of the house and do something on our day off. Adrian is here and wants to bring us to a museum in Labrador. As we drive over the hill across the border, we are struck with sunlight. A gopher runs down the hill as we drive by. In three rooms, the museum shows life in the towns in the ’50s. Many of the traps they used then for fox and cod are still the most efficient. One artifact they had was a skeleton of a catfish. As I look at it I notice a strange similarity to Jesus on the cross. The guide comes over to tell us that there are only two such skeletons in the world. They are a blessing from God. Curious, I ask where the other one is located, and to my surprise I learn it is in Boston, Massachusetts.
Later we are invited to Trish’s house to hang out with Saydee, Caitlin, and Rudolph. He informs us that a humpback whale has been found dead in Labrador and we are to go inspect it early in the morning. Also that night, Megan invites me to hang out with her and her friends. As they say in Blanc Sablon, we went “in,” driving on a steep bumpy road away from the ocean into the mossy, green hills. The dirt road is awash with many holes and puddles. I meet more kids my age again, surprising them with the reason for my presence and learning about the fishing their fathers and grandfathers have always lived by. Knowing I have to wake up early on a Sunday morning to inspect the whale, I ask Megan’s boyfriend to bring me back out early.
Later we are invited to Trish’s house to hang out with Saydee, Caitlin, and Rudolph. He informs us that a humpback whale has been found dead in Labrador and we are to go inspect it early in the morning. Also that night, Megan invites me to hang out with her and her friends. As they say in Blanc Sablon, we went “in,” driving on a steep bumpy road away from the ocean into the mossy, green hills. The dirt road is awash with many holes and puddles. I meet more kids my age again, surprising them with the reason for my presence and learning about the fishing their fathers and grandfathers have always lived by. Knowing I have to wake up early on a Sunday morning to inspect the whale, I ask Megan’s boyfriend to bring me back out early.
Tuesday, July 10 . . . Turtle Measurements
Even though I don’t have to go to the Coasters Camp today, I wake up extra early. The first thing I hear is Sofia coming to my door to say, “We are going to look for puffins!” She is excited because she knows how much I’ve wanted to see a puffin since I arrived up North. We drive to a lookout, bringing our scope to look for birds at Parakeet Island, a bird sanctuary. There are rumored to be about 23,000 puffins living on this island!
As I pull the scope up to my eye, a flock of birds slowly comes into focus through the small circle. As I adjust my eye to the settings, I see some small creatures puffing out their white stomachs. I know immediately it’s my funny little friends. I can’t see their orange beaks but this view is enough for me. As I search around, my eyes wander to the water. There are hundreds of heads bopping up and down. No, my eyes are not making the rocks move; there are hundreds of puffins in the water, swimming around looking for fish. I know I would like to see a puffin much closer, but I’m happy to see them in their natural habitat. Sophia returns from taking pictures of the purple Iris blooming in the field
Today’s goal is to find out more information about the recycling in Labrador. We drive to the town, traveling through the now familiar Labrador hills. When we reach the liquor store where the recycling is taken, the woman gives us a tour of the sorted bottles and explains her procedure. Trish had told me I was to help start a recycling program for the lower north shore because they have no means of recycling otherwise. She had not given me much other information expecting to be there to help me. Since she is still sick, I have to do all my own research on the different choices for recycling. The woman in Labrador helps me figure out that this is a government issue and now I should to talk to the department for recycling to figure out the best means of proceeding. Whether it be a separate recycling center for the Lower North Shore or making an agreement with the Newfoundland government to use the recycling center in Labrador, feedback from the people of Blanc Sablon will tell us whether having a way to recycle is a good idea.
As we walk in the door, the phone rings and Sophia rushes in to pick it up. Trish is on the other line. She is still in the hospital, and Sophia tells her about a turtle the DFO had spotted. Trish asks all sorts of questions that Sophia is unable to answer about the turtle. Trish gives us the name of a man to call in St. Paul’s River to take us out to the turtle. It’s 4 p.m. and he wants us to meet him at St. Paul’s River, an hour away, at 6 p.m. We rush to get everything we need, jump in the car and head out.
As we travel I realize we have gone from the sub-arctic rugged Labrador to trees in St. Paul’s River. I notice there are more and more lakes, surrounded by mossy hills. Many times we drive between steep hillsides. The cliffs are an orange, rusty red color, and every now and then you see graffiti. The roads curve and rise, following the shapes of the hills.
Finally we arrive in St. Paul’s River. A boardwalk surrounds the town. The sun is still high in the sky and shines bright on the houses. Trish’s husband loaned me waterproof pants to wear. I pull the suspenders over my shoulders, stepping into the huge yellow pants. Sophia and I decide I now fit the description of a fisherman, with big, waterproof yellow pants and overcoat.
The fisherman taking us out, Garland, arrives and helps us onto his little white boat. He talks to us and I discover he knows Annie Crane, Brooks QLF intern from last summer. She is known simply as “the American girl.”
I sit in the bow of the boat where the wind hits me at full speed. I love being out on the water, feeling the spray and wind against my face. We come to a small cove. As we exit the boat the smell hits us immediately. Something is rotting.
We climb over the beach of muscle shells and dried coral and arrive at the turtle. It is a leatherback, and after some inspection Sophia notices it has not yet been tagged, meaning there was no human awareness of this turtle. As exciting as it is to discover one that has not been accounted for, it is unfortunate that it has already passed away. The turtle is huge; I never thought that the slow moving creatures could be bigger than me. It is 62 inches long and 43 inches wide. The eyes have been picked at leaving two hollows. We also notice a huge dent on the skull and take notice as a suspected reason for its death. We leave the turtle on the island because it is illegal to have possession of any sea turtle dead or alive. It is too heavy to turn it over to try and figure out its sex, but we bring back the measurements and pictures for Trish to have as an account of the turtle.
The sun is setting and it reflects off the water. We travel close to the land of each of the islands to skip the rougher sea. The low sun shines on all the little cabins spread out through the archipelago. Garland takes us on a tour, explaining that this a great place to escape for the weekend. He also points out the ruins of old towns that once existed on the islands. He reminisces about his experiences as a little boy, describing in detail each nook and cranny of the old wharf. Bobbing around in the water, buoys mark the lobster and cod traps. Although there are limits and permits for fishing, the old time fisherman do not follow the rules very well.
As we get closer to each island, I see they are mostly moss-covered rock. The rocks seem to tumble down the hill and into the water. Some of the cabins have their own little wharves. Garland continues with the tour, finishing just as the sun disappears behind the last hills. Sophia and I climb into the car, tired yet excited, and head home, hungry for supper.
As I pull the scope up to my eye, a flock of birds slowly comes into focus through the small circle. As I adjust my eye to the settings, I see some small creatures puffing out their white stomachs. I know immediately it’s my funny little friends. I can’t see their orange beaks but this view is enough for me. As I search around, my eyes wander to the water. There are hundreds of heads bopping up and down. No, my eyes are not making the rocks move; there are hundreds of puffins in the water, swimming around looking for fish. I know I would like to see a puffin much closer, but I’m happy to see them in their natural habitat. Sophia returns from taking pictures of the purple Iris blooming in the field
Today’s goal is to find out more information about the recycling in Labrador. We drive to the town, traveling through the now familiar Labrador hills. When we reach the liquor store where the recycling is taken, the woman gives us a tour of the sorted bottles and explains her procedure. Trish had told me I was to help start a recycling program for the lower north shore because they have no means of recycling otherwise. She had not given me much other information expecting to be there to help me. Since she is still sick, I have to do all my own research on the different choices for recycling. The woman in Labrador helps me figure out that this is a government issue and now I should to talk to the department for recycling to figure out the best means of proceeding. Whether it be a separate recycling center for the Lower North Shore or making an agreement with the Newfoundland government to use the recycling center in Labrador, feedback from the people of Blanc Sablon will tell us whether having a way to recycle is a good idea.
As we walk in the door, the phone rings and Sophia rushes in to pick it up. Trish is on the other line. She is still in the hospital, and Sophia tells her about a turtle the DFO had spotted. Trish asks all sorts of questions that Sophia is unable to answer about the turtle. Trish gives us the name of a man to call in St. Paul’s River to take us out to the turtle. It’s 4 p.m. and he wants us to meet him at St. Paul’s River, an hour away, at 6 p.m. We rush to get everything we need, jump in the car and head out.
As we travel I realize we have gone from the sub-arctic rugged Labrador to trees in St. Paul’s River. I notice there are more and more lakes, surrounded by mossy hills. Many times we drive between steep hillsides. The cliffs are an orange, rusty red color, and every now and then you see graffiti. The roads curve and rise, following the shapes of the hills.
Finally we arrive in St. Paul’s River. A boardwalk surrounds the town. The sun is still high in the sky and shines bright on the houses. Trish’s husband loaned me waterproof pants to wear. I pull the suspenders over my shoulders, stepping into the huge yellow pants. Sophia and I decide I now fit the description of a fisherman, with big, waterproof yellow pants and overcoat.
The fisherman taking us out, Garland, arrives and helps us onto his little white boat. He talks to us and I discover he knows Annie Crane, Brooks QLF intern from last summer. She is known simply as “the American girl.”
I sit in the bow of the boat where the wind hits me at full speed. I love being out on the water, feeling the spray and wind against my face. We come to a small cove. As we exit the boat the smell hits us immediately. Something is rotting.
We climb over the beach of muscle shells and dried coral and arrive at the turtle. It is a leatherback, and after some inspection Sophia notices it has not yet been tagged, meaning there was no human awareness of this turtle. As exciting as it is to discover one that has not been accounted for, it is unfortunate that it has already passed away. The turtle is huge; I never thought that the slow moving creatures could be bigger than me. It is 62 inches long and 43 inches wide. The eyes have been picked at leaving two hollows. We also notice a huge dent on the skull and take notice as a suspected reason for its death. We leave the turtle on the island because it is illegal to have possession of any sea turtle dead or alive. It is too heavy to turn it over to try and figure out its sex, but we bring back the measurements and pictures for Trish to have as an account of the turtle.
The sun is setting and it reflects off the water. We travel close to the land of each of the islands to skip the rougher sea. The low sun shines on all the little cabins spread out through the archipelago. Garland takes us on a tour, explaining that this a great place to escape for the weekend. He also points out the ruins of old towns that once existed on the islands. He reminisces about his experiences as a little boy, describing in detail each nook and cranny of the old wharf. Bobbing around in the water, buoys mark the lobster and cod traps. Although there are limits and permits for fishing, the old time fisherman do not follow the rules very well.
As we get closer to each island, I see they are mostly moss-covered rock. The rocks seem to tumble down the hill and into the water. Some of the cabins have their own little wharves. Garland continues with the tour, finishing just as the sun disappears behind the last hills. Sophia and I climb into the car, tired yet excited, and head home, hungry for supper.
Monday, July 9 . . . Mapping the Turtle
After working on Sunday we have another easy day, walking across the street to the Department of Fisheries and Oceans to meet the employees working there. They have also been helping us out by being observers. They are happy to finally meet us and tell us about a turtle found dead on an island in the St. Paul’s River. They show us on a map where they found it. We go home and Sophia writes Trish an email to explain about the turtle. That day Rudolph has us over for dinner; he batters up fries and some scallops. I had never tried a scallop before, but promised Rudolph I would. As the little piece enters into my mouth I am pleased by the delicious taste.
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