Carol’s Column

Reversing the fate of a southern right whale

You've probably heard the story of Jonah and the whale. The one in which hapless Jonah, for various convoluted reasons, is swallowed by a whale, taken a great distance while resident in the creature's innards and spat out at a convenient spot. Suitably chastened by his experience, he devotes his life to doing good deeds. A biblical miracle.

You've probably also read that it is presently whale watching time in the Cape. Virtually whichever coastline you visit these days, you're assured of seeing one of these immense mammals, usually a southern right whale, sometimes a humpback.

Annually, southern rights swim from the icy climate of the Antarctic to our more congenial South African waters. Here they mate, give birth and then, three or four months later, when their calves are strong enough, return to the Antarctic.

An ecological miracle, as not so long ago the mysterious southern right, like many of its colleagues, was virtually extinct.

For centuries, they were viciously hunted for their meat, skin, blubber and oil. The southern right was a most popular whale. Gentle by nature, its movement through the water was unhurried and it trustingly allowed fishermen to approach alongside.

From whence they harpooned and bludgeoned the creature to death. So, it was given its name, the “right” whale, the easy one to hunt.

On Saturday, just off Betty's Bay, an hour's drive from Cape Town, Barnie van Niekerk and his two lads, Bernie and Bruwer, were fishing from their rubber duck. A popular pastime on a lazy weekend morning, especially when the sea is calm and the weather good. As it was that day.

Kapenaars are delighted that these mystical whales find the Cape to their liking, and marine authorities have requested all sea craft to distance themselves by at least 300m so as not to disturb the whales.

This is strictly adhered to.

So there were Barnie, Bernie and Bruwer fishing quietly away, when suddenly the rubber duck twitched violently. To their horror, they realised a southern right, five times the size of their boat, had become entangled in their anchor rope and was jerking in an attempt to get free.

“We just hadn't seen her,” said Barnie. Before they could say “Moby Dick”, the whale turned and headed out to sea, picking up speed and pulling the rubber duck, Barnie, Bernie and Bruwer behind it. After whooshing through the water for almost a kilometre, Barnie cut the rope with his fishing knife and the threesome was free.

They sighed with relief - then looked at the gentle whale still trailing the anchor.

“We had to help the whale,” said Barnie. As it swam slowly away, they chased it in their small boat. Finally, 20 minutes later, they grabbed the rope flapping against its stomach and the three pulled with all their might. It seemed the whale realised they were trying to help it as it allowed them to manoeuvre the rope until it was clear.

Slowly, very slowly, the southern right swam out to sea, and Barnie, Bernie and Bruwer returned to shore. Said Barnie with modest understatement: “We were happy to have saved the whale - and I was happy to get my anchor back.”

More often than not, our news reflects tragedy, which is why I wanted to share with you this very moving small contemporary miracle.

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