Wednesday, November 23, 2011
I seek him here I seek him there!!!
Saturday, November 19, 2011
in review
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
things
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
pleasantries.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Also...
Saturday, November 12, 2011
banishing the pita chips
Sara’s entirely bias Bowhead Profile:
- These giants live in the arctic, those scratches are from crashing into ice sheets to make blowholes.
- Bowheads live alone under the frozen expanse, solitary and peaceful for most of their adult life.
- They are notoriously skittish. A wave-slap against a boat’s prow a quarter-mile away is enough to send them trundling to the deep.
- Recent research indicates they may be some of the oldest creatures on the planet. Estimates surmise they are over 200 years old.
Possibly the oldest creatures – how cool! How mysterious! It explains rather a lot of their anti-human behaviour in my mind too.
After all, it wasn’t that long ago whaling was an exotic imperialist hobby and dastardly big business (though some would say it still is when there are stories like this in the world).
Leaving the politics to one side however, I found an article about a bowhead carcass found in 2001 which had old, ivory harpoon heads lodged in its skin.
[Totally pointless footnote, how do you post 48 frozen whale eyeballs? How big of a box is that and what do you put on the customs declaration? These are the things that keep me up at night.]
If the harpoon heads and eyeball dissection prove they are that old, it’s hard to imagine what all they have witnessed in 200 years. Reminds me of Darwin’s tortoise.
Now, in Saraland, a little imaginative history says a sow of 200 could easily have witnessed the harpooning of family members in Victorian expeditions. Quite likely she would have been chased herself at least a few times in the remaining centuries. Their trepidation regarding ships and humans in that context is more than understandable. I’d be pretty freakin’ skittish too.
Yes, it’s anthropomorphizing a bit, but I’m not totally crazy. I may love me some whales and invent little histories, but it’s not like I’ve named them [or have an uncontrollable urge to put a tiny sweater on them. ahem. crazy pet people. *shudder*]
It also feels like the seeds of a Disney movie: some Bambi-esque tale of survival and distrust.
Of course in modern-day ultra-PC Disney world, the orphaned baby bowhead would make friends with some Inuit child.
They’d probably have a swimming montage, and a reggae duet.
Fin-tacular high-fives aside, it does make me wonder. After a hundred years of being hunted, how long would it take you to trust humans in the water? It may be generations to us, but the world is a different place under the Arctic seas, where centuries stretch to the frozen horizon.