The Whalers of Bequia

Friendship Bay had a pretty marked swell, so the night was spent being rocked on, blown at, and rained on. In the morning, however, things had changed. The wet season was spitting its last. The heat and sun were with us.

We went ashore and walked a mile or two over to the Bequia Whaling Museum.

The Bequia Whaling Museum seen from the water

From the late 1800s, whaling was an important part of Bequian life. The business was begun by a man called Wallace and one Joseph Olivierre. It followed the share basis system of whaling which Wallace had learned in Scotland, and the whale they sought was the humpback. These whales come south to breed. The whaling season on Bequia was and is February to April. The seasonal work reached its peak in the 1920s when 20% of the island’s men were involved, then declined when humpbacks became scarce.

The whaling museum is run by Harold Corea, nephew of Athneal Olivierre (“the greatest whaler”) who was Joseph Olivierre’s grandson. Athneal died in 2000 after spending 60 of his 77 years whaling.

Athneal, the greatest whaler, depicted on a whale's shoulder blade

Harold, in an amazing island singsong (it reminded both Dana and me of the accent of Kerry, Ireland), told us whaling tales, stood placidly to have his photo taken, explained the exhibits—including harpoons, whalebones, pieces of baleine, and a winch used to haul the whale ashore for flensing—and accepted a beer from us. “But not for now,”he said. “I’ll have it before bed tonight.”

Harold chatted with us as we quenched our thirst

Dana, Harold, Harold's neice Nakya (I think), KMH and WW.
Photo by Enn

The whalers have been granted the right, under the indigenous traditions provisions of the International Whaling Commission, to hunt two whales a year. The hunt is not always successful. Some years they kill only one, some years, none. They hunt from from two 27-foot whalers, each carrying six men: one harpoonist, five oarsmen, one steersman. Lookouts on Bequia and on the water alert these crews to the presence of whales...by cellphone. Motorboats are used to pull the craft part way to the whale, then the sails are raised (they once tried to motor to the whales, but ended up in a day-long futile whale chase as the animals were alarmed by and avoided the noise).

When close enough, the sails are dropped the oars are manned. The boats are steered with a massive single oar that looks to be about 20 feet long wielded by a single man. When a whale is harpooned, the oarsmen pitch in to help kill it using lances. Sadly, using these tradional methods means the death can be prolonged. Athneal once killed a whale instantly by striking the harpoon straight into the great beast’s heart. The whalers nearly lost the catch because the lines to bind it were slack since they hadn’t expected so quick a kill.

Once the animal dies, its mouth is sewn shut so it will not take on seawater and it is towed to a processing station. Harold told us the meat is shared out to be eaten, the blubber is reduced to oil for burning or for medical use. In this way, the hunt makes an important contribution to the local economy.

One of the massive steering oars is slung along one wall of the museum. Beside it hangs a plaque “Why Ask Return”. This puzzled us. Harold explained. Athneal had had a boat called Why Ask. She was ashore on nearby Ile a Quatre when a hurrican lifted her and broke her into three pieces. The keel, her starboard side and her port side. Athneal gathered the bits together and dragged them across to Bequia to restore her. As he made his slow progress with his boat bits, people kept saying, “Why bother?” He ignored them and, soon enough, he had her rebuilt and afloat. Instead of sticking with the old name, however, he decided to underscore his point and called her Why Ask Return. She was back. So there. The little plaque had been her name plate.

Harold, now in his 70s, tends the museum begun by his famous uncle. The $5 EC per person is a small price to pay for the pleasure of standing in the single room of whaling bits and pieces and hearing his tales.

Harold with some of the whaling museum's whaling paraphernalia

It was almost noon when we left. Someone muttered something about mad dogs and Englishmen. On the way, we walked down to visit one of the whale boats. A man was working on it, preparing to give it a new keel. She looked a small frail thing to take against a 55-foot whale. Her name is Rescue.

Rescue being prepared to receive a new keel (in foreground)