October 31, 2004

Moonbow Warriors

It's 1950 hours. I'm doing my daily routine, making myself a big cup of tea to take with me on the bridge. My watch starts at 2000 hours. The Esperanza is moving a lot more than normal – rolling and pitching. When I come on the bridge there's a a weather fax from this afternoon. A very deep, big low pressure system is just off the south west coast of Ireland. It extends into the area that we're heading for. The wind is already picking up. This is going to be quite a difference to the last week, when we had relatively calm conditions.

When I come on watch it's already dark. Tonight it's a full moon. The other evenings we had a very calm sea, with a bright moon. The weather was really beautiful, especially when you think of the fact that we're out on the North Atlantic in October.

I saw some things for the first time in my life last week. One of them was a “moon bow”. The night was clear, the moon was bright and there were some showers in the distance. Just as Maite took off for her last round, I checked the radar and stared outside for a while, enjoying the silver path that the moon left in the water. I walked over to the other side of the bridge. On the horizon I see a strange kind of light. It's like a stripe, like the beginning of a rainbow. I could see showers on the horizon as well. I turned away for a minute and when I looked again, the stripe began to get the shape of a rainbow. It was amazing. As I kept looking, a rainbow in the middle of the night appeared. It was not colored as the ones during the day, but it was silverish white. I phoned the lounge to see if there were still some people up, so they could see it as well. Anne, the next watch keeper, was the only one there. She came on the bridge and caught the last minute of the moon bow.

As the captain took over the next watch, I told him what we saw. It's quite rare. He saw a couple more during his watch, I found out the next morning. I haven't seen any in the following nights.

As I said before, tonight the moon is full. It makes a big difference. The wind is force eight now and the ocean is getting rough. But because the moon shines through the clouds, it's not so dark outside. It makes the night beautiful, instead of dark and stormy.

- Maaike, 3rd Mate

October 30, 2004

Rock'n'Roll Lifestyle

(C) Greenpeace

Last week, I got an email from a friend in Dublin, telling me that 'the worst storm since 1986' was due to hit Ireland. I mentioned it to one person, and in minutes, I had other crew members coming in to tell me, 'hey y'know the weather's gonna really bad in Ireland!'. Bad news travels fast. At the time, we were hundreds of miles northwest of Ireland, so people back on shore were supposing that we would miss the storm. Not likely, as the weather had been deteriorating all day - to the point where we were forced forgoe performing another action on a bottom trawler. The weather charts were showing a angry looking low pressure touching the south coasts of Britain and Ireland, with lines so close together it was referred to as 'The Volcano'. Lovely.

That night - the waves are huge, and glowing in the bright moonlight.
Standing in one place means doing a workout, hanging on to anything
that's solid. It's beautiful to watch though, the massive waves crashing
across the bows, like a photographic negative. Occasionally, one would
lash against the bridge windows, 11m up from the waterline. There's a 50
knot wind (92.5km/h) blowing, and there's a banshee wind howling around
the mast and antennae.

On Thursday morning, we all stumble into the mess, bleary eyed. Dave R
is asking everyone 'good sleep then?' None of us have had a good night,
rolling from the port to starboard sides of bunks, and back again,
listening to the waves hitting the portholes. The best solution is to
wedge ourselves in, using blankets and pillows. Today, the weather
hasn't improved much - the big waves just keep coming. It's impossible
to spend any time at a computer, and too dangerous for outside deck
work. Some of us end up on the bridge, slowly getting mesmerised by the
apparently infinite patterns of huge waves (here comes another one!) and
watching the Espy's bow crashing through the water, throwing up massive
clouds of spray.

- Dave

October 28, 2004

Life at sea

The lonely stacs of St Kilda (C) Greenpeace/Walsh

You know something, when it starts it is kind of fun, everything creaks, teaspoons in cups swing around, and you hear distant crashing of plates, faraway disasters. It is the single weirdest thing about living here, and the one it takes me longest to get rid of when I get off. Then it is not fun anymore. Having to hold your plate of food lest it fly across the room. And around these seas it will stay like this for a while. Heavy wide rolling, my chair slides back, then forward, and I almost fall. Then a voice comes off the PA system in the lounge: changing course, get ready for rolling. What?

Looking out the waves are so blue, wrinkling up a few metres, and bits of salty foam from the tops get blown away in a spray by the wind. It is very beautiful to see. The sight of the stormy Atlantic, the effects on our minute-to-minute lives make you feel really tiny. Looking out I can also see cloud formations, and we pass through a couple of minutes of hail. Its ice, man, says Erkut, who has seen it before in Turkey. I don't believe him, I would rather think it is big grains of salt falling from the sky. But it is ice, a very exotic event, and it hurts if it falls on you.

The other night, two hours of radio watch. I have this little radio my father gave to me before I left, and sometimes as we approach land I turn it on. If we are far it's static, then it only gets Radio 4, as we get near civilisation the dial fills up. Now I am looking for radio communication between bottom trawlers, scanning the air, in a room full of radios, red LEDs everywhere, computer radios, HF radios, VHF radios, direction finders, oscilloscopes. There was nothing. No humans anywhere around apart from us.

Really tiny, and the sea so big. How would it look like if it was completely transparent, and we could look down all the way to the bottom? If we could see the valleys we are sailing over? But we cant see, and it might as well not exist. It might as well be just us, and nothing else.

- Mir

Using Napalm to Hunt Rabbits

Activists get hauled in with the bottom trawl catch

(C) Greenpeace

[RANT ENCLOSED!]

For the last few days, we've been reporting on the physical actions that the crew of the Esperanza have been carrying out against bottom trawlers on the highs seas. Now the weather is deteriorating, and it's too rough to be out in our inflatables. It's time to examine what's been happening on land...

On Tuesday, Sebastian, in the Greenpeace Spain office, had a 25-minute interview on Cope – a Galician radio station. The other guest was the shipowner of the Playa de Menduiña., from a company called Moradiña SA, from Pontevedra in Galicia.

Sebastian explained the our campaign, Greenpeace's demands, and why it was necessary to stop bottom trawling. The shipowner, for his part, said that he did not understand why we were 'attacking the Galician fleet', and their right to fish, and why were 'playing with the food of fishermen'. This last point is an interesting one, in may ways. The commercial fishing community is diverse and varied – from small artisan operations, to huge industrial factory ships. There's plenty of small scale fishermen who do little impact, but there's also big business, for whom profit is king, and whose main focus is collecting as much fish as possible, as quickly as possible. It's sad that they don't realise the damage they're doing to the future of our oceans, and the future of fishing.

Out here on the high seas, bottom trawling is not a romantic practice, carried out by artisan fishermen. It's a romantic notion that has no bearing on reality. It's like when whaling was accepted practice – with some help from books like Moby Dick, there was a prevalent notion that all whales were ferocious creatures, bent on the destruction of puny, heroic whalers, out battling the elements and the highs seas. In reality, modern whaling ships are huge floating abattoirs, engaged in systematically wiping out every whale in sight.

Likewise with bottom trawlers – these boats tend to be owned by fishing companies, interested only in turning a fast profit. This is industry - pillaging of the deep sea ecosystem, a bit like using napalm to hunt rabbits.

Which brings us back to Sebastian's radio interview. The shipowner made some pretty outlandish statements about the effects of bottom trawling. He said that 'trawling was necessary' for the environment – and that bottom trawling has caused an increase in fish in the Hatton Bank area, and that in places where bottom trawling had been abandoned, there had been a decrease in fish stocks.

It seems that the shipowner can't tell his chickens from his eggs – surely bottom trawling had been abandoned due to a decrease in fish stocks, and not the other way round? And as for bottom trawling increasing the amount of fish... it's hard to see the mathematics there. A trawler removes several tonnes of fish from the ocean - and suddenly there's more fish in the sea? Maybe deep sea creatures are flirting with each other, 'hey baby, we're being fished to oblivion, let's reproduce like crazy!'

Anyway – our actions on the high seas have made the media big time in Spain, with lots of TV, Radio and newspaper coverage. The Spanish Institute of Oceanography – predictably supporting the fishing industry, have said that the high seas fisheries are well managed, that bottom trawling is perfectly legal, and that Greenpeace's claims are unscientific.

Well they're right that bottom trawling is legal – the problem is that it is still legal – and that's why we're calling for a UN moratorium – a temporary ban – to allow time to further assess the damage being done. As for our claims being 'unscientific' – it's worth visiting the website of the Marine Conservation Biology Institute, where more than 1100 scientists have signed a petition calling for a moratorium on bottom trawling. There's more good science supporting this moratorium than there was on the banning of drift netting. And the use of drift nets is now banned.

- Dave

What has the UN got to do with squid?

As we have been bobbing around in the North Atlantic over the last few weeks, a critical meeting has been going on in New York that could determine the fate of deep sea life on the high seas. The United Nations General Assembly meets once a year, and as it involves all the governments of the world it is quite a long meeting! It started in September and finishes on the 16 November. They discuss many different issues, including oceans and fisheries issues, and they pass resolutions or make agreements on what they are going to do about these issues.

This year, the hot topic at the UN has been bottom trawling on the high seas. This has been thanks to the coordinated effort of a global coalition of environmental groups, including Greenpeace's lobby team in New York, in countries around the world and due to our activities out here to highlight the destruction of bottom trawling.

The UN is the only body that can do something about the destructive practice of bottom trawling on the high seas - the parts of the world's oceans outside of countries' jurisdiction. The marine life and fragile ecosystems of the deep sea, which are home to millions of species including corals, crustaceans, fish and squid, are part of the global commons - they belong to everyone.

But there are a handful of countries taking a small amount of fish for a small wealthy market, that are devastating these areas by bottom trawling, now the single biggest threat to deep sea life.

The only effective short term measure to protect these amazing ecosystems, and to ensure we don't lose more species before scientists have even had a chance to study or name them, is a moratorium.

A moratorium on high seas bottom trawling would allow time to study the deep sea then to put in place legal agreements to protect these areas and to sustainably manage the fisheries.

So, as you can see, the UN has everything to do with squid!

These few weeks leading up to the 4th of November are a critical time at the UN. The delegates have been in negotiations about the oceans and fisheries resolutions, which include what to do about bottom trawling, and they must agree by November 4th.

Unfortunately the EU, as well as doing the most bottom trawling on the high seas, has also been blocking moves to protect the deep sea.

This has been at the same time as we have been documenting the destruction of incredible deep sea life by EU bottom trawl fleets in the North Atlantic.

So the information, images and footage that we collect here has been sent straight to our team at the UN, where it has been distributed to delegates and used in meetings to show our world leaders the enormous problem that is going on as they talk and to push them to do the right thing.

- Vanessa, campaigner

October 27, 2004

That'll show em!

Lovin' that bycatch!

(c) Greenpeace/Davison

Following Francois' daring adventures of yesterday, our actions against bottom trawling have been all over the Spanish media - one headline has the fishing industry bosses saying that 'Greenpeace's claims are unscientific'. Hey guys, try explaining that to the 1100 scientists from all over the world that have been calling for a stop to bottom trawling.

So today, it's around 2:30pm, and I'm in an inflatable again. We're still on the Hatton Bank in the North East Atlantic, and we're alongside the EU bottom trawler Playa de Menduiña, which is paying out its net for a another mammoth sweep of the ocean floor. The weather is again surprisingly calm.

Two weird impish figures are running around the area of the trawler above the stern ramp. Dressed in black wetsuits, day-glo vests over life jackets, and hard hats, they look spectacularly odd. It's Erkut and Francois - they've topped yesterday's performance with something even more daring.

We had been waiting, watching the trawler for a couple of hours, expecting a haul. We had big plans...

As the trawler hauls in its big net of fish, the two activists leap from an inflatable, onto the net. Holding up 'EU DEEP SEA DESTROYER' mini-banners, they manage to stay on the net as it's dragged up the ramp of the trawler. As soon as the net hits metal, they're away, and onto the deck of the trawler, up onto the aft superstructure, where again they flash the banners. Below them, the trawler crew are busy with the net, and can't follow our boys. On the boat - the one with the cameras - we're giving them ecstatic thumbs ups for their brazen audacity.

But they're not satisfied - we can see them fidgeting around with banners and string. What are they doing? Suddenly, a flag shoots up the aft mast of the trawler, and flutters proudly in the wind. It's got a red circle with a line through it (like a 'no parking' or 'banned' sign), and reads 'EU Deep Sea Bottom Trawling'. Brilliant! Here we are in the middle of nowhere in the Atlantic, beside a bottom trawler flying an anti-bottom trawling flag.

Erkut and Francois dash up the mast, and stand beside the flag, displaying their handheld banners. The trawler is moving fast now, preparing to set the net, which is in the water. Two steel cables are being paid out from the stern, so it's pretty dangerous back there. The trawler's crew is not threatening them, so Dave R waves them to hold on until its safe. Then, in a sort of 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid' moment, they hold hands and drop 3 or 4 metres off the port side into the sea, bobbing around in the trawler's wake.

Teppo and Mir haul the boys on board the Grey Whale, but not before Erkut has posed in the water, kissing the thick lips of a large discarded fish head. Lovely.

With Erkut and Francois back on board, filled with coffee and wrapped in thermals, the next plan rolls into action. This time Ollie drives the Grey Whale right up to the taut cables that pull the net. Erkut and Francois snap on hooks to each cable, while Teppo tosses a sea anchor over the side - the hooks are joined by one of our cables, which is attached to the sea anchor - which pulls the whole rig below the surface, down into the deep sea. We've got a banner alongside: 'Net Blocked By Greenpeace'.

That'll show em!

- Dave

October 26, 2004

Don't Try This At Home

Francois jumps on the net to stop the bottom trawling

(C) Greenpeace

We had talked to the fishermen, explained our case. But today, as we watched two trawlers pillaging the deep sea ecosystem, we decided to try new tactics. One of our seasoned deck crew, Francois, volunteered to take on the mission- not something that should be tried at home (at least not without your own trawler and a net packed with sea creatures.). So, I'll leave Francois to tell the story...

- Dave

"Hey Francois, what would you think of jumping on a fishing net, full of fish, and deploying a banner there?"

That´s pretty much the way it started. Plans changed, we cancelled what had been previously organized, and worked all morning long, to get the ‘surfing net´ operation.

After lunch, I got dressed in a wetsuit, and went into the boat with Oli, Teppo and Erkut to wait for the next haul of the bottom trawler we´ve been following.

Yesterday, we had hooked a banner on to their net, but it was quite big, packed with creatures from the deep, and hard to hook into. This time, when the net came to the surface, the haul is smaller. I jump onto the net, but can tell that that the net is not as stable as I expected, and not floating very well either.

Anyway, the carabineer to hold the triangular banner is clipped on, and the banner is inflating - so far so good. But the message is far better readable flying than swimming! As the fish and I come closer to the stern ramp of the trawler, its wash is becoming stronger and makes us dive sometimes. I have to let go once, but grab the end of the net. I´m being dragged and desperately trying to help out the 'Deep Sea Destroyer' banner that has become very soaked and twisted.

Well, time to go, there's no way to be hauled on board on the trawler safely. My fellow activists pick me up and we rush towards the trawler again to hook another banner on the trawl doors, which are hanging from the stern. This one is more successful!

And what's more, the wetsuit kept me warm, and the team managed to achieve the final plan of the day.

- Francois

October 25, 2004

Fish Guts and Spider Crabs

(C) Greenpeace

Remember last Sunday afternoon, how I spent it on the deck of a bottom trawler? Well, this Sunday was different. I spent my time peering into a dirty smelly hole in the side of a bottom trawler, getting splattered with fish guts. Thousands of disembodied deep sea fish heads tumbled in into the water, their eyes bulging disdainfully, swim bladders poking out through thick lips. Such is the glamorous life of a Greenpeace activist.

With me in the African Queen inflatable were Maaike - on the wheel, Maite, Alain and Dave R. We had a bit of a system on the go - Maaike kept the boat tight alongside the trawler, at an angle, so that we could reach out and cherry-pick intact bycatch from the chute - bycatch being the animals that the fisherman throw back, as useless. We're collecting it as damning evidence of the shocking destruction and wastage caused by bottom trawling.

Dave R and I were manning the landing net for a good chunk of the afternoon, using it to land everything from sharks and squid to prawns and starfish. Alain was doing daredevil reaches into the chute, grabbing sharks and lifting them into the boat. Maite was proving an expert at the 'details' - spotting small creatures sliding down, and delaying their disappearance with an oar, while we got the net in place - and handling fragile creatures discarded by the fishermen

We were alongside the Playa de Mendui&ntilda;a, an EU bottom trawler that was again dragging its nets across the North Atlantic's Hatton Bank. We had been shadowing the trawler for 24 hours now, after speaking to the skipper - who refused to cease his destructive fishing practices. We had gone on to document the hauling of a net full of deep sea fish, and attaching a banner to the hull. It read:

'E.U. DEEP SEA DESTROYER'

Says it all...

As darkness fell, the Esperanza began trailing the trawler 100 miles north to another fishing ground. At 5:30am the nets were cast again, ready for another rampage across the 1000m deep seamount slopes. As the nets stay down for at least four of five hours we had a bit of waiting to do.

By the time our boat went onto bycatch detail, it had already been a long day. We usually get a 'sleep-in' on a Sunday. Instead, people were stumbling around bleary-eyed at 7:30am, already wrapped up in unflattering thermal longjohns. Paul (usually our science bloke) and June (assistant cook) had laid on a massive fried breakfast - as much REAL chips and scrambled eggs as anyone could possibly stomach at such an ungodly hour.

By 9:00am we're wrapped up in survival suits, speeding towards the trawler in the African Queen. The camera team are also on board, with us, while Ollie, Odin, Alain and Francois are in the Grey Whale.

The Atlantic has been kind recently - after nasty weather dogging us on our first week, Saturday brought blue skies and seas favourable for inflatable use. Well, almost blue skies - while our guys were out with the trawler yesterday, a rainbow appeared right above (before a brief shower of rain hit). And today was the same - cold in the morning, but with bright sunshine. (And Maaike saw a moonbow last night –like rainbow, but at night, and caused by the moon – shades of grey rather than colours).

When I say favourable seas, I don't mean flat calm – we’re still rolling around, and getting the old splash over water into the boat.

The wait begins, tucked in behind the trawler. If the trawl lasts six hours, then we expect the haul to come up at 11:30am. We make ourselves comfortable - as much as one can in an inflatable getting tossed around in the North Atlantic. A few seasoned veterans even manage to catnap. People chat, watch the trawler, discuss camera angles, scenarios, the bird life, the weather, psychology, breakfast, what we're doing in December, our childhoods, fish, bladder control, you name it, we talk about it. We drink coffee, eat chocolate.

Finally - around lunchtime, the trawler's stern pulleys start groaning as the cables start running through. It's another half hour before the trawl doors appear and the net is taken on board. We're filming, photographing everything. On board the trawler, the fishermen empty the net, and turn the ship, for another drag along the same seamount area.

Clouds of fulmars have appeared by now - I quite like these birds. They're attractive, and have a slightly insecure way of flying, like they just don't quite believe that they can stay airborne. There are loads of them, and they're hungry.

The grey whale is alongside the trawler, with Francois hanging off the side, net in hand. We're standing by, watching for anything they miss to float by.

Bingo! The Grey Whale Team manage to land a huge bright red spider crab, fully intact - this incredible creature (which has to be seen to be believe) has been slung down a bycatch shoot, and is still moving... just a little.

The camera guys are on the Grey Whale now, making the dying crab a star. We move into position and start collecting bycatch. Which is where we came in.. There's such a torrent of dead stuff pouring out of the chute, that sometimes, while trying to get one fish, we get a dozen huge fish heads, and it take three of us to wrestle the net back to the boat. We get totally fixated on this hole in the side of a trawler. What will come next?

I shoot the net forward and land a mangled starfish. 'You should be playing cricket for England' says Dave R. I'm too busy wrestling the net to answer, but why would I want to play a game (for Ireland), standing around in a field, wearing a white sweater, drinking lime cordials and waiting for an airborne ball, when I can be here on the high seas, netting mangled deep sea creatures? There's no comparison!

Sometime around 5:00pm, we call it a day. Maaike pulls the African Queen away from the trawler, and we head for the Esperanza. I fall back, and sit on the floor of the boat, dazed.

Our catch for the day - animals discarded by the bottom trawler: More than forty sharks. Loads of starfish, sea urchins, hermit crabs and hydroids. Crab and goose barnacles, annelid worms, whelks, and young roundnose grenadiers. Two squid (processed), skate, and a cushion stars. And, of course, our incredible spider crab.

- Dave

October 23, 2004

We found us a bottom trawler!

(C) Greenpeace

We could smell it in the air... we were in the fishing zone once more.

All day we were tormented by promising echoes on the radar screen, only to be let down each time by gill-netters or refrigerated cargo carriers.

As the day wore on, we were greeted with another smudge on the radar screen. This time we were not to be disappointed. On the horizon, the smudge materialised into a trawler. Excitement on the bridge reached new levels. And then, yes! It was a real live bottom trawler - a Spanish one called the Playa de Mendui&ntilda;a.

Jon, our captain, called the Playa de Mendui&ntilda;aÂ’s skipper on the radio and he agreed to let us come onboard his trawler.

Soon, were into the inflatables and bouncing across the choppy Atlantic waves towards the bottom trawler. As one team went up the pilot ladder to have a chat with the captain, I waited below in the inflatable.

The fishermen were already hauling their nets, and as we had been told that they would be immediately heading 100 miles north for for their next trawl, we had a limited amount of time to do our work. Those of us in the inflatable below grew tense as the minutes passed, the trawler continued to haul and our team still remained onboard the fishing vessel.

On board the trawler, our guys talked to the captain about our campaign and asked him to stop bottom trawling in the area. They explained that it was extremely damaging to the deep sea ecosystem and that the UN was considering a moratorium on bottom trawling on the high seas. After a lot of too-ing and fro-ing between Greenpeace activists and the fishermen, they refused to stop bottom trawling. The team descended the pilot ladder back into the inflatable.

But while the crew and captain of the bottom trawler were distracted by their haul, they failed to notice our other inflatable. The trawler was already steaming at 9 knots as the banner team repeatedly tried to put an "EU deep sea destroyer" banner onto the hull.

Bouncing around in the inflatable on the huge swell and slamming up against a steaming trawler, it was a tense 15 minutes for the banner team. Finally, after numerous attempts they got the banner up!

Night has now enveloped the Esperanza, and we are in hot pursuit of the Playa de Mendui&ntilda;a to their new fishing grounds.

This morning we got a message from the land team that we had a few days to really influence the negotiations at the UN, where the general assembly is discussing moves to protect deep sea life..

So it has been fantastic timing to find this EU bottom trawler today, especially as we had freakishly good weather – sunshine and calm seas, in the North Atlantic, in winter!

It's been frustrating to hear that the EU has been blocking measures to protect deep sea life at the UN, while we've been out here documenting EU fleets destroying the fragile and vulnerable life of the deep sea.

We all hope that what we have done out here today helps to push delegates at the UN to do the right thing and support a moratorium.

- Ness

Rockall, Land of Waves

(C) Greenpeace

A good 450km west of Scotland lies a tiny yet controversial bit of land. For a place just 25 meters across and 20 meters high, Rockall has generated a hell of a lot of newspaper column space. Britain, Denmark, Iceland and Ireland have all laid claim to Rockall and the surrounding seas - intent on exploitation of the ocean and any oilfields that lie below it. This potential for industrial development has been opposed by Greenpeace, for the good of the environment around Rockall, but also because of the ongoing dependency on fossil fuels and the threats laid down by ongoing climate change.

On June 15th, 1997, three Greenpeace activists - Peter, Meike and Al - attempted to make a home for themselves, on a tiny ledge, 4 by 2.5 metres in size. Their house was just small solar capsule, with two blue and white deckchairs set outside, for comfort.

They raised a flag, and a new country was formed - a new global state called Waveland. From around the world, citizenship applications flooded in, and before long, 15,000 passports had been issued to people who saw the importance of protection rather than exploitation of nature. The pledge for citizenship read:

"Without violence and by bearing witness, to defend nature, to protect the global commons, to reform industrialism, and to secure peace, believing in action, rather than words."

This was all more seven years ago.

Today, we headed west towards the Hatton Bank, in search of more bottom trawlers - and once again, defending the global commons.

A weird dark lump appeared on the murky horizon.

Rockall! Capital of Waveland...

It really is quite a bizarre sight - hundreds of kilometres of nothing but sea in every direction - just a big rock, sticking out of the sea, with a vicious swell breaking around it. A few gannets and fulmars wheel around the sky nearby.

'It's a wannabe seamount', said Dima, as we sailed past. We're out here calling for the protection of the deep sea life living on underwater mountain ranges - and Rockall - rising from a plateau not much more than 100m below the surface, which itself is more than 1500m high, is the tip of the iceberg.

Earlier in the day, nearly half the crew become photographic assistants, as Kate and Gavin organised our specialised underwater camera - this was a test run, in which we lowered the camera on a rather complicated winch system, a whopping 200m below the ocean surface. When the rig is 1m from the bottom, a trigger fires both the camera and flash. Then we haul up the rig a few metres, and drop it again. Keep an eye on the Image Gallery for our findings...

- Dave

Read more about Waveland »

October 22, 2004

The Owls Are Not What They Seem

(C) Greenpeace

As the photographer on board, it is more often that I am chasing down other members of the crew for their weblog portraits, rather than writing a blog myself. Today though, I had a rather special encounter and one that was unique to me, so here goes...

We sailed past St Kilda today on our way out of UK waters. Mostly I think because our captain is a big fan of the islands and, having now seen them, I quite agree. Although the morning was cold and grey and very wet, the landscape of these remote Scottish islands is so dramatic and spectacular that almost all the crew were on deck taking in the scenery. Dolphins came to the bow of the ship and escorted us towards the first of the great towering black rocks jutting out of the sea. With the low cloud forming like a mist around them, they were full of foreboding and reminiscent of all one's imaginings about ancient seafaring legends. This is indeed an ancient place: wild and mysterious and whilst I was busying myself with the business of taking lots of photographs, at the same time, I was feeling quite subdued and reflective.

That is when I saw the owl; perched on one of the inflatable boats that sits atop the helihanger. I wasn't sure at first what it was and so I stepped out into the rain to get a better look. As soon as I realised that this was no sea bird, nor even any bird of prey that I have ever encountered, I quickly took a few snaps. No one would believe me, I thought - that there was an owl on board - without photographic evidence. I looked around to see if any one else had seen it and there was nobody about. I desperately wanted to attract someone's attention if only to ask them to fetch Mariajo, the Spanish campaigner. She is nuts about birds generally, and also she works in an owl hospital in Spain. I knew that she would be stoked to see such an unexpected bird on board the ship. I also reckoned that this was a rare and unusual thing, this bird on our ship in the middle of the day, and that if I left, it would be gone by the time I could get back.

So I stayed and watched him. Me as still as I could be and him looking around and then looking at me with his large, bright eyes; both of us getting wetter and wetter in the rain. He didn't seem perturbed at all and occasionally shook the water out of his feathers in much the same way that a dog does. He was magnificent. I inched forwards, the photographer in me wanting a better shot. Predictably, I advanced beyond where he was comfortable with my presence, and with a graceful lift of his unfeasibly long wings, he took off.

So that was my day in those moments. Sometimes a thing can happen when our spirits are low, that lift us so that we forget ourselves and what was troubling us a few moments before.

Salut.

- Kate

Shore Leave in Scotland

Sunrise over the Scottish coast, near Lochinver (C) Greenpeace/Dave Walsh

On Wednesday morning, we sailed into the small fishing port of Lochinver, on the west coast of Scotland. Before dawn, the Esperanza had come round the Butt of Lewis at the north end of the Hebrides. Only the watchkeepers were awake at that point. As the bleary-eyed attempted breakfast, and the mainland loomed large, the sun was rising behind spectacularly jagged mountains. It was a stunning beginning to the day - especially for Paul, who was sitting up in the bridge, already enjoying his birthday.

Out on deck, it was eye-wateringly cold, but that didn't slow down the campaign team - as the ship edged into GSM range, most of them were out on deck, blowing plumes of vapour into mobile phones.

After we had docked (dwarfing every other ship in port) I sat down at the computer to type something - and found myself getting dizzy. After dealing with gales for a week, the sensation of stillness left me disorientated. I gave up, and went out for fresh air.

Out on deck, the deck crew got the gangway down, and a human chain formed to transfer food supplies from the quay to the galley. There was a lot of people watching the quay - fisherman, from both Lochinver and the three French trawlers tied up alongside, as well as people who were just curious to see a Greenpeace ship arriving in port. People out for walks with their dogs, small children having their photo taken in front of the ship...

A few of us set off to along the quayside, on an expedition to into the village of Lochinver, which is surrounded by spectacular scenery. Quite a novelty for crewmembers new to Scotland. I kept catching myself trying to translate all the Gaelic on buildings on road signs - my own Irish Gaelic isn't too hot, but I can grasp the basics of the Scottish version. Straightforward really - the Royal Bank of Scotland has a 'Banca Rioghail' sign on it.

As we walked along beside the bay, a strange lump - a rock or something -was protruding from the water. Then it moved... every so slowly. A quick look through a binoculars confirmed it. It was a seal, lying off on its back, with just its nose out of the water. His (or her) name, apparently, is 'George', and he's lived in Lochinver for 15 years, and is the bane of mackerel fishermen. Another seal was also stirring up the water nearby. I also heard mention that 'the' seal was called Harry - so maybe there's George AND Harry. Later, I was on the deck of the Esperanza, talking on the phone. I glanced down, and saw a whiskered snout and two dark eyes watching from the water...

But back to the afternoon. The gang of shoreleavers found the post office, and sent cards home... then a shop (to stock up on chocolate) and then a cafe, where some of the more carnivorously inclined dared to try the 'haggis, neeps and tatties'.

Dima, meanwhile, was doing some detective work - and found out where some old bottom trawl nets were dumped. Rummaging through them, he found several coral fragments - yet more evidence (as any was needed) that bottom trawling trashes the ocean floor. Apparently, one big 'tree' of coral had been broken up, and given to a pet shop for use in... aquariums.

After dark, we cast off and headed west again. Before long, we could see the lights of Stornaway, on Lewis, twinkling off to port.

- Dave

A Visit to St Kilda

The island of Boreray,with Stac Lee to the left, St. Kilda, Scotland (C) Greenpeace/Dave Walsh

'Whatever he studies, the future observer of St Kilda will be haunted the rest of his life by the place, and tantalised by the impossibility of describing it, to those who have not seen it.' - James Fisher, naturalist, written in 1947

It's mid-morning, and the Esperanza is more than 60km west of the Outer Hebrides, travelling through relatively slackish water, and a heavy drizzle of rain. Many crew are out on deck - there's a pod of common dolphins swimming lazily beside us, performing the occasional acrobatic manoeuvre. The photographers are out in force, shutter-fingers trying to match the dolphins' turn of speed.

Up ahead, a dark mass looms through the mist As it gains definition, we can see dramatic rock faces and stacks, shrouded in cloud. Spooky. It's Boreray and Stac an Armin, steep masses of eroded volcanic rock rising high above the ocean. We sail past Stac an Armin and Stac Lee - another sinister looking monolith. The dolphins are still with us, as are several gannets -weird, skinny white birds with yellow beaks and black wingtips.

We're passing the northernmost islands in the St Kilda group - a natural UNESCO World Heritage Site, like the Great Barrier Reef, the Grand Canyon and Antarctica. The two stacs are the highest sea stack in Britain - Stac an Armin is 191m high.

We break into open water again, and another landmass appears through the murk. It's the island of Hirta - the largest in the Kilda group. There was never, apparently, a Saint Kilda - the name is thought to be a confusion of the old Norse for 'well'... but there's lots of possibilities. No matter, because the known facts about Kilda are incredible enough. The massive cliffs, overhangs and caves are home to a whopping 37 per cent of the world gannet population.

There are more than 50,000 gannet nests here, more than 60,000 fulmar nests and in excess of 230,000 puffin burrows. And this is on a handful of craggy islands, the largest of which is only a few kilometres across. The islands have their own subspecies of wren - the St Kilda wren, bigger than the mainland species. The great auk - a now extinct flightless bird, used to be seen here up until the 19th century - but the last one was killed, as it was suspected by the islanders to be a witch. The very last one was killed in Iceland in 1844.

There's hundreds of Soay sheep here - a weirdly primitive species, a strange generational throwback, similar to sheep kept by Bronze Age farmers.

There's even a species of long-tailed field-mouse, which is a subspecies of the mainland fieldmouse, and there used to be a St Kilda house mouse too, but it died out after the islanders left in 1930.

The St Kilda Islanders were a hardy bunch, who lived mainly on the flesh of gannets and other seabirds, including puffins, which were a kind of snack food like crisps (potato chips). Famed for their climbing prowess, St Kilda men used horsehair ropes to climb the daunting cliffs, where the collected gannets and eggs. Even their feet developed to aid their climbing - their ankles had uncommon strength and their toe became prehensile. Before marriage, young St Kilda men had to climb to a place called the Mistress Stone, high above the sea, where had to balance one heel while holding his other foot in his hands. This was to prove that he could provide for a family!

In the past, Greenpeace has been active around St Kilda - the ecosystem here was under threat from oil exploration in the Atlantic Frontier area, and we appealed to the UN for sensible action...

Today we sail past, drinking in the dark beauty the caves, arches and rocky stacks. We can see the remains of the deserted village, and the road up to the army radar post on the top of Mullach Mór. As well as the gannets, we had several odd land birds join us - including one bird that may have been the Kilda Wren.

But weirdest of all was Kate's encounter. Out on the bridge deck, she spotted a bird perched on a Greenpeace inflatable. Camera poised, she edged closer... to find a rather petulant looking owl staring at her. She's writing a blog about it - so I'll let her tell the story.

After that, our cruise to these weird islands is over. We shake the rain from our hair, and head below for some lunch. The Esperanza rounds the islands of Dun, Hirta, and Soay, and then sets a course west, while the damp, low-slung sky throws a blanket over St Kilda and its secrets.

- Dave

October 21, 2004

All Quiet

Falcon on the foremast of the Esperanza(C) Greenpeace/Kate Davison

After all the bottom trawler excitement of Sunday, things have quietened down. Even the lashing of the waves has eased a little - the wind has dropped, and instead of the 'white horses' dancing on top of big waves, the Esperanza has to climb over a big lumbering swell, making the ship roll from side-to-side. In my bunk at night, I can hear objects lazily sliding from port to starboard and back again, inside drawers and lockers.

We're further north than before, and it's become much colder. Yesterday morning, Maikke saw what looked like a waterspout - a vertical column of spray, thrown up from the sea by a whirling wind. Later, it snowed for a while, big mushy wet flakes from a grey sky, clogging the wipers on the bridge windows. And in the afternoon, a handful of us were lucky enough to spot a small pod of pilot whales breaching off the bow. Ollie put the word out around the ship, causing a clamour of crew on the bow. Unfortunately, the whales vanished, and didn't reappear.

Today we had another sighting - this time a single sperm whale. It appeared in front of the ship, and blew a spume of water before diving down deep -they can stay down for up to 45 mins on a single breath.

We've had a few other curious creatures turning up out here, in the middle of the ocean, 400 miles from land - some small land birds, one was apparently a redwing, and another, with a weird cocked-up little hairstyle, has so far remained anonymous. We've even had a small brown bird of prey -a falcon, hanging out on the foremast.

- Dave

Thinking About Plankton

Continuous Plankton recorder being lowered into the sea from the Esperanza(C) Greenpeace/Dave Walsh

I woke up thinking about plankton today, largely on account of having promised Dave W (our web guru) some info on the Continuous Plankton Recorder (CPR) which we brought on board in Falmouth. He seems, truth to tell, a little obsessed with it all... Delay and excuses were no longer good enough, so to keep him quiet here goes!

First we'll deal with the rumours put about the ship by some scurrilous person who shall remain nameless. They should note that the CPR is not a device for recording noises made by small plants and animals that make up the plankton, as they drift on the ocean surface. It is, however, no less remarkable for that - so here is a little explanation of why we towed one behind the ship as we sailed out from the west of Ireland.

The first CPR was designed and built in 1926 by Alister Hardy, and the design has remained largely unchanged since then. Today, the Sir Alister Hardy Foundation (SAHFOS), based in Plymouth UK, continues the work that he started. Since 1931, some 210 vessels have surveyed over 4.7 million miles of ocean over regular routes and at regular intervals. As it is towed behind the ship, the device collects plankton from the ocean, which is preserved for later examination in the Foundation laboratories. Over the last seventy years, an immensely powerful long-term data set has been built up.

These data can be put to various uses. At a relatively simple level, they have allowed scientists to establish what and where various animals live in the ocean and how it changes with time. This baseline information can then be used in more complex ways. It can be used to trace the spread of alien species (alien as in introduced from other parts of the world - not extraterrestrial!) around the oceans even before they create a biological "nuisance". Changes in the way that planktonic species are distributed can also be used to gauge the impacts of climate change. This may be the reason for changes in the type and quantity of microscopic plant species observed in the North Atlantic over the last few decades. The CPR has also provided evidence of how whole food webs can be influenced by weather patterns.

Above all, the CPR demonstrates the value of long term scientific vision applied to understanding the natural world, and the ways in which we can change that world (deliberately or otherwise). Without the CPR, we would not have known that humans can potentially influence the whole ecology of huge ocean ecosystems. It's definitely worth having a look at the SAHFOS website at www.sahfos.org. And if the little bit of work that we have done on this trip helps contribute a little more to this understanding, then that's a very positive thing!

- Paul

The Floating Village

(C) Greenpeace

I've had emails from people asking me 'doesn't it get claustrophobic out there, in a little boat?'... Well, for a start, the 'Espy' isn't all that little - at 72m long, she's a good size vessel. There's such a warren of cabins, workshops and offices that its possible to walk through the ship without bumping into anyone, as they're all tucked away sleeping, cooking, writing, editing video, welding, or running the ship. If people are working at opposite ends of the ship, and on different watches, they might only bump into each other in the mess, over dinner.

If I stand up on top deck (a chilly proposition, it's a wet day outside), I'm in the open, with nothing but the mast and crow's nest above me. Under my feet is the bridge deck - inside are the bridge, chartroom and campaign office, where Ness, Mariajo, Dima, Dave R and I work. Outside, behind the bridge, and between the twin funnels, there's open space, used for storing two of our inflatables.

A deck below is the accommodation deck, with cabins for the captain, radio operator and some of the engineers and mates. The radio room is down here too, with a little electronics workshop and the server for the computer network. Next door is the photographer's workshop, and the video editing room.

Another deck down is the boat deck - two of the big inflatables - Grey Whales and African Queen are stored outside. The heli-deck is on this level too, as is the heli-hanger and external access to the bow area. Inside, there are more cabins (where I sleep!), the lounge (where crew chill out and read, play music, etc.) and the library.

Another stairs down, and we're onto the main deck. Towards the stern, under the heli-deck, we've got the poop deck, with lots of winching equipment. From there, we've got the 'wet room' - with a pilot door for getting from the ship to the inflatables - and lots of tools and equipment. There's loads of little cubby holes here - diving equipment, the outboard workshop, various engineers workshops, and the engine control room, which looks a bit like the HQ of a Bond villain - lots of metal consoles covered in ponderous coloured buttons and switches, and lots of consoles displaying cryptic technical data. Through a doorway and past the galley and the mess (yes, where we eat), and yet more cabins.

Down below the main deck is the tween deck, where the engine room is. Apart from the engineers, most crew don't have much cause to go down here, except to the laundry, the clothing store, and to where the food is stored, five staircases below the top deck.

So... it's like living in a small floating village of thirty or so people.

- Dave

October 18, 2004

On Board A Bottom Trawler

(C) Greenpeace/Kate Davison

It's late on a Sunday afternoon. It's a time of the week when most people are relaxing, maybe out walking the dog, or still digesting lunch. I am doing none of these things.

Instead, I'm 400 miles north-west of Ireland, standing on the top deck of a Spanish bottom trawler, the Ivan Nores, while it plies its trade. On the deck below, a team of fishermen are landing a net jam-packed with fish, dragged up from over a kilometre below the ocean surface. As the ship pitches wildly in the heavy swell, I momentarily catch a view beyond behind the stern, through cloud of hungry fulmars, to where the Esperanza, is holding its position. Close by are two inflatables - the African Queen and Grey Whale. On board the boats are Francois, Natasha, Daniel, Ollie, Alain and Erkut, who are patiently standing by, and filming the trawl from the water.

Ness, our campaigner, and Paul, our marine biologist, are both standing either side of me. Dave R and Mariajo are inside the bridge, talking to the skipper. 'I feel very privileged to see this', says Paul, looking down at net. I see his point - not many people have the opportunity to bear witness to the destruction of our seas.

The bottom trawling net had been dragged along the ocean floor, an incredible 1.2km below us. For over seven hours, massive steel rollers, attached to the net, had smashed their way along the ocean floor, clearing away any 'obstacles'. Once the hauling began, we had waited for 45 minutes, while 2.6km of steel cable (the amount actually paid out) was dragged on board by a straining, groaning winch.

First, the huge steel trawl doors - used as 'wings' to keep the net open - were slammed against the trawler's stern, and the trawlermen - kitted out in oilskins and hard hats - dodged their way around the steel cables, to make adjustments to the hauling gear. Then, another few minutes of tortuous hauling brings the net to the surface. The wind wafts a thick, fishy stench up along the ship. Every fish in the net is dead now, their internal organs exploded by the rapid decrease in pressure between their world and hours - down where they used to live, water pressure is 120 times what it is at the surface of the sea.

After the haul - a couple of tonnes in size - has been brought on board, it's lifted above the deck. The 'cod end' of the net is opened, and thousands of deep sea animals spill into the fish hold, down into the innards of the ship. Gav and Kate get down close to the net, filming and taking photos, documenting it all. In the pile were grenadiers, ray, squid, sharks, starfish and dozens of other species.

The trawlermen clear the net of the last few dead fish, casually tossing squid and grenadier over their shoulders, and prepare to drop the net again.

Electronic navigational equipment on board a bottom trawler, illustrating the impact of bottom trawling on the sea floor. All of these lines were made on a single fishing trip. (C) Greenpeace/Kate Davison

Later, we were allowed below deck, to where the same trawlermen were gutting and cleaning fish. What a life - half your time spent dodging steel cables, the other spent surrounded by fish guts. The processing room is a disorientating, noisy room full of conveyors belts and weird machines, where the fish are sorted, gutted, cleaned and packed. They allow us to take away 'bycatch' - the stuff they don't want. This includes a few oddities - including a snot eel, and a weird little worm (but looks like a caterpillar) that lives in the ocean sediment.

Back up in the bridge of the trawler, we watch the skipper as he takes the trawler to its new fishing point. He chats to Mariajo, who translates for the rest of us. As he throttles up, the sea is breaking over the bows, and splattering against the windscreen. There's a huge array of high-tech computer screens on the bridge. This isn't a small-time sustenance operation. This is industry and these guys mean business. They've invested heavily in high-tech equipment that allows them to find everything they can, no matter how deep. On one monitor, we can see the echo sounder showing the profiles of seamounts. On another, there's a digital chart of this patch of sea, with a crisscross pattern showing every bottom trawl that this ship has done. It's like looking an aerial photo of a madman let loose with a tractor and plough.

In reality, itÂ’s a poignant visual representation of the systematic destruction of the deep sea floor.

- Dave

October 16, 2004

Liberation

(C) Greenpeace

There is a sense of freedom when the view is 360 degrees of unobstructed horizon. It is a reminder of our smallness and insignificance. Out here, there is no doubt that nature has the upper hand. I suppose some people might feel unsettled to be out of sight of land, but for me it is liberation, I feel like I am in one of the few remaining wildernesses on Earth.

On my watch (0400 to 0800 and 1600 to 2000) we are endlessly scanning the horizon for bottom trawlers that fish on this range of seamounts. So far we have not found any boats, but the view is always spectacular. Heaving Atlantic swells reflect the pale low sun; showers pass hammering the wrinkles from the waves leaving them smoothed like old hills. The sky dominates us and is as mesmerising to watch as a fire.

This morning we hauled in the Continuous Plankton Recorder (CPR), which we have been towing for the past 450 nautical miles. The CPR houses twin silk screens spinning slowly and trapping plankton that can later be analysed in the laboratory. There is so little known and so much to learn about the oceans. If we don't understand the bottom of the food chain how can we hope to understand and protect the whole ecosystem?

- Madeleine, Chief Mate

Competition: Name the Pixie!

(C) Greenpeace

A strange, bouncy crew member has appeared on the Esperanza's bridge. Spinning above the autopilot, he looks pleased with himself. Initially, he was referred to as 'Dave'. The thing is, the wooden dolphin on the Rainbow Warrior is also called 'Dave'. On board the Esperanza, there's already two human Daves. So now the little guy - our mascot - is being referred to as 'The Trawler Pixie', or 'The Trawler Finder'.

So... we've decided to run a little competition. Between now and October 29th, we want you to suggest names for 'The Trawler Pixie' - the suggestions will be voted on by Esperanza crew members, and the lucky person who chooses the most popular name will win themselves a copy of Rex Wyler's book Greenpeace. Post your entries in the comments section below!

Read more about Rex Wyler's book »

October 14, 2004

Meaningful Coincidences

(C) Greenpeace

Even though we're far west of Europe, we're still operating on Greenwich Mean Time. This makes for what appear to be very dark mornings, and extraordinarily long evenings. It's dark now though. I'm sitting in the campaign office behind the bridge of the Esperanza (with another four decks down below), the ship is rolling from side to side, and the wind is howling around the masts. Some of the crew are sitting in the lounge, chatting, others have gone to bed, and some are in the mess, watching a movie. Up here, I have to do a little workout in my chair just to stay upright!

It was another big day on the ocean - now we're really in the middle of nowhere. Out here, you can see for miles - and watch the weather as it arrives. Even rainstorms show up on the radar, before they strike. Today brought us heavy enough seas and a 28-knot wind, but there was sunshine too. During the morning, we were treated to a double rainbow - the inner one was the most vibrant, completely whole, and so close we could see nearby waves through it!

There's seems to be a long tradition on Greenpeace expeditions, seemingly started by founder member Bob Hunter, of paying attention to synchronicities - meaningful coincidences, as proposed by the famous psychologist Carl Jung. It may seem silly, but rainbows have a habit of showing up at the most perfect of times. On my last trip, in the Tasman Sea, we found our first bottom trawler at the end of a rainbow. How cliched is that?

And so today - a couple of hours after our double rainbow, we spot our first fishing boat. It's bobbing around in the huge swell, several miles away, but every pair of binoculars is trained on it, trying to pick out some detail. As it grows closer, we can tell that it's not a bottom trawler - it's a gill-netter. Not what we're after, but we're aren't dismayed - we exchange greetings with the trawler crew and continue on. The hunt continues...

- Dave

October 13, 2004

No Land In Sight

(C) Greenpeace

Tuesday: Our first real day in the Atlantic, and no land in sight. On my last trip - in the Tasman Sea - for the first few days, whenever I saw some low cloud on the horizon, one half of my brain said 'land', while the other half told me 'don't be dumb, there's nuthin' out hereÂ’ After a couple of weeks, it hit me - I hadn't seen cars, trees, or other people in ages!

This time, all of my brain is resigned to seeing no land at all in the coming weeks, and has of yet played no tricks on me. Just a perfect horizon, and the steel grey swell of the north Atlantic. It's a sort of sensory deprivation. While taking a break from the laptop (which is tiring to use in a rough sea), its meditative to sit up in the bridge, looking out at the infinite waves. It's tempting to think of the ocean as a desert - just this big wide-open nothingness, but there's a whole other planet down below us, one that's under serious threat from destructive fishing practices.

In case you're wondering - we do not spend all day staring at the sea. This morning, I lent a hand to our marine biologist, Paul Johnston, who was launching his 'continuous plankton recorder'. I was heartbroken to discover that this piece of magical equipment does not capture the sounds of singing plankton, but rather records the amount of these little creatures in a given area. It looks a bit like a silver soapbox car with some toilet roll inside. As I write, the CPR is being towed behind the ship.

This afternoon, Madeleine called over the intercom, from the bridge - 'dolphins!'. There was a pod of six or seven common dolphins - including two adolescents - playing in the Esperanza's bow wave. I ended up hanging over the bow, taking photos in the failing light. And then late last night, I spotted more off the starboard bow - as they streaked through the dark water, the left long phosphorescent streaks. With four swimming together, it looked an the smoke plumes from a team of air show acrobatic planes. And even over the sound of the wind and the ship's engine, we could hear the dolphins 'snorting' as they broke the surface and cleared their blowholes...

Goodbye to the Land

(C) Greenpeace

Before breakfast I went up on deck to watch the sunrise. In the dark morning, the Esperanza had rounded the coast of County Mayo, and was steaming into Donegal Bay. As we travelled east, the run rose above the foremast, a bright ball in a grey sky. North of us were the mountains of Donegal, and to starboard, I could see the headland of Mulloughmore, and the strange flat-topped mountain of Ben Bulben. Anyone who's ever read the poetry of WB Yeats will be familiar with this landscape, from his poems 'The Stolen Child', 'The Lake Isle of Inishfree' and others. And then there's the story of the love affair between Diarmuid and Grainne - major characters in ancient Irish mythology. One of the areas on top of the mountain is know as 'Diarmud and Grainne's Bed' - supposedly the place where they eloped. Ben Bulben is in county Sligo, an area full of the remnants of prehistoric society - huge 4,000-year-old burial grounds, and other megalithic monuments. Around Strandhill, you can sit on ancient 'oyster middens' - stacks of oyster shells, dumped by humans thousands of years ago - and watch seals sunbathing in Ballysadare Bay.

The Esperanza dropped anchor outside the harbour of Killybegs - some new crew members were due to join us here. The conditions were incredibly calm - with the wind blowing from the east, the whole island of Ireland sheltered us. Many of the crew haven't ever been to Ireland, so it was a bit strange for them to be so close, yet still at sea. Still, they all seemed to agree that the wild west coast was as romantic as they imagined.

A little after breakfast, a trawler appeared on the horizon, but 'hove to' (i.e. stopped) instead of entering Killybegs harbour. We were starting to do some boat training on the Esperanza, so Maaike, Dave R. and I took the 'Grey Whale' inflatable out towards the trawler, for a look. It wasn't a bottom trawler, by any means - but we pulled up alongside anyway, and hailed them. It was an Irish boat, out of Sligo, and extremely well kept. Eventually a fisherman wandered over to the side to talk to us. He wasn't terribly chatty, but we did learn that it was a herring boat, and fished somewhere 'way out there'. On the way back, I got some nice shots of the Esperanza, with a backdrop of the mountains.

Later in the day, we got back into some serious boat training. This involves learning how to safely launch an inflatable - some of the boats we use are big, and very heavy, and are launched using a crane. The crane driver lifts the boat clear of the deck, and over the side, while the deck crew control movement, to stop it swinging around. Once over the side, but above the water, the boat crew clamber in, the boat is lowered to the water, and unhitched. And yes, we all get our turn!

Then we pile into the boats, taking turns to perfect our skills in driving, turning, and pulling alongside the ship (for disembarkation of passengers and bringing the boat on board). As we're out driving around, a large yellow inflatable comes speeding out of Killybegs. After doing a circle of the Esperanza, they pull up, and we head over to say hello.

It's a couple of guys who are running a 'Sea-fari' company. They were taking the boat out for a run, and were surprised to find Greenpeace in their neighbourhood. They tell us that Donegal Bay has become home to some Minke whales in recent years, and they see them almost every day. As we part, they shout 'keep up the good work!Â’

After dark, we weigh anchor and turn our backs to the coast. The lights of Sligo and Donegal recede into the darkness. We're not going to see land for a long time...

October 12, 2004

Setting Sail

(C) Greenpeace

Who would have thought I'd end up here, on a Greenpeace ship in the Atlantic Ocean? (Actually come to think of it, my high-school teachers probably had some inkling after I organised a protest on the schoolÂ’s front stairs, but thatÂ’s another story). In any case, here I am, trying to get used to the rather surreal life on the Esperanza - and just between you and me, trying to convince the Mexican cook to whip up some of his national food.

Yesterday we set off from Falmouth, Cornwall, after a largely successful expedition in the search of Cornish Pasties (for those who don't know, they are fatty pastries filled with steak and vegetables, or cheese and broccoli if you're not carnivorously inclined). Cornwall lived up to its reputation - everyone was lovely. I even spotted a little old lady who seemed to be quite a Greenpeace fan. She was sighted walking around town in a luminous Greenpeace t-shirt several times and it is rumoured she even left a note wishing us well at the harbour security checkpoint. People in Cornwall - including the bed and breakfast owners, newsagents and the Oggy Oggy Pasty Bakery man - seem to hate the bottom trawlers as much as we do. Cornwall is also a highly recommended source of Mushy Peas - we discovered them at a the delightfully named fish and chip shop "Smack Alley's".

We finally set sail on Saturday, and even though we will miss those pasties it was a relief to be going to sea. I was assigned to what I am told is generally referred to as "the stinky boys cabin". Now, of course, three nice nice-smelling females inhabit it.

First up were chores. In a bid to make myself useful I dutifully signed up for chores after breakfast, and waited for the bosun to decide my fate (I was secretly dreading getting toilet-duty). Luckily he took pity on me and I was assigned the relatively laid-back task of cleaning the lounge, although it was in a bit of a post-party state, and covered in about 134 copies of The Guardian which we had all eagerly devoured the day before as our last connection to the world at large.

I have never sailed before, so before lunch I swallowed a couple of seasickness tablets. We were heading into a Force 8 storm - talk about baptism of fire. Kindly crew members tried to sell me bogus theories such as "if your father doesn't get seasick, it means that you won't".
I nervously downed a few cups of lemon and ginger tea and then headed to the bridge to catch some of the spectacular view - made quite spooky by the glowing Russian control panels: a relic of another era. At least I could be sure the ship would actually hold together - it had obviously seen tougher times.

The weather soon turned to what one crew member affectionately termed "vom-vom weather". In my native Australia we call vomiting a "technicolour yawn". As such, I was trying desperately to avoid adding another rainbow to the side of the Esperanza. I managed to keep my dinner down but couldn't do much else - even holding a conversation was difficult when the person you were talking to was suddenly whisked to the other side of the room, usually at a very different angle to the one you last saw them at. The last thing I wanted to do was look at a computer, so fighting gravity like some drunken astronaut I stumbled into the lounge.

The bosun recommended the ancient Scottish remedy for seasickness - a shot of whisky - since I was apparently by this point so pale that I was indistinguishable from my white t-shirt. After this I called it a day and decided to attempt a shower.

It was really difficult to keep my towel dry while hanging off the shower walls - and yet stay at least partially upright. I realised this was probably not a very smart thing to do. Hurtling across the alleyway in nothing but a towel is also probably not very smart. Luckily by this time of night most people were either succumbing to the famous Scottish whisky remedy or clinging to their bunks for dear life.

A peaceful nightÂ’s sleep in Stinky Boys Cabin was not to be, however, since closing your eyes doesn't seem to diminish the violent movement of the ship. Funny that. The next day dawned bright and clear with the southern coast of Ireland basking in the sunlight. As I stood on deck feeling decidedly windswept I could only think "this is the life". The sea looks rich and blue today and itÂ’s easy to see why what we are doing is so important.

It was also the day for fire training. This involved testing out the large fire hose near the helihanger and dressing up as a tellytubby. Check out the immersion suits if you don't believe me!

Today is my last day on the ship as I will disembark on the wild west coast of Ireland. I am so sad to be leaving - but I will be following from my far less exciting desk.


- Adele

October 11, 2004

A Glimpse of Ireland

(C) Greenpeace

After yesterday's bad weather, it was a revelation to wake up to blue skies and relatively calm seas. Glancing off the south coast of Ireland, we could see Clear Island (aka Cape Clear) and the Fastnet Lighthouse - a landmark to yachtsmen, especially following the disastrous circumstances of the Fastnet race in 1979, when some 15 sailors were lost, and more than 30 yachts. In August, there was a big ceremony on Clear Island, to mark the 25th anniversary.

For many of the crew, it was their first view of Ireland. Following the coast, we could Dursey and Cow Islands, and into Bantry, Kenmare, and Dingle Bays, and make out the green and purple slopes of the mountains of Cork and Kerry. Bantry Bay is an amazing piece of coastline - full of French Armada history, the coast comes in from Sheep's Head way to Bantry Town, and curves out to the strange subtropical town Glengarriff before sweeping back out to the fishing town of Castletownbere. At the north side of the bay lies Dursey Island. Apparently, the local postman has to load his bicycle onto a cable car, so that he can deliver the mail to the island's inhabitants.

Further north is the beautiful Dingle Bay, home to the famous friendly dolphin, Fungi. As we approach, a couple of jagged islands break the surface - the Skellig Islands. In early Christian Times, these islands were 'home' to a bunch of ascetic monks, who established small monastery on the near-vertical slopes and inhospitable conditions. Tough customers, these early Christians. Maaike, the Esperanza's third mate, thinks the Skelligs look like something from Lord of the Rings.

North of Dingle Bay, and lying offshore from Slea Head, are the Blasket Islands. Not as jagged as the Skelligs, the Blaskets are still a beautiful barren place, at the mercy of the elements. People live here - and have done so for hundreds of years. A century ago, living on these islands meant rarely visiting the mainland. Not because of the distance - they're only a couple of kilometres away - but more due to the fierce seas in between. One of the inhabitants at that time, a woman named Peig Sayers, lost most of her sons to the sea, in their frail wood and canvas 'Currachs'. The sheer simplicity and toughness of the islanders' existence can be found the book she dictated 'Peig' - source of misery to many an Irish school student.

Ireland recedes into the distance, and there's just the Esperanza, the waves, and the seabirds.

Gale Force Winds

(C) Greenpeace

It's Saturday afternoon, and we're waving goodbye to Cornwall - land of pasties and real 'puts hair on your chest' ale. Keith and Susie, who run the local Sea-Fari company, hold vigil on the dock, holding a Cornish flag and waving us off. Thursday and Friday had given Falmouth blue skies and calm weather, but as the Esperanza sails out of the harbour, there are grey skies and a howling wind.

Most crewmembers are below deck, eating some lunch, hoping that our first day won't be too rough. But so much for all that. As we hit the open sea, we're bang into a force 9 gale, and any personal objects that haven't been stowed become airborne. As the ship rolls, buffeted from an easterly wind, some new accidental culinary inventions occur in the mess, including 'chocolate cake with blue cheese sauce'.

New of the newcomers - landlubbers and sailors alike - haven't had much more than half an hour to get our sea legs. The rough weather continues through the afternoon - and as the rough weather continues for the next few hours, a few of us disappear to our bunks, looking a bit 'green around the gills'.

As darkness falls, we come around LandÂ’s End, up into the Celtic Sea, heading towards Ireland. The wind is behind us now, and life is a little more bearable.

- Dave

October 8, 2004

Bottom Trawling Video

Bottom trawling? What the hagfish is that? Watch this video to find out!

Trawling the Deep
Quicktime, 3mins, 13.4MB
Real Media, 3mins, 6.7MB
Windows Media, 3mins, 7.1MB

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About the Esperanza

Read all about the largest vessel in the Greenpeace fleet...

Launched in February 2002, the Esperanza is the latest and largest vessel in the Greenpeace fleet, replacing the now retired Greenpeace. Esperanza (Spanish for "hope") is the first Greenpeace ship to be named by visitors to our web site.

History
The ship is the fourth of 14 fire-fighting vessels ordered by the Russian government between 1983 and 1987 from Stocznia Polnocna construction yard in Gdansk, Poland. Heavy ice class and speed were one of the requirements.

The Esperanza was one of 14 similar vessels commissioned by the Russian government and used by the Russian Navy as a fire-fighting ship in Murmansk. Lack of funds saw the ship laid up for some years in the late 80s, then sold a couple of times, finally working in Norway as a supply vessel.

At 72 metres length, and a top speed of 16 knots, the ship is ideal for fast and long range work. The Esperanza's ice class status means it can also work in polar regions.

It took many months to refit the ship in as environmentally friendly way as possible and these improvements include: the removal or safe containment of all asbestos; fitting a special fuel system to avoid spillage; newly fitted, more efficient, diesel electric propulsion; on board recycling of waste water, leaving only clean water pumped overboard; a waste based heating system; bilge water purifiers, 15 times more effective than current legislation demands; TBT-free hull paint; ammonia based refrigeration and air-conditioning rather than climate changing and ozone depleting Freon gas - the first Dutch registered vessel to be so fitted; and an environmentally and economically efficient propulsion system to reduce CO2 emissions.

In addition, standard Greenpeace operating equipment has also been fitted. A new helicopter deck has been added, as well as special boat cranes to launch the inflatables.

Check out this short movie about the Esperanza » (Quicktime .mov)

Click here to take a virtual tour of the Esperanza »