November 22, 2004

Last post from the Esperanza on the trail of bottom trawlers in the North Atlantic

You Can't Make An Omelette Without Breaking Eggs

Wednesday, November 17th:
It was still dark when I stepped out onto the deck of the Esperanza and sniffed the air - it smelled different. The weather already seemed more southern, with a promise of sunshine and warm winter days. We approached the coastline of Galicia from the east, the day brightening behind the haze-shrouded hills and Islas Cíes.

The day had warmed up a little as we entered the estuary. A boat came shooting out of the glare, depositing the pilot on our starboard ladder - he and John guided the ship towards the Estación Marítime, right at the foot of Vigo's old town. Small ferries and tiny fishing boats were zipping in all directions deftly handled by boat handlers that can probably navigate when asleep - and if there's speed limit around here, I don't imagine anyone is observing it!

The port thrusters pulled took us alongside the quays, where a gaggle of Greenpeace Spain people were waiting for us - Mariajo was waving to us from the quay. Ropes were thrown to the dockers, the gangway lowered - hugs and kisses exchanged. Action stations right away - we had a press conference to host, in the heli-hanger. Boxes of materials were carted on board, as well as stuff for the school tours - including a bizarre squid costume.

The hour of the press conference - midday - drew closer. There wasn't a journalist in sight, which was a little worrying. A few phone calls later, and we're dashing across the docks, with cameras and boxes of stuff. The Vigo Port Authority - for some reason - had decided that press conferences were 'not allowed' on the Esperanza - and was refusing access to the media. The Greenpeace Spain team took the matter in hand, and the press conference in the open area, on some steps by the ferryport building.

Given the bizarre situation The press conferences went well, with Sebastian and Juantxo fielding some difficult questions - many of which seemed to focus on the fishing industry, rather than the environmental issues. Several TV stations were there, and lots of press journos. It was a little surreal though - little old ladies were wandering past asking what it was all about.

After lunch, Maya, Frederic and I went for a stroll and a coffee, and explored Vigo's old town, and its steep winding streets. Lots of places were closed for siesta - but we didn't care. Poor Frederic was suffering from some landsickness - he was on land, but still thought he was moving. I tried reassuring him by reminding that the earth is spinning. It didn't help.

We walked back to the ship, a crowd of people stood talking around the gates to the port. Were they fishermen? Farther in there were more groups, walking alongside us towards the final gate. We passed through, but the other group were called to a halt by the security guard.

I met John, our captain, back at the ship, and told him that maybe some fishermen were coming our way. 'Good', he said 'Now maybe we can talk to them'. They fishing industry had turned down all our invitations for dialogue - maybe they had changed their minds.

Nothing happened for a while. I was on the heli-deck on the phone (actually talking to my mum). I heard shouting, and told her I'd phone later - a group of people had rounded the corner, making for the ship. They didn't seem interested in talking - shouting seemed to be more their thing. I didn't understand all they shouted but, they were definitely fisherman, and not too happy to see us in Vigo. They pelted the ship with eggs, and anyone on deck they could reach - high up on the top deck, my camera and me took a direct hit. Even poor Tweety - our helicopter - was hit.

This went on for a while - and then things got ugly. Some of the Esperanza crew attempted to talk to the apparent spokespeople for the group, but were roughly pushed aside. Dozens big burly men forced their way onto the ship, almost crushing some Greenpeace people. Ann, who had been standing by the gangway, had to scream at the top of her voice to avoid getting pulped against the railings. There were three or four Guarda Civil officers on the quayside, doing little to quell the situation.

The fishermen made their way all over the ship. We had locked down the inside of the ship, but there were still plenty of us outside. The 'visitors' started pulling down flags and posters - setting fire to them. They started cornering individual crew members and shouted at them. I had a pretty scary moment on the starboard bridge wing, when I was cornered by six individuals. I fully expected to go into the water, camera and all. Fair play to one of them though - he did say that they were not going to hurt me (or the camera) - they just wanted to 'talk' to me. They problem was, they all talked at me, in at least three different languages, and at the top of their voices. Alain materialised from somewhere and rescued me - the situation eased a little.

The bridge deck was still full of fishermen though - but after an eternity of heated tirades, they eventually trooped off - at which point some of them began to unhitch or cut the bow and stern lines - a very dangerous thing to do - these massive ropes are under huge stress, and cutting them could create a whiplash effect causing major injury. John tried to get down the gangway to deal with this new problem, but was forced back up by the crowd, who wanted us out of Vigo. Bu they wouldn't let us even take the gangway up.

Some hefty looking police offers - in semi-riot gear - arrived, and blocked both the gangway and ropes - preventing any further interference. The adrenaline, and the crowd began draining away. Some stragglers remained, shouting and jeering.

The Esperanza's crew - shaken, not stirred - got moving with the cleanup, washing the deck of countless egg-stains and eggshells, fixing the damage.

We were left to digest the events of the afternoon’s events. Greenpeace had publicly and openly called for dialogue on the bottom trawling issue, yet the companies responsible refuse to talk to us. This may be speculation - but we've been wondering why the bosses of the big fishing companies are so afraid of us. Perhaps they know that time ­ for both their fishing practices, and the fisheries - is running out. Whatever their reasons, it looks like yesterday's violent acts were orchestrated by the industry bosses- and not by the unions. In the past, when Greenpeace have received less-than-friendly welcomes, it's usually due to industry influences - whether it's logging, fishing, or whatever - drumming up fear and loathing among their employees, telling them that Greenpeace are here to take away their jobs and livelihoods. This is pretty obviously incorrect.

One of things I spotted in one of the Galician papers today - the local fishing industry are claiming that Greenpeace is in the employ of Canada and Norway, to disenfranchise Galician fishermen - interesting conspiracy theory, until you consider that in the past, Greenpeace has organised major campaigns dealing with problems perpetuated by both of these countries - such as the seal and whaling issues.

Incidentally, the media coverage today has been good - all of the Galician newspapers have covered yesterday’s events, and most gave a pretty balanced account of the situation. Last night we made national Spanish TV news - which focussed much more on the environmental situation.

So, we're still here, in Vigo. We've had to cancel all the school trips and open days - Vigo's port authority is refusing to let kids come to see the ship, saying that they cannot guarantee their safety. The security of the port is not secure at all, and seems very selective. When we wanted to have a press conference, they wouldn't allow the media in. When the fishermen came to protest, they allowed them, in, and the media. Now they won't allow school children to visit us, because they might be allowing fishermen in again.

But apart from the spot of bother yesterday and the port problems, we're enjoying Vigo - the welcome has been otherwise fantastic.

Meanwhile - at the UN General Assembly in NY as predicted the moratorium on bottom trawling didn't come through. However, The language of the resolution was far better than we expected - it urges states and regional fishing organisations to protect deep sea life. This gives us plenty to work with for the next two years.

Thanks to everyone for following the weblog over the last two months - it's great to know that people are paying attention to our work!

-Dave (with help from Maya)

November 18, 2004

The Tiny Atlantic

(C) Greenpeace

At the weekend, we started sailing south from the Hatton Bank, back towards land. We stopped off for a little while in Bantry Bay, in the southwest of Ireland before heading for Vigo, the biggest city in Galicia, on Spain's Atlantic coast. By Tuesday we were west of the Bay of Biscay, a body of water that I'd always associated with unpleasant weather. For the Esperanza's journey across, it was flat-calm - barely a wave to be seen. After weeks of pounding by huge swells and 50-knot winds, nostalgia for the wild beauty of the high seas came as a surprise.

The Atlantic Ocean - especially between North America and Europe seems to be getting smaller and smaller. Airline passengers still complain about its size though - 'It's a WHOLE six hours on a plane!'. They must be withering away with boredom up there, oblivious to the thousands of miles of ocean that they're crossing. With such huge numbers of miles and kilometres involved, it's hard to comprehend the vastness of our oceans. Whenever I sit and look at the Atlantic from some of my favourite places on Ireland's wild west coast - Cape Clear, Achill, Killary or the Burren - I always find it hard to grasp the hugeness of it, that other lands exist further west, like Greenland and Newfoundland.

And in a way, this is our problem - a human problem. Our oceans are so huge; we find it difficult to understand how finite, how fragile, how easily they can be influenced by our mistreatments. The Atlantic is so big, we don't realise how small it is - if that makes any sense. Since October, the Esperanza has been halfway across the Atlantic and back - several times. The experience has made the Earth seem very tiny place.

Even after the 'discovery' of the Americas (before Columbus, the Vikings, Irish monks, the Chinese and even Basque fishermen had been visiting America), there was a tradition, a prevalent myth, or a school of thought that another land lay somewhere west of Ireland, and it had yet to be found. It was known as 'Hy-Brasil' - a phantom island in Celtic myths, cloaked in mist, appearing for one day every seven years - but always unreachable. Belief in the island was so strong that several expeditions went looking for it - in the late 15th century, a two-ship expedition, led by John Cabot, left Bristol, in search of Hy Brasil - and never found it. Some people did claim to have reached the enchanted island, and came back with stories of opulence, big farms and healthy people.

Apparently, some historians claim that when navigator Pedro Álvares Cabral discovered Brazil in 1500, he thought he had landed in Hy-Brasil (more popular theories refer to harvesting of valuable brazilwood timber - but where did that it gets name?). Hy Brasil regularly appeared on maps from 1325 until 1865, lying somewhere south west of Galway Bay. On some maps from the 15th century, an island called 'Isola de Brazil' was shown to be part of the Azores.

Apparently, researchers and even archaeologists have searched to the west of Ireland, and where there is said to be is evidence that some islands once existed. Shallow-water shells have been found at the Porcupine and Rockall Banks - both areas are father north than the supposed location of Hy Brasil.

The last alleged sighting of Hy-Brasil was in 1872. Author T. J. Westropp - with several companions - claimed that they saw the island appear and then vanish.

As if all this wasn't weird enough - we noticed while sailing the high seas, that a whole range of seamounts in the mid-Atlantic are named after places from Lord of the Rings. I don't know who named them - I'd be interested to find out. There's the Rohan Seamount, Gondor seamount, Fangorn Bank, Edoras Bank, Eriador Seamount, Lorien Knoll, and the Isengard Ridge. Which such evocative nomenclature, its difficult not to imagine the deep ocean as some beautiful, magical place, especially when we're floating 1000m or more above.

- Dave

November 17, 2004

The Greatest Show Off Earth

The other morning I was on the 4 till 8 watch, and thinking about the Northern Lights. Above the horizon, hints of pink and red were beginning to appear from a dark cloud. The colours turned to a deep red with a sudden searchlight of green sweeping in an arc across the whole sky.

Just as quickly, the lights were gone. I started thinking about what the first sailors - or even the first people - living in the far North must have thought about the Northern Lights. All of a sudden a giant ethereal cobweb appeared, covering all corners of the sky - north, south, east and west. There was a ghostly apparition in the centre of the sky, directly above the ship - swirling and dancing like an angel at work.

I realised then that my thoughts were also first thoughts, this was the first time I had seen this phenomenon.

- Ed

This wasn't my first time seeing the Northern Lights - but it was definitely my best experience of it. Out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, nothing around in the dark sea but white horses on the crest of the massive swells - and the greatest show off earth playing 100km or so above us. The Northern Lights - or the Aurora Borealis - is usually seen in the northern Polar Regions. We weren't that far north - south of Iceland, and west of the Scottish Highlands, but during the last week it could be seen as far south as Dublin. There's never two auroae the same - there's always a variety of arcs, bands, rays, patches, veils, appearing in different colours, different sequences and sizes.

Believe it or not, the sun fuels the Northern Lights - yes, I know there's no sun at night (unless it's summer in the far north!). The sun is always spitting out charged particles from thermonuclear reactions - protons, electrons and ions, which form the 'Solar Wind', which sweeps across space at 400 km per second, colliding with planets, moons, and anything else that gets in its way. As the particles reach the Earth's magnetic field (magnetosphere), they are twisted into spirals along the field, while the magnetosphere itself is 'squashed' towards the Earth. The Earth tries to hold the magnetosphere in place, while the Solar Wind tries to stretch it out. At the Earth's poles, the magnetic field converges to create a funnel effect, through which the Solar Wind is channelled. The Solar Wind collides with oxygen and nitrogen in the atmosphere, exciting the electrons to the point where they emit light - the different colours depend on the gas that collides with the solar wind.

Our sun provides the "fuel" needed to produce the Aurora. The Sun continuously emits charged particles, which are the by-products of thermonuclear reactions occurring inside the Sun. These charged particles, such as protons, electrons, and ions, form the Solar Wind, which travels through space away from the sun at speeds of about 400 km/s (about a million miles per hour), and collides with planets, moons, comets, etc. Results of these collisions can sometimes be quite dramatic. For example, the Solar Wind causes comets' tails to point away from the Sun, and the collision of the Solar Wind with the Earth's atmosphere causes the Aurora.

So much for what the Northern Lights 'really' are. It's an eerie experience seeing the lights out here, with nothing around us but hundreds of miles of Atlantic Ocean around us. The patterns and colours unfold randomly like a Rorschach animation. Still, my mind keeps trying to make sense of it, as if there could be some design, some deliberate sequence to the performance. It's a very human reaction - trying to make sense of the incredible.

- Dave

November 16, 2004

Life Is Simple

(C) Greenpeace

[We were about to publish Mir's weblog on the day that we tracked down the bottom trawler Anuva - so it got delayed until now!]

Life on board the Esperanza is actually very simple, most of the time. Today, Maite was in my cabin listening to some CDs belonging to François - his entire Mano Negra collection. We are talking about the beaches in Majorca, about how as tourists, humans always end up wrecking beautiful places, and about not letting love pass when you find it. On the ship, you know, after work and after dinner there is not much to do - at the end of the day we are all still here, so we get together and have conversations, or read books - there is an awful lot of book reading going on, which turns into newspaper reading if we stop for a couple of days in some port and manage to get the Guardian or whatever (especially now, as the ship's network to Linux is undergoing some upgrades, and we are not getting the awful (but OK) daily news digest we usually get, so newspapers are really hot). And then there's the Mexican poker group playing almost every night using nails instead of real money. The point I'm trying to make is that the ships's population is small, life is simple, and in times like this, roaming about in huge ocean spaces looking for trawlers, not much happens.

Then (Action) Dave comes into the cabin: Maite, I've been looking for you all over, I saw two people in here through the open door and finally I find you. Can you be in the boat tomorrow?

It turns out that yesterday we found these really dodgy trawlers and have been waiting for the right weather to go and check them out. Dave says, there might be a very early wake-up call, get your stuff ready, and arrange some food also. You might end up being out there all day.

Then Maite's sleepy face is gone, the sleepy face she perfected the last couple of days listening to flamenco in the mess while working with the sewing machine (when the sea is very rough the deckhands would rather do inside work, such as repairing boat suits and overalls in the mess room or installing new cupboards), she is now slightly tense and serious-looking. She suddenly looks at the clock, it's twenty-one thirty-five, and I can see Mano Negra and lost love are not that important anymore.

- Mir

The Last of the Norwegians

(C) Greenpeace

We have been on this campaign for over a month now, hunting bottom trawlers who trawl on the Atlantic ridge and destroy small but important ecosystems and the animals living there. My job is primarily based on board the ship. But I join actions as much as my duty permits. I have been on since Falmouth, at the start of October.

Early on the trip, we did documentation and actions on Spanish trawlers. We then came into Dublin for a crew change and a break, before heading back out to the North Atlantic. At the end of our voyage, finally we found a Lithuanian trawler - on which we did a mass boarding, with twelve people.

After they hauled their nets and got the fish out, we lay down on the nets and made it difficult for them to do anything with it. But they still moved their nets around with all of us on them. After a long night, and a transit of five to six hours they decided to set their nets with us on top of it! I could not believe it and was a bit worried at first, but decided that I was going to stay on the net.

We wanted to stop them from setting their net, but the captain was persistent and dropped into the ocean. It all went really fast - from the moment two others and me were going down the chute and into the Atlantic! I did not have time to think - before I knew it, I was floating in the sea like a buoy. I was picked up by the African queen (one of our inflatables).

It all went really well and we slowed them down for a while and got some amazing footage of a bottom trawler in action.

This was Saturday, now we are on our way to Vigo in Spain for a press conference and an open boat day.

I hope many people will show up. We are doing hard work but having a good time.

- Odin (The last of the Norwegians)

November 13, 2004

Overboard!

(C) Greenpeace

I finished the last posting with news that Action Dave had suggested something... He appeared in the campaign office I was writing the weblog and asked 'Fancy boarding the bottom trawler?'

'Sure, why not?', I replied...

And that was it - a new plan was taking shape. Out on the Anuva, we still had three people - Ann, Kate and now Sebastian - Dima had been taken off, after injuring his hand. They were about to have company.

Around 2am, the inflatables 'Grey Whale' and the 'African Queen' were alongside the Anuva - Mir clicked the caving ladder into place, and a stream of orange-clad Esperanzians shimmied up the steel cables. Now there were 12 of us on board the Lithuanian/Spanish ship. We busied ourselves getting comfortable, sharing out food, making sure the three veterans were ok. Then we settled down to wait, huddled together out of the wind. Some of us dozed, others chatted.

Around 5am, the trawl cables - right above our heads - started creaking and whirring. This was the beginning of the haul. For half an hour, we stood back from the lethal steel wires, and waited. Then the bottom trawler's crew appeared, so we all moved to the deck above, to watch the action from above. It was a relatively small catch, but we could see huge crabs and chunks of coral caught in the net.

As soon as the cod end was emptied, we tore down to the main deck, and sat on the net - all of us! This led to us being dragged around a bit by the fishermen - but not much else happened for a little while. We picked up branches of gorgonian fans and other deep sea life - there was gorgonian coral on the deck that the fragments were being crunched under boots. One big crab was still alive, frantically trying to cut its way out of the net, it's weird mouth gasping for oxygen.

Action Dave spoke to the captain - it turned out that the trawler was going to be steaming for eight hours to its next trawl site. We elected to stay on board, despite the lack of sleep. The weather - while blowing gale force 8 - was still bearable for launching inflatables -but the window was closing, and Saturday night wasn't looking good. The trawler's fishmaster informed us that they had work to do on the nets - so they hoisted them up and dragged all of us down towards the stern.

We arrived by the stern ramp looking like Greenpeace bycatch - a dozen activists in orange suits tangled in green nets. People were trying to sort out who owned what leg. We were like a pile of human bycatch. As we disentangled, the trawlermen started mending holes in the nets - while their skipper walked around, hurling bits of coral over the side of the ship - and bringing one large specimen down below deck. This was the same man who had told us 'no, we don't trawl on the bottom'. But we had proof. There's not much coral swimming around in midwater... Then they moved the net again, which meant us getting dragged back towards the bridge of the trawler.

After this, we had the deck to ourselves for a few hours - we ate, drank hot chocolate, slept. People kept finding new nooks and crannies where they could be comfortable. Me, I slept out in the middle of the main deck, on the fishing net, which still had dozens of dead sharks in it. I just propped myself up, and dozed off, but was woken occasionally by a rain of icy water - the ship was rolling a lot, and waves were coming over the side. Dragged from dreams with a mouthful of salt water.

Then - around lunchtime, things started getting crazy. The skipper and one of the other crewmen made sure we were dragged right up to the stern ramp; it's a sort of door that stops waves coming in, and stops people falling out. Some of our guys blocked the control, so the trawler's skipper turned a firehouse on all of us, trying to wash us off the net, and away from the controls. It didn't work - Most of us were in survival suits if not drysuits, so we didn't really get wet. But then, in frustration, he fought his way through, and got the ramp down.

At this point, the end of the net was suspended by a cable, out over the stern ramp - François was sitting out in mid-air, over the ramp. Miguel was next, followed by Chris, followed by me. Behind me was Odin, Ann, Maite, Alain and Sebastian. Dave was on the radio, talking to the inflatables. Kate was taking pictures, and Ed was standing by. We were surrounded by crewmembers - who were apparently from Spain, Lithuania, Ukraine, Russia, Sierra Leone and Congo. They were ready to launch their nets, but couldn't be sure what their boss was going to do with us.

Suddenly a jerk - and the cable slackens - I'm face down on the net, heading towards the ramp - Francois and Miguel tumble down in the boiling sea. Chris and I get tangled, and Odin goes flying past. My knee gets caught in the gutter before the ramp; I get spun off the net, onto the deck, then pulled aside by a trawlerman. Everyone else jumps off the net, but stays on the ship. We've got three people in the water, and the inflatables are moving rapidly, in order to rescue them from the big swell. Within a couple of minutes, they're all on board the boats, and safe, if not completely dry.

On the Anuva, the other nine of us quickly pack up, and ready ourselves for getting off. While Dave and Sebastian are telling off the skipper for endangering our guys, I find a huge branch of coral, and get it into the Grey Whale. The captain is unapologetic - he even says he likes Greenpeace - but he also adds that he has a job to do. This job, it seems, involves destroying the seamounts of the North Atlantic, and making sure that anyone who disagrees with him gets a dunking in a stormy sea.

We're all back on the Esperanza now - home, dry, and, very, very tired. Some of us had been on board the Anuva for nearly 24 hours - the rest of us for nearly 12. There will be a lot of sleeping done on board this ship tonight.

- Dave

P.S. Here's an image gallery of shots from the boarding.

November 12, 2004

First Post From A Long Night

(C) Greenpeace

It's 10pm, in the middle of the North Atlantic. I'm sitting in the Campaign office, just behind the bridge of the Esperanza, still wrapped in layers of thermal gear, as I've just spent six hours out in the dark, in an inflatable. But while I'm sitting here, in relative comfort, three of our guys are on board a Lithuanian-flagged bottom trawler, the Anuva. It's going to be a long night...

Late this afternoon, we found the Anuva, bottom trawling on the high seas. This boat has one dodgy history- despite its Lithuanian flag, this ship is owned and run from Spain, and was previously deflagged by Belize for illegal fishing. As Belize is a well-known flag of convenience, these chancers must have really run amok, in order to be booted out! Coincidentally, the North East Atlantic Fisheries Council - who govern this area - are having a meeting in London at the moment. It's a pity they don't crack down on these troublemakers...

But back to the story - around 4pm, we had two inflatables alongside the Anuva. Three activists - our lead campaigner, Dima, as well as Kate and Ann - climbed up a ladder onto the deck of the Anuva, wearing the regulation orange jumpsuits, hard hats, and 'Deep Sea Defender' vests. Surprised members of the Anuva's crew burst out of the bridge when they saw us, but they didn't try to harm our guys. The trawler started hauling, and our guys were there to document the net coming up, while we were behind in the inflatables, shooting photographs and video.

As the trawlermen busied themselves with the deep sea catch, Kate -with Ann's help - managed to swing herself out onto the enormous trawl doors, which were groaning from port to starboard with the trawler's rolling. She attached herself, blocking the bottom trawler from setting its net again. Meanwhile, Dima and Ann started a blockade of the net itself, which was lying on the deck, empty. Kate joined them, and sat on the net as the trawler transited to a new position.

By now, the night had become inky black - no moon, no stars, and huge rolling swell. I'm in the inflatable called 'The African Queen' with Maaike, 'Action Dave' (these days I'm referred to as 'Dave the Web'), and camera guys Jari and Steve. As we rise and fall in the big sea, sometimes we're looking up at the Anuva towering above us - and within seconds it's way down below us, and we can see right onto the trawl deck.

When the trawler's skipper finally tries to drop his net, he has to get his men to bodily remove Dima, Ann and Kate from the net - they're moved aside, and the net is dropped again, for another few hours of mayhem on the seafloor.

So as I say - as I write, we've got people on the bottom trawler, and in two inflatables. And I'm not done yet.. 'Action Dave' has just come into fill me in on what's happening later tonight - so watch this space.

- Dave

November 11, 2004

Happy With Force 7

(C) Greenpeace

Wednesday afternoon, still in the North Atlantic. As we move later into the year, we notice how the weather is changing. One low after another comes in, which means bad weather - most of the time. It's funny how relative it is. Yesterday we had force ten for a while, but it's down to a seven now. We're happy with seven. We used to print out our weather faxes, but now our radio operator gets them through the Internet while he downloads and grabs email. He puts them in our folders on the computer, which saves paper. It doesn't give the same feeling of expectation though. We used to switch on the weather fax, search for the right channel, listening to the squeaky and cracking radio-sounds and after ten minutes you'd find out what the forecast is.

The technology is amazing these days. I know that sounds like a cliché, but it's true. Especially communication, which has improved a lot. But also using the GPS and radar is something you tend to take for granted. When I did my course we spent some time on celestial navigation and using the sextant. But it wasn't much, because of the limited time available, unfortunately. We also used a calculator which is basically like a small computer. You put the data in and the answer comes out. Our captain does the calculations in his head. This is the best opportunity for me to learn how to use the sextant properly and, more important, the calculations afterwards, without a calculator. It's a bit of a struggle, but slowly I'm getting there.

Maite, deckhand, knows "a little" about the stars. This is how she puts it, but for me, she's a walking encyclopedia. One comes up on the horizon and she'll tell you not only which one it is, she'll also tell you the mythology behind it. Amazing.

All we need now is good weather. And the forecasts don't look too good. There's no sun to take a bearing of, no stars at night (well, they are there, together with lots of dark clouds). So its lucky that we have a GPS and the radar.

- Maaike

Hello Skipper!

(C) Greenpeace

On patrol out here in the huge swells and squalls, we happened upon the Playa De Menduiña. The EU bottom trawler from Galicia is still out here - since we saw it two weeks ago - dragging the ocean bottom for deep sea fish. The Esperanza feels very solid, in comparison to the violent pitching and rolling of the Playa De Menduiña - it looks ungainly. In this foul weather (Maaike was joking that she was happy with a force 7 gale) - it's too dangerous to launch the inflatables, so we sail past. We let the bottom trawler's skipper know that we're still here, still watching, and not going to forget about the destruction they're causing.

- Dave

November 9, 2004

Gale Force Winds

(C) Greenpeace

The Esperanza has spent much of the last month out in the Atlantic Ocean, tracking bottom trawlers. Two weeks ago, when two of our activists mounted the net of one of these trawlers, the weather was unseasonably good - sunshine, and fairly calm seas. But now, as the year sidles toward winter, the weather is getting wilder. Since we left Falmouth, we've had many gales, of varying force. But today was pretty wild, we were up against a force 10 - gusting to force 11 - all day. That means a wind of 50 knots all day (90km/h), howling around the masts.

The waves are huge, lumbering grey monsters, streaked with white. The
Esperanza climbs wave after wave, and descends hundreds, thousands of
troughs between the waves. Every so often, we crash down hard, sending
up a wall of foam and spray from the bow, across the windows of the
Esperanza's bridge. This is no mean feat - the bridge is four decks
above the waterline!

It's too dangerous to do deck work in these conditions - and any heavy
physical work is more tiring than it should be. The crew has other stuff
to do though - there's always work to be done on a ship, no matter what.
I've been hanging out of my laptop all day, trying not to injure myself.
The sewing machine has been busy all day, with Maite fixing some of the
ship's thermal gear. Some people pass a little time up on the bridge,
gasping every time another huge wave appears in front of the Esperanza.
And a few people who are feeling a little `under the weather' have
retired to their bunks, praying for the storm to pass...

- Dave

Queasy

(C) Greenpeace

When asked if I'd be the Esperanza's onboard press officer for the high seas bottom trawling campaign , I thought wow, well I never? I then remembered I get queasy on boats. The destination for the trip was to be the Azores, the Portuguese territory in the middle of the Atlantic. I had perhaps unrealistic visions of palm trees, sandy beaches and importantly; calm seas. Although never having been 'to sea' before I knew my brief spells of sickness on Sydney ferries, Greek island-hopping ships and dive boats was evidence enough of my poor seaworthiness. Nevertheless, I reasoned that the opportunity to be part of this important campaign, on the frontline, was well worth a few days of queasiness and vomiting.

It's now day seven at sea and we are nowhere near the Azores. Good news,
the Azores are to be protected from deep sea bottom trawling, so are now
out in the North Atlantic, hundreds of miles from civilisation,
focussing on bottom trawlers on the high seas.

Before we set sail I had two days in Dublin to acclimatise to the ship
and get to know the crew. I discussed seasickness with the hardiest of
sea dogs, the incoming and outgoing medics and Paddy in the pub. Advice
was varied and conflicting. "Hang a potato round your neck" was the most
ridiculous, "eat ginger" sounded sensible, but opinion was divided 50/50
on the seasickness tablets. As we set sail, with no clear consensus on
how to deal with seasickness, I just crossed my fingers.

First day out of Dublin was magic; calm waters and clear skies. The
following evening brought stormy weather and a Force 5. It was the
beginning of the end for me. Apart from a calm day off the Scottish
island of Lewis, so far I have spent an inordinate amount of time in
bed. The only way I could stop vomiting was to lie flat. Sitting up
meant chucking up. I tried everything but the potato, and the only
solution was staying horizontal.

Trying to get on with things while this massive ship is rocking and
rolling has been the number one challenge. I am slowing meeting this
challenge but it could change within the hour. The bumps and grinds,
moans and groans of the ship, and the slipping and sliding of its
contents is like nothing I've ever experienced. The crash of the waves
against the hull makes huge thudding noises. There are always broom
handles, bottles, or doors clanging and banging, even though everything
is fixed down.

These noises and sensations are weirdest in the middle of the night. To
a novice like me it felt like water was going to gush in at any moment.
More than a couple of times during the night, when my rationale has been
sleeping but I haven't, I've thought about the abandon ship procedure:
would I make it out to the heli-hangar muster station, would I be able
to put on my survival suit, would I remember my beanie and coat, how
long would it take for someone to find us.

Of course these dreary thoughts disappear when daylight breaks. The
0730 wake up call means another day, another chance to find my sea legs,
the ones that have been coming and going like the bad weather.

- Maya

November 6, 2004

The 'Other' Fish Market

(C) Greenpeace

On Thursday in Madrid, our Spanish land team organised the "other" fish market. Different species of deep sea life collected by the crew of the Esperanza, from the deep sea trawler Playa de Menduiña where taken to Spain, in order to display the other part of the catch - the animals which will never reach the markets, but are still part of the destruction carried out by these ships.

Every time one of these trawlers haul their nets, it is not only commercial species that come to the surface. It is also a big variety of species that will be thrown back into the sea, dead. The "other" fish market was made of deep sea sharks, strange squid, weird crabs, and fishes from the deep... creatures which inhabit the deep sea ecosystem that deep sea bottom trawling is threatening all over the world.

This fish market was organised in front of the Spanish Foreign Affairs Ministry, which is responsible for the representation of Spain at the United Nations. It was also a good opportunity to explain to the officials of the Foreign Affairs Ministry the reasons why a moratorium on deep sea bottom trawling on the high seas is urgently needed to preserve these habitats all around the world. In addition, it was a very graphic way to expose the media the truth about the fish reaching our countries - that they are actually only a portion of what is really extracted from the sea.

Finally, the "other" fish market was taken to the Spanish Natural History Museum, where all these dead sea creatures were well received and will become part of their collection.

- Sebastian, Oceans Campaigner

What Do We Do At Sea?

(C) Greenpeace

A reader named Joshua asked, on the 'email the crew' page, what we do when we're at sea. It all depends on the campaign. Just this year, the Esperanza has been involved in campaigns everywhere from Scandinavia to Lebanon, dealing with GM shipments, nuclear shipments, whaling, and deep sea destruction.

Right now, we're out in the wild northeast atlantic, about half way between Scotland and Iceland. We're monitoring, documenting, and trying to stop bottom trawlers from wrecking the environment.

This isn't as easy as it sounds. For a start, the wind is howling around outside, at about 60km/h, and we have to drive small inflatable craft in rough seas, with fragile camera equipment on board. We often spend long hours in these boats - maybe an entire day. Some of us have learned to sleep in the corner of an inflatable.

There's a crew of more than 30 on the Esperanza - captain, mates, engineers, electrician, fitter, bosun, boat mechanic medic, deckhands, cooks, campaigners, logistics coordinators, radio operators, computer experts, videographer, photographer, press officer, helicopter pilot, and even a web editor. Some of us are mainly concerned with running the ship - looking after the engines, the boats, and the navigation. Others deal with the campaign - coordinating with land, working on policy and strategy. And some of us concentrate on media - creating good video, photographs, press releases, web stories, and making sure they make to the outside world.

There's no demarcation on a ship though - everyone has their primary role, but everyone does a bit of everything else. We have breakfast at 7:30, then, unless we're in the middle of some urgent activity (like trying to stop bottom trawlers) we get busy with the cleaning - the alleyways, toilets, showers, mess and lounge are all scrubbed. The garbage is taken to the garbology room, and separated for recycling. Food stores are carried up to the Galley. Emails are downloaded, phone calls made (via satellite) to land, meetings are held to decide on activity for the day.

We have lunch at 1200, dinner at 1800. Depending on what's happening, or what we're working on, many of the crew can take it relatively easy after 1700, and maybe watch a movie. If there's something major happening, then we work into the night...

From conversations with friends, as well as emails from weblog readers, it seems that everyone wonders 'what we do all day', as if we have a lot of time on our hands. The days pass incredibly quickly out here - even when we're just transiting somewhere - like from Dublin to the open ocean - everyone has something they need to get done. It might be directly related to work - having meetings, editing photographs, training new crew members, painting, fixing broken stuff... or it can be personal - writing emails to friends and family, sewing buttons, trying to catch up on reading, grabbing a well-needed nap, or just taking time out to look at the infinite patterns of the waves, as they lash the bow of the Esperanza.

Joshua also asks how long we're at sea doing out duties - that's a question that there's no really simple answer to, and I can only give an example of this trip. As I write this, it's November 5th. We left Falmouth, in Cornwall, England, on October 9th. Since then, we spent an afternoon just off Killybegs in Ireland, an afternoon docked in Lochinver, Scotland, and a two-night stopover in Dublin, Ireland. Apart from that, we've been at sea all the time, mostly hundreds of miles north west of Ireland and Britain. And we'll be out here for a few weeks yet...

- Dave

November 5, 2004

Dublin, Uncovered

(C) Greenpeace

It's a Sunday morning. Unlike the last few Sundays, when we've been hanging out with trawlers and dead fish, today we embrace civilisation, for better or for worse. Over the last few days, we've braved storms out near Rockall; on Friday afternoon, we lots of dolphins around us, and in the dark, had sailed down between the coasts of Ireland and Scotland (a channel so narrow, you can see right across). On Saturday, we had stopped off near Bangor, just outside Belfast, to put some crew ashore. We might have been a few miles from the coast, but it didn't take long for word to get round - a local radio station called us up to see what we were doing there.

On Saturday night, the Esperanza's engineers put on a fine 'soiree' (though the Spanish contingent did complain about the lack of dance music), and all attendees were promoted to 'Chief Engineer', for the evening. The Espy must be the most happening ship on the Irish Sea.

But back to Sunday morning - I'm standing out on the port bridge wing of the Esperanza looking into a thick fog, trying to make out the twin chimneys of Ringsend power station. I can't see anything, except the occasional navigation buoy, a few gregarious birds, and a lone seal. I was looking forward to the approach to Dublin - the islands of Lambay (and its wallaby population) and Ireland's Eye; the peninsula of Howth, and to the south, the Dublin and Wicklow Mountains.

But no, we can see none of this. Even when the pilot boat approaches, it seems to materialise from the chilly murk. The pilot deftly steps aboard the Esperanza, and his boat vanishes again. As he approaches the bridge, I can hear his cheery Dublin accent - it seems weird having another Irishman on board, after all these weeks of unfettered globalisation. In the bridge, the pilot coordinates with Jon, the captain, guiding the Esperanza safely into the mouth of the River Liffey. We've got crew watching for confirmation sightings of the marker buoys, they're so hard to see. It's dazzling, watching for dark shapes. Before we know it, a huge ship is thundering past our port side - the Ulysses, a massive car ferry. There's still no sign of any landmarks, like the chimneys.

According to the radar and GPS we're already inside the north and south walls that bracket the port entrance. But we can't see either, just the vague outlines of some oil terminals. Massive cargo ships loom large from the fog...

And then, suddenly we're in Dublin. The East Link Bridge is raised to let us through, and I can see some racing cyclists stopped, waiting to cross. One raises his hand to wave. I only find out afterwards that - by coincidence - it's a bunch of my old cycling teammates gathering for a training spin.

The pilot guides the Esperanza up to Sir John Rogerson's Quay - I don't have much time for sightseeing, I'm down on the main deck, dropping down fenders between the ship and the wall. Afterwards, I climb up to 'monkey island' - above the bridge, and take a look at the city. There's so many tower cranes, the city looks like one big building site. Up the quays towards the city centre, I can see my old office, high up in a green glass building.

I've lived in Dublin since 1993, and have always worked around the city centre. Today, I've commuted to the middle of Dublin, on board the Esperanza. What a strange job this is...

- Dave

Docked in Dublin

(C) Greenpeace

The Esperanza had barely docked in Dublin before the first visitors started arriving - new crew members, local Greenpeace activists, and friends. I had the pleasure of welcoming my parents on board - they'd travelled a couple of hours just to see both the Esperanza and their wayward son. Their first words were 'The ship is huge!'. This was recurring theme for most of the visitors, who expected the Esperanza to be a wee little thing.

My father was in his element - he loves ships, and everything to do with them. Kev, 3rd engineer, gave him a tour of the engine rooms, while my mum just raised her eyes to heaven.

By the time I saw them off, the first Open Boat visitors were arriving -various crew members were welcoming them on board, and treating them to the Trawling the Deep video in the heli-hanger, before taking them on a tour of the ship. Dima took over running of the video, while Francois, Natasha, Yabel, Maaike and Madeleine got going with the tours. For my part, I had forewarned a lot of people about our visit - and they all seemed to show up at once, or right after one other, so that I ended up doing six hours of tours. Not that I'm complaining - though it was weird to have my family life, my Dublin social life, and my work life all collide on one day, on a ship, on the River Liffey.

The 'Oh my god this ship is enormous' theme carried on through the day -though at least one little girl expressed her distaste at the tiny wheel used for steering the Esperanza. After weeks on the high seas, it's a fantastic chance to meet people interested in what we do, and for them to encounter the Greenpeace activists who crew the ships.

(C) Greenpeace

At 6pm, after the last visitor had wandered off down the gangway, the lounge was full of flaked out folk. My voice was going... time to relax, and play host to the crew of the Esperanza - and show them around Dublin.

On Monday, we had a morning press conference in the heli-hanger, to highlight our campaign, and to exhibit the destruction caused by bottom trawling. Dozens of dead fish were laid out on deck for the media, gleaned from the bycatch scupper of the Playa de Menduiña. Star of the show was our big red crab, photographs of which appeared in the newspapers, held by Maya, our new press officer. After lunch, Dave R, Odin and I took to the streets in my little red car, on the hunt for tools and spare parts, armed with the Yellow Pages and my mental street map of Dublin.

Back at the ship, other crew members were busy organising recycling, food deliveries, more new equipment and supplies and getting new crew settled on board. When they had a chance, they were taking it easy, and wandering around Dublin a bit.

It was a hectic few days - for me anyway. By Tuesday evening, as we sailed out through the East Link Bridge, I was nearly glad to be going back to the high seas for a rest...

- Dave

November 4, 2004

November 2004 New York: Greenpeace visits the United Nations

Greenpeace campaigner Karen Sack addresses the united Nations General Assembly 2004

Security was tight and fidgety. The cameras were ready to record the moment. Our Greenpeace activist was camouflaged to blend in to her surroundings. She had borne witness to an environmental crime: the bulldozing of fragile ocean seamounts. And she was in the presence of people who could do something about it. At the appointed moment, she leapt into the spotlight to demand action, not words.

Had she been aboard our ship Esperanza in the North Atlantic the month before, or the Rainbow Warrior in the Tasman Sea a few months before that, she might have stopped a trawling vessel from ploughing over rare corals or delayed, at least for a few hours, the wholesale destruction of an irreplaceable deep sea habitat.

She was not at sea however - she was in the hallowed halls of the United Nations, where some countries with an interest in deep sea plunder strongly prefer words over action.

Her speech to the UN was on the occasion of the 10th anniversary of the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea: one of the most important efforts at protection of the global commons ever achieved.

In the run up to the day's debate about how to better protect our ocean environment, Greenpeace and the other members of the Deep Sea Conservation Coalition showed graphic evidence -- in photographs, video, and scientific reports, that high seas bottom trawling is the most destructive practice impacting deep sea life.

High seas bottom trawling literally ploughs up the ocean floor for relatively few fish. The fleets often target seamounts - the least explored mountains on the planet, that rise more than a 1,000 metres from the ocean floor. Seamounts are teeming with deep sea life, some of which is undiscovered by science and much is unique to individual seamounts. We know more about Mars than we know about some of these habitats.

Yet our pleas were ignored. Instead an international call from the Convention on Biological Diversity to the UN for urgent action was watered down to a call for a review in two years time.

The interests of the few bottom trawling nations won out over science and common sense. There are deep sea species that are still unknown to science and yet the commercial interests of a few are considered more important. Who knows how many of those species could be wiped out while the politicians sit back reviewing.

But, while we didn't quite achieve all we would have liked, it's wasn't all doom and gloom. On the issue of bottom trawling, the actions agreed by the General Assembly are far better than those recommended by the June meeting of the UN Informal Consultative Process on Oceans and the Law of the Sea (UNICPOLOS). Amongst other things, UNGA has for the first time explicitly recognized that bottom trawling can have destructive impacts on seamounts, cold water corals and other vulnerable deep sea ecosystems. In doing so, the UNGA has called on member states to 'take action urgently', based on science and the precautionary approach, and consider interim prohibitions or moratoria on bottom trawl fishing on the high seas (that is, beyond areas of national jurisdiction, not where all the swashbuckling pirates are).

What UNGA said

The UNGA established an 'Open-ended Informal Working Group' to study issues related to the conservation and sustainable use of marine diversity on the high seas. The working group is likely to meet in early 2006.

Nonetheless, the UNGA resolutions still fall well short of an agreement for a global moratorium on bottom trawl fishing on the high seas to protect deep-water corals and biodiversity. It still leaves it up to countries individually and through regional fisheries management organizations (RFMOS) to take action to protect deep sea life from bottom trawl fishing.

Is leaving it up to individual countries really so bad?

So what's so bad using regional management, we hear you ask. Well for starters the evidence isn't encouraging: existing RFMOs, with the exception of the one for Antarctica, have done little to protect deep sea life from high seas bottom trawling.

There is a bit of light at the end of the tunnel: for example, the North-East Atlantic Fisheries Commission (NEAFC) recently held its annual meeting and agreed, for the first time ever, to close several small deep sea areas in international waters to bottom trawl fishing. A good start, but not nearly enough to protect deep-water corals, which are widespread throughout the region.

Also, it appeared that the EU was successful in preventing an agreement to close a sensitive deep sea area which is of interest to Spanish fleets fishing on the high seas.

Bottom trawl fishing is completely unregulated in many international waters. Other types of fishing are strongly regulated - so why not bottom trawling? But the UNGA resolution is quite weak on these areas and calls on states to either establish new RFMOs or expand the mandate of existing RFMOs to cover these high seas areas - a process that will take many years at best and in some cases ultimately may not be effective in the long term.

So who are the bad guys still?

In 2004 Costa Rica, Norway, Chile and New Zealand governments showed some leadership during the UN General Assembly negotiations. Iceland and the European Union, on the other hand, appeared to be the major obstacles to comprehensive protection of deep sea biodiversity.

View the webcast of Greenpeace Policy Advisor Karen Sack's challenge to the UNGA (REAL MEDIA)

Trawler Pixie Winner

After plenty of deliberation, we have arrived at a name for the 'Trawler Pixie'. Suggestions, which came from all over the world, included Cederic, Hero, Emily, Séamusín O'Piccolo, Zephyr, Greenie the Genie, Pinnochio, Rainbow Pixie, Rambo, Bigfoot, Tom and Bottom's Up.

But our favourite - for its succintness, is 'Trules the Trawler Imp', suggested by Steve Campbell in Australia. For your information, Steve, we're not really anywhere near Norway, but we still like the name.

Steve is the winner of Rex Wyler's new book about Greenpeace - enjoy! It's a damn good read.

- Dave

November 2, 2004

Image Gallery!

Kate, our photographer, has been taking lots of cool photos while on board the Esperanza - check out some of the pictures from our trip, in the Image Gallery »