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.
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 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.
[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.
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.
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?'
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...
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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 »
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.
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.
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?
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...
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.
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.
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...
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.
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.
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...
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
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 here After a couple of weeks, it hit me - I hadn't seen cars, trees, or other people in ages!
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.
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 schools front stairs, but thats 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.
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.
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.
Lovin' that bycatch!
