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30 November 2005

Gorton's = Whaling

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

- Act now! -

It's been widely covered in the media that virtually all of the whales killed here in the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary, as part of a sham "scientific" research program, end up as high-priced luxury food in Japan. But (until now) few people would have guessed the connection between whaling and supermarket shelves across the USA.

However, the truth is that the well known US seafood company Gorton's is a wholly owned subsidiary of Nissui - an old whaling company. Although no longer its main focus, Nissui is still in the whaling business through its 30 percent stake in Kyodo Senpaku Kaisha, which intends to hunt and kill more whales over the next two years than any company in the world - including two endangered species (fin and humpback whales).

To spell it out, there is a chain of responsibility (and profit) stretching from the Gorton's products (on supermarket shelves in the US) to Nissui (in Japan) to the whaling fleet off the coast of Antarctica. It's pretty amazing to think about. We have the power - simply as consumers of fish sticks and such - to help end commercial whaling once and for all.

Look at it like this: Gorton's has about 30 percent of the US seafood market, with sales of in the hundreds of millions of dollars. Can you imagine if, hypothetically speaking, Gorton's share of the US seafood market dropped just one or two percent? Any possible future profits from whaling start to look insignificant by compression.

It is high time that we put our power as consumers to good use. Let's make Nissui, through Gorton's, feel the heat. Tell Gorton's to reel in its Japanese parent company and help put an end to commercial whaling.

- Click here and act now! -

More about the Gorton's / whaling connection

Don't live in the US? Don't worry. We are looking into Nissui links around the world. Sign up as an Ocean Defender to be kept up to date.

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29 November 2005

The dresser

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

Today, at 13:00 hours, the fire alarm began to sound. A fire this far from shore is one of the worst possible things that can happen on a ship. However, the crew remained calm because we are all hardy Greenpeace activists and salty sea dogs who do not panic for anything, and also because "Nov. 29th, 13:00 - fire drill" had been posted on the blackboard in the mess since yesterday.

Drill or not, we all mustered up and got down to business. In the event of a fire, everyone on board has a role to play - from closing ventilation flaps, to assembling the medical gear, to actually going in and fighting the fire. However, for some reason, web editors are not normally considered particularly useful in non-internet related emergencies. Therefore, on reaching the muster station I prepared to undertake my usual role of, "standing by to assist as needed". Throughout the drill I feel I preformed this duty admirably - continuing to stand by with a perseverance and intensity that was apparently noticed by the higher ups. Because, as of this afternoon, I have been promoted to "BA dresser #2" on the fire roster. Basically, my new job is to help one of the BA (breathing apparatus) team members (Zeger) put his fire fighting his gear on. As anyone who has ever tried to fight a fire with their pants on backwards will tell you, dressing properly is an important part of the job - so I am honoured to be on the dressing team.

And who knows what the future may hold for an ambitious lad such as myself. "BA dresser #1" perhaps?

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28 November 2005

Someone killed the cinema

by Lally, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

Onboard we tend to communicate via a blackboard in the mess. If you have something to say to everyone you put it on the blackboard. Everything from 'where are all the cups?' to 'fire drill at 1pm' gets put up so imagine the excitement when a new message appeared yesterday morning: 3pm Lounge - Come and experience digital surround sound cinema Feature presentation: Running Scared with bonus short film Round Cape Horn featuring Captain Irving Johnson.

I tend to use the lounge as my place of work as it's pretty stable and has comfy sofas but I was to be displaced by the scene that greeted me. The lounge had been literally torn apart and there were bits of wire, packaging and tools everywhere. Six speakers were being installed following a 3 hour debate as to where to put the subwoofer, some major carpentry was taking place to insert the sub woofer into the selected place and multiple wiring conundrums were being solved all while rolling in a force ten gale.

I figured I'd come back at 3pm.

Just before the grand opening I went to the mess to get myself a cup of tea and was greeted by the following notice:
2:50pm Cinema closed due to illness in the family

Not entirely convinced I descended to the lounge to investigate and found Kate and Jari our onboard image and sound specialists slowly packing away the remnants of the all-new cinema. Apparently it had all happened so quickly. One minute all was going well and the next it made "a sound that no electronic equipment should ever make" followed by the smell of burning electronic components. The cinema was dead.

The real tragedy apart from Kate and Jari wasting their only day off is that this wasn't just any old cinema. This was our special treat for being good. You see, once your stomach settles enough for you to be able to look at the screen, films provide the only form of 'switch off your brain' entertainment on the ship. To boot the speakers were to double as our sound system for our Christmas and New Year Parties all while providing much joy and light relief over the coming months.

But the cinema is no more and as we come to terms with our loss the box containing it's mangled remains sits silently taunting us from the floor by the bookcase in the lounge.

I guess I'll just read a book.

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Working and preparing

by Regine, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

Phil is working at the driver cabins for the inflatables. They will protect us against the icy wind and wetness. A couple of days ago a window in one of the cabins was broken so it also had to be fixed. The Esperanza is not far away and it is a good feeling to see from time to time that there is another ship. And not just another ship, one of ours!

The always following birds are so well adapted to the polar area, it is amazing that the temperature doesn't do anything to them. They are still following us! In the wind it is now pretty icy and you need gloves if you are staying outside. We all hope, that the weather will become a bit better, so we can start with the boat training! We have already got warm underwear, socks, gloves and jumpers, but still the waves are a bit high for training. We all are looking forward to the upcoming times and the discussions about the whalers are getting more space in our days. Will we find them? And if we will, where and when? And how will we start our activities? Lots of questions that come up the longer the trip takes...

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27 November 2005

Alarms, icebergs and force 10 storms

by Lally, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

I will never forget the last 24 hours of this voyage for as long as I live. Here’s a brief summary of events...

As I sat in my cabin after lunch searching through my drawer for my woolliest socks the ships alarm system activated and a bell started ringing very loudly in short bursts. From my safety induction I knew immediately that it was the fire alarm. I also knew that it wasn’t a drill. We are warned of all drills in advance and this alarm had had no warning. This could be serious.

I opened my cabin door and without hesitation everyone onboard the ship had mobilised in a reflex reaction. Within a minute everyone was at the muster station on deck, or at their fire fighting post awaiting instruction from the engineers who'd disappeared below deck to investigate. The register was completed just as a false alarm was declared. A sigh of relief was heard and it was then that I looked around and saw my first iceberg.

I'd kind of imagined that the first iceberg would be a little chunk of ice floating by and those of us that had never seen one before would get all excited, take its photo and then go back inside. I was really not expecting the type you see in documentaries. Huge, majestic chunks of dazzling white ice hued with baby blue just sitting there like islands seemingly motionless as the waves crashed around them. After an hour or so when I realised my fingers were also turning baby blue and ship had started rocking a bit more than usual I headed back inside.

The extra rocking was a prelude to what was to come and last night we experienced and are still experiencing as I type what seems to me to be the mother of all storms.

When I ascended to the bridge this morning armed with a cup of tea to watch the show in full 360 degree Technicolor I was informed that the storm had reached force 10 (two points off a hurricane!) and the waves had exceeded 35 feet. I’ve honestly never seen anything like. The closest I can think of is in that film 'A Perfect Storm'. As far as the eye could see there were enormous breaking waves with classic foaming crests and gigantic swells veined with white. I hung around for a while staring in awe at the vastness and ferocity of the sea feeling smaller than I’ve ever felt before.

It's been a truly humbling 24 hours.

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26 November 2005

What a difference a day makes...

by Lally, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

Sometime yesterday the weather calmed down and a huge sigh of relief escaped from not so happy campers on the Arctic Sunrise. No one dared mention the stillness for an hour for fear of being lulled into a false sense of security and when it was finally mentioned there was much touching of wood. But after a few hours semi-stillness was confirmed and it was as if we’d been set free.

In the old days back when I walked solid ground (about 6 days ago now) if I’d gone out to sea on a ship that’s rolling as much as this one does in calm weather I’d probably have had to lie down. But this break in the storm is a joy and at night the rolls rock you gently to sleep.

So I’ve now had my first meal onboard that was a pleasure rather than an endurance test and I could finally appreciate the exquisite food that appears daily from the galley. I even found myself going back for seconds rather than picking at my plate like a little bird.

During dinner I looked around and took stock of the wide range of visible injuries acquired over of the past few days. To my left was the owner of a sprained ankle acquired when the ship took one of its many sudden lunges, from the galley came a bandaged burnt forearm due to an escapee cooking pot, opposite me was a head with a bandage covering a cut which was acquired when a porthole lid came alive and slammed shut and across the way I spied a carpet burn on a left arm received when its owner fell out of bed.

It looks like I got off lightly with a bruised brain.

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Icebergs

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

It's colder now. Cape Town was t-shirt and shorts weather. Good swimming temperature. Now we can see our breath, and there are icebergs around. This (the icebergs) makes life more interesting for the watch keepers. Actually, big icebergs are not such a problem. Well, yes they are if you run into one, but they show up on the radar making them easy to avoid even at night. More dangerous are the bergy bits and growlers.

Icebergs and bergy bits and growlers are all chunks of glacial ice that has broken off and floated away. All are also much larger below the waterline than above. The difference between the three is mostly size. Icebergs are massive while bergy bits generally show less than 5 metres (16ft) above the water. Growlers are rounded, smaller than bergy bits, often transparent (sometimes green/black tinted), and according to the Admiralty Mariner's Handbook are, "often displaying aspects of neutral buoyancy".

All this means that while they may sound very cute, bergy bits and growlers can both be difficult to spot, either on the radar or by eye. Rough seas don't help either. Both of our ships are designed for working in icy regions, and have hulls strengthened for it.

Zeger (3rd mate) has also passed out the special extreme cold weather suits that will help us survive out in the boats. They are bright orange things of beauty to anyone familiar with the brutal conditions in this part of the world. I've put my name on one, and stored it ready for use. Now all we need to do is find the whalers, and whether you know it or not, you might be able to help with that.

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Transferring gear

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

When I said before that the ocean is calmer, I meant that in a relative sense. Just now the sea state is moderate with waves over a meter high, quite a good swell and 16 knots of wind (30kph). The Esperanza is still rolling somewhat, but not uncomfortably. However, looking over at the Arctic Sunrise, sailing nearby, I was almost getting seasick. They are pitching heavily, sea-sawing bow to stern.

The Sunrise did manage to launch a boat though, to come over and pick up some bits of gear. It wasn't far, but looked like a pretty wild ride. Phil (outboard mech on the Sunrise) was driving and PoPaul was boat crew. Frank (captain) gave them a lee to port by steering the Esperanza so that the worst of the wind and the waves were blowing onto the opposite side of the ship from our pilot door. The boat rose and fell by the pilot door as Alain, Cat and Phil (bosun) passed gear out to PoPaul who quickly lashed it down.

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Neighbours

by Regine, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

In the morning, we met the Esperanza! She was only one mile beside, but we couldn’t see her... the fog was still close around the ship.

Later, when the visibility was getting better, we could see her, some miles in front. But the most exciting news this morning was: icebergs! They where seen already on the radar before they appeared through the fog. The white ice with a little shine of blue was drifting along and disappeared again in the fog. Later, the wind came up again and took the rainy and misty weather away! Now we are again on a polar-blue ocean, followed by some white majestic albatross.

Today is Saturday, so the ship was cleaned before lunch and we looked forward to our first weekend on sea.

The days are becoming longer and today we have a good chance for a beautiful sunset. But with the again upcoming wind, the waves also start to become higher, so the ship is again rolling more, but not as bad as before!

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25 November 2005

Radio room rockin

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

On the way to work from my cabin this morning I passed the radio room and noted that they were rocking out in there. Arriving at the office on the bridge deck I found the ship's office rocking out as well via the speaker phone. Apparently there was a button accidentally pressed or something. On the play list, such classics as Janice, Eurythmics, U2, and rap in an unidentified language.

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International communication

by Regine, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

The seabirds, which have followed us all the days long, have mostly left. It’s maybe because of the weather. The ship is still pretty less bouncy, the wind is coming from behind.

We are 25 people from 15 nations on board. So of course broad speech is English. But after a couple of days I am recognizing how important communication is! As long as you are not communicating in your home language, it is difficult to express at any time you want, what you think or feel. And it is interesting how many things you can express "between the words"!

Tomorrow we expect to meet the Esperanza, to make plans for the upcoming trainings and possibilities we have and how to continue finding the whalers.

Today it's rainy and the horizon is coming pretty close to our ship. The world on a ship is getting small, especially, when the horizon is 10 meters behind the window! But anyway, as long as the ship can go as calm as now, we are happy!

Our cook Emilce is doing every day little wonders! She is cooking like a mom for us! Sometimes she and Isha are fighting battles in the galley against wind and waves, against flying spoons, forks and plates! But everyday we are getting best food, delicious and variable!

I am looking forward for tomorrow, so see you and ciao.

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24 November 2005

Happy turkey day

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

I almost forgot it was Thanksgiving back home today, until someone reminded me by email. No turkey for dinner here. We had a right tasty rice/pasta/beef skewers sort of thing. Very nice, but no stuffing, gravy or cranberries of course. Lots to give thanks for though. Good weather (much colder but decently calm today), a stout ship, good food and more of it than many in this world - plus we are on our way to someplace spectacular to (hopefully) make a real difference. And, on top of all that, everyone is officially over their seasickness.

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Zen and the art of opening a door

by Lally, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

As the weather gets steadily worse so does my ability to perform even the simplest tasks. Never again will I take activities such as walking, climbing stairs and standing still for granted. Onboard the Arctic Sunrise everything takes 10 times longer to do than normal.

Just getting dressed in the morning takes forethought and strategic planning. Before getting out of bed I lie still for a couple of minutes assessing mine and the ships next move and visualising where exactly each proposed layer of clothing is located. I prefer to get dressed in the horizontal position as it reduces the chances of knocking myself out pre-breakfast as I fly around the cabin with one leg in my jeans. However the horizontal dressing procedure only works if I can locate the items of clothing I have mentally pre-selected without leaving my bunk. Otherwise sitting on the floor is the way forward. Standing isn't an option.

I'm slowly discovering that in order to do anything you have to work with the rolls of the ship and that timing is everything. For example if you open a cupboard and something falls out and rolls across the floor to the other side of the room chasing it is a waste of time and energy. All you have to do is sit tight and wait for the ship to roll the other way and it'll roll right back to you.

The same theory applies to opening a door. If you get the timing wrong it can feel like the door has been glued shut or alternatively if you try the same procedure with the ship rolling the other way it can fling open at 800 miles an hour. But if you just wait a second or two, for that sacred moment of stillness between rolls, you can open the door like a normal person opening a normal door. This may not seem allot but it actually feels really good when absolutely nothing else around you feels normal.

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Life in a washing machine

by Lally, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

Have you ever wondered what its like to live inside a giant washing machine? As it happens nor had I until about an hour after leaving port. Before setting off I often heard the words Arctic Sunrise and washing machine mentioned in the same sentence. Being relatively new to the world of nautical language I figured this was just another one of those words that meant something else, like galley meaning kitchen and mess meaning dining room but boy was I was wrong. The Arctic Sunrise really does behave like a giant washing machine.

You see the Arctic Sunrise isn't like a normal ship which has a fin-like keel and is designed to cut through the waves. She's designed as an icebreaker with the idea being that rather than forcing her way through the ice she uses her own momentum to rise above it and then uses her own weight to land down on it breaking a path as she goes.

The outcome of this design is that she rolls allot in every direction seemingly all the time. If you happened to be on the outside at this exact moment in time looking in through one of the round galley portholes (you can pretend there's a hatch in the deck if you’re used to using a top loading washing machine) you would get to see an entire little world of people trying to eat their dinner and catch things while being randomly jumbled around. The rest of the contents of the ship form pots and pans to bars of soap, infact anything that isn’t tied down will all be flying around as if in a huge washing machine.

It is possible to make the whole affair even more washing machine-like by accidentally leaving your cabin porthole open or simply leaving glass of water unattended for a second but these are optional extras.

I guess the problem is that we are not in the ice. We are in the open sea in what looks to me like a storm and the Arctic Sunrise is just practicing for what lies ahead. I'm glad she getting some practice in but it would be really nice if she could just calm down for a bit!

Well it feels like the wash cycle has just ended and the spin cycle has begun. The sofa sliding past me in the lounge is a good indicator that it's probably time to tie myself down too.

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23 November 2005

Nathan - Boat Driver

Nathan, USA

Hello all -

Well, we're at sea, a little more than two days out of Cape Town. While stuff is being posted on the website and the campaign has no-doubt updated you, I thought I'd give y'all a note from my perspective.

In the biggest picture, it's funny how things come 'round in life: in 1988 I was pretty much a wayward punk: 18 years old, unfocused, a bit of a troublemaker with a generalized destructive and cynical attitude about living. The only thing I knew for certain was that I wasn't ready for college yet. My father knew all this as well. He had moved to the bay area in San Francisco that year while I was still in New Mexico, and while wandering around the waterfront area he'd stumbled across a Greenpeace store (we had a few retail stores back then). Growing up in central Kansas and then Santa Fe, none of us had heard of GP before; he picked up a few leaflets and did some reading...

When I came to visit him that summer, he brought me to the store; I guess he was thinking that Greenpeace could turn me into a focused troublemaker with a generalized constructive attitude. I toured around the store, checking out the t-shirts with the rainbows and doves and dolphins, the whale pendants and earrings, the bright colored posters of stylized ships and whatnot and I thought: what a bunch of fluffy crap!

But my pa seemed into it, and I didn't want to bum him out with my attitude, so I wandered the store while he and my stepmother oohed and ahhhed over things. In a corner, I found a monitor playing a loop tape of the most amazing thing I could remember seeing - the footage was roughly shot, the camera unsteady, but you could clearly see a whale slowly rolling in the water in front a large boat with a harpoon gun on its bow. A small inflatable with two guys in it charges for the space between the hunter and his prey. As they near the whale, a cloud of smoke erupts from the cannon and the harpoon flies over their heads, landing solidly in the side of the whale. The cable from the harpoon sharply snaps the water just before the boat. They were just short of stopping the harpooner and his work, but they were damned close. I watched it over and over, transfixed.

As a younger teenager, I was really into whales, especially sperm whales and bowheads. I read a lot about them and kept posters and diagrams of them on the wall of my room. Being from Kansas, they seemed about as alien and magical as creatures get. I never imagined that the first footage I would actually see of an actual live whale would be of one getting taken down by an explosive-tipped spear...

I asked one of the gals in the store what the footage was about; who the guys in the boat were. She said: "that's us. Those guys are from Greenpeace". I looked at my father and pointed at the screen and said: "That's it. THAT's what I want to do. I want to be that guy in the boat".

Two months later I had moved to Seattle and started canvassing for the Seattle Regional Office.

Seventeen years later I'm going to sea for Greenpeace for the first time on the Esperanza, and here we are, on our way to confront the whalers, deep in the southern ocean, near the pack ice of Antarctica. Should we find them, my job is to drive an inflatable boat into the way and stop them from killing whales in the International Whale Sanctuary. I have never seen a whale in my life. I hope like hell that somehow I can keep that harpoon from firing, or at least make the gunner miss his target.

It's funny how things come around in life.

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Hernan - videographer

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22 November 2005

Sea state 7

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

Already the sea state is at a seven (on a scale of one to nine). The swell is about five meters (16 ft), our ship is rolling up to 30 degrees off centre, people walk with a sideways stager, and loud cursing can be heard from the galley. Going out on the poop deck - an open bottom deck at the back of the ship - you can look up at the waves.

To use a video gaming metaphor, it's like setting the difficulty level of life to "extreme". Normally simple things - like mopping floors, eating soup, taking a shower or just standing in one place - become huge challenges. The problem being that your whole world is moving up and down and side-to-side. Right now, a lot of side to side. The effect is like the direction and amount of gravity constantly changing. That heavy steel hatch you're trying to open becomes virtually weightless one second, and then super heavy the next. A very dangerous phenomenon.

As I write, the chairs in the office are all sliding around according to their own fancy - including the one I'm sitting in. Every few minutes a big swell will come, forcing me to stop typing and grab the desk with both hands as my chair tries to slide backwards across the room.

And I suspect we haven't seen the worst of it. Down here you get what are called the "Roaring Forties" and the "Fearsome Fifties". Look at a globe and you will see an area where wind and waves whip all the way around our world without land getting in thee way. We've got to get through that.

The only consolation we have on board the Esperanza is that however bad we have it, the crew on the Arctic Sunrise has it worse. The hull of the Sunrise is an eggish shape - no keel. The idea being that if she ever gets trapped in the ice, as it freezes she will pop out on top of it instead of being crushed. Pretty cool except...when you're out in rough weather the Sunrise bobs about like a cork.

Earlier today I spoke by radio with Neil, radio operator on board the Arctic Sunrise. He's quite a seasoned sailor so is taking things relatively calmly, but it does sound pretty messy over there.

Neil on the Arctic Sunrise, reports by radio (1 min, mp3).

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Seasick

by Yuko, onboard the Esperanza

The jar of hand cream that I had put on the desk last night was just beside my bed this morning. It is not because of some exorcist phenomena of walking hand cream, it rolled there with the endless movement of the ship... especially yesterday and today, the rolling has been bad... All night I had to listen to the noise of the rough waves as they bang against the portholes or the outside wall of my cabin, and the noise of things flying and crashing in the adjacent mess room.

The noise and walking hand cream are OK compared to something my body is going through. I have seen few crews' faces today, so not only I am suffering from seasickness. The campaigners office is located on the top deck of the ship, and receives the most motion. It is almost torture to work there with flying chair and papers.

Another Japanese crewmember here on the Esperanza, Hana, seems OK, even though this is her first voyage. What was my experience during my previous Southern Ocean expedition I think to myself, remembering I was all right last time, not suffering?

All the Esperanza crew saying how, "probably it is worse on the Arctic Sunrise", and that's true. I worry a bit about the two Japanese crewmembers there, Seigo and Yuske.... they don't have much sea going experience. Good luck there. Ganbatte kudasai!

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21 November 2005

First video blog - Introducing Shane

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

Our first video blog introduces Shane. He's the expedition leader for our Southern Ocean expedition, and head of the Greenpeace International Oceans campaign. The video is from back in Cape Town. Currently, Shane is on board the Arctic Sunrise trying to get his sea legs.

Watch the video (Flash, about 1 min, 15 sec long)

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Cementing the spurling pipe

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

This morning the Esperanza has a distinctive, and not entirely pleasant "at sea" feeling. I can't say the sea is rough - all considered it is pretty calm so far - but I am not the only one on board still finding their sea legs. It's probably worse on the Sunrise of course. She is a quite a good ship to sail on, but famously wobbly.

The spurling pipe (aka navel pipe) is how the anchor chain gets from the deck down into the chain locker, where it's stored. This morning bosun Phil and Alain (deckhand) first stuffed rags and a couple of ratty old pillows down the spurling pipes, and then added a layer of cement over top to make it water tight. This is standard procedure when a ship like ours heads off on a long expedition. We won't need the anchors for a while, and if we start taking waves over the bow we definitely want to keep the water from filling up the anchor locker. It's safer this way, and also better for the anchor chain (less rusting).

Watching the operation always brings home to me that I won't be setting foot on land for a long time.

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Day one

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

We left Cape Town yesterday afternoon with a police escort, and amidst some fan fair. The authorities had been on high alert while we were in town, and kept us under close surveillance the whole time. But I think some of the port security guards were actually sorry to see us go, and the marine police must have enjoyed the chance to get out to sea for a bit. I know I saw one of their boats airborne at one point.

We launched four of our boats as well and the helicopter, and put up the, "Defending The Whales", banners along the railings. It was quite a show, but then you don't depart on the biggest ship expedition in Greenpeace history without making a big deal of it. It's all part of letting people know they can help save our oceans.

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20 November 2005

Provisioning

Ever buy three months worth of groceries for 61 people, and then have to figure out were to store them all? That was yesterday. From about 8:00 in the morning till 6:00 at night we were busy loading and stowing. Everything from artichokes to zucchinis. According to Charles (cook) we have 350 kilos (772 lbs) of flour, 500 kilos (half a ton) of rice and 3,000 eggs. We're still waiting on 100 litres of fresh milk, but may have to leave without it. Charles also says we have enough dry stores (pasta, beans, rice, etc.) to survive for a year if we get trapped in the ice or something. Somehow I don't find this as comforting as I probably should.

The morning (Sunday) we're still alongside here in Cape Town. Preparations are mostly complete. Only a few people running around frantically. Most of the crew is on shore right now, just enjoying the feeling of being off the ship - standing under a tree, walking around town, playing tourist for a few hours, climbing a hill. Within hours we expect to be heading out in search of the Japanese whaling fleet. Then the hard work will really begin.

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19 November 2005

Where am I?

by Lally, onboard the Arctic Sunrise

The ships are currently tied up along side each other in Cape Town Harbour. To get from one ship to the other you have to climb the railing and simply step across. What no one else seems to notice as they effortlessly glide between the two ships is that there is a rather big gap between them and that if you're slightly distracted by for instance the amazing red helicopter on the deck, the array of speed boats suspended above your head or possibly the fact that Table Mountain towers above us across the bay with its table cloth of cloud streaming down its side like a waterfall it's possible you might just fall in!

I've dreamt of working on the Greenpeace ships ever since I was a little girl when I first saw the Greenpeace footage of whales, one of the most stunning creatures ever to cross the face of the planet being harpooned, dragged alive from their homes to be chopped-up and tinned.

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18 November 2005

Talk to us - open thread

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

Any questions, words of encouragement, hate mail, love mail, peace mail, etcetera: about whaling, whales, the oceans, Greenpeace, us, what it's like to work onboard a ship - anything like that, send it our way. Really, we'd love to hear from you.

This thread is a public forum. If you for any reason need to send us a confidential message (like information that will help us find the whalers, for example), please email hunt-the-hunters@greenpeace.org.

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Hello and Konichiwa!

by Andrew, onboard the Esperanza

Welcome to our humble weblog. From here you can follow the intensity of action and mundanity of routine that is life on a Greenpeace ship. These next 14 months the crew of the Esperanza will undertake an extraordinary journey to some of the furthest reaches of world. We hope you will not only come along for the ride, but also take an active part in our work.

What is our work and what do we hope to accomplish? A million new Ocean Defenders for one. Regular people committed to saving the world's oceans. With your help we can confront the people doing the damage, and promote solutions such as a global network of marine reserves, more selective fishing methods and protection of marine habitat. Our overall goal is healthy, productive, oceans for future generations.

It is entirely fitting that the first leg of our global journey takes us to Antarctica to defend the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary - established by the International Whaling Commission (IWC), but ignored by Japan's whaling industry. This year the whalers plan to more than double their catch of minke whales to 935. They will also try to take ten giant fin whales, which were decimated by whaling and remain on the endangered species Red List.

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Avast ye land lubbers! The ocean critters need your help!
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