Old Ross Sea
Sung to the tune of ‘Old Maui’ by Stan Rogers
It’s a damn tough life
Full of toil and strife
We whale saviors undergo
And we won’t give a damn
When the gale is done
How hard the winds did blow
‘Cause we’re southward bound
To the Antarctic grounds
With a good ship taut and free
And we won’t give a damn
When we drink our rum
With the whales of old Ross Sea
Chorus
Rollin’ down to old Ross Sea, me boys
Rollin’ down to old Ross Sea,
We’re southward bound
To the Antarctic grounds
Rollin’ down to old Ross Sea
Once more we sail
With the Southerly gail
Through the ice and wind and rain
Them Fin back whales
Them Minke tails
We soon shall see again
Six hellish weeks
We’ll passed away
On the cold Antarctic Sea
‘Cause we’re southward bound
To the Antarctic ground
Rollin’ down to old Ross Sea
Chorus
How soft the breeze
Through the island trees
Now the sun is far astern
Our rope traps sprung
Those whalers done
No more will they return
May all the whales
Be safe and sound
From the cold harpooner’s steel
So that whales abound
In the Antarctic ground
Rollin’ down to old Ross Sea
Chorus
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Book inspired thoughts
Engineer’s Blog
By David Nickarz - Tenth Engineer
January 27, 2009
It’s now 54 days into our mission to stop the pirate whaling of the Japanese government in the Antarctic Whale Sanctuary. We left Hobart about 6 days ago now, after a short break to refuel and re-provision.
We have now returned to the whale sanctuary. This refuge had been established by several nations in the early 1990’s as a place whales could live and feed, unmolested by humanity. Whalers ignored the establishment of this sanctuary and continued their commercial slaughter under the lie of scientific whaling. They resorted to this lie because a moratorium on commercial whaling, established in 1986.
After almost finishing Andrew Darby’s book Harpoon, I’m given a sense of history of the holocaust that humanity has inflicted upon the great whales of the world. Whalers have started with the largest of the whales—the Blue Whale and chased it to the ends of the earth, and to the edge of extinction. The Right Whale was the ‘right’ whale to kill, not because of their size, but because they happen to float when you kill them. There is no great mystery to the names given to the great whales--in fact some of them are down right ignorant.
The Sperm Whale was given it’s name because, as Farley Mowat puts it in his book Sea of Slaughter, “because some idiot thought that the large sack of oil in its head was full of sperm.” (I’m paraphrasing).
The Minke Whale was named after a German named Mincke, who accompanied Svend Foyn, a 19th century sealer, often called the father of industrial whaling. He developed both a ship fast enough to catch the quicker whales and the grenade-tipped harpoon, which is still used today. The other name for a Minke whale is Piked whale—not much better.
I propose we change the name to something vastly more dignified than after a seal clubber or the method of slaughter.
All this history brings me back to my role on this ship. I sit here day after day in this engine room—watching dials, cleaning up and feeding oil into engines. After 53 days and more than 100, four hour shifts, I can say that it’s wearing me down.
I am encouraged to know that I am part of an effort that could see the end to Antarctic whaling—just as the generation before me saw the end of whaling in Australia and the introduction of a ban on commercial whaling world-wide.
As we approach the fleet of whale killers, I have a greater sense of history and my place in it thanks in part to Andrew Darby’s book Harpoon.
By David Nickarz - Tenth Engineer
January 27, 2009
It’s now 54 days into our mission to stop the pirate whaling of the Japanese government in the Antarctic Whale Sanctuary. We left Hobart about 6 days ago now, after a short break to refuel and re-provision.
We have now returned to the whale sanctuary. This refuge had been established by several nations in the early 1990’s as a place whales could live and feed, unmolested by humanity. Whalers ignored the establishment of this sanctuary and continued their commercial slaughter under the lie of scientific whaling. They resorted to this lie because a moratorium on commercial whaling, established in 1986.
After almost finishing Andrew Darby’s book Harpoon, I’m given a sense of history of the holocaust that humanity has inflicted upon the great whales of the world. Whalers have started with the largest of the whales—the Blue Whale and chased it to the ends of the earth, and to the edge of extinction. The Right Whale was the ‘right’ whale to kill, not because of their size, but because they happen to float when you kill them. There is no great mystery to the names given to the great whales--in fact some of them are down right ignorant.
The Sperm Whale was given it’s name because, as Farley Mowat puts it in his book Sea of Slaughter, “because some idiot thought that the large sack of oil in its head was full of sperm.” (I’m paraphrasing).
The Minke Whale was named after a German named Mincke, who accompanied Svend Foyn, a 19th century sealer, often called the father of industrial whaling. He developed both a ship fast enough to catch the quicker whales and the grenade-tipped harpoon, which is still used today. The other name for a Minke whale is Piked whale—not much better.
I propose we change the name to something vastly more dignified than after a seal clubber or the method of slaughter.
All this history brings me back to my role on this ship. I sit here day after day in this engine room—watching dials, cleaning up and feeding oil into engines. After 53 days and more than 100, four hour shifts, I can say that it’s wearing me down.
I am encouraged to know that I am part of an effort that could see the end to Antarctic whaling—just as the generation before me saw the end of whaling in Australia and the introduction of a ban on commercial whaling world-wide.
As we approach the fleet of whale killers, I have a greater sense of history and my place in it thanks in part to Andrew Darby’s book Harpoon.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Dave's Antarctic musings
Engineer’s Blog
By David Nickarz - Tenth Engineer
We are underway the second time this season to find and stop the criminal whaling fleet from Japan. This is my third Antarctic whaling campaign with the Sea Shepherds and I hope it will be my last. Putting up with the rough seas and time away from my loved ones takes its toll on us volunteers.
We can’t just walk off the ship and go to the nearest pub for a beer, or to the nearest park for a dose of terrestrial wilderness. We are stuck in this noisy metal box for the next several weeks. Of course, it’s nothing compared to what the Minke and Fin whales have to endure.
Our purpose and the vast ocean wilderness keep us going. We’ve seen a number of sea birds including the Albatross which seems to hover without beating its wings. They fly around the ship, perhaps hoping to find discarded food scraps. Maybe the Albatross thinks we are a fishing vessel and is waiting for the discarded portion of the catch. Who knows?
Our engine room watch has been uneventful and routine. I hope it stays that way.
By David Nickarz - Tenth Engineer
We are underway the second time this season to find and stop the criminal whaling fleet from Japan. This is my third Antarctic whaling campaign with the Sea Shepherds and I hope it will be my last. Putting up with the rough seas and time away from my loved ones takes its toll on us volunteers.
We can’t just walk off the ship and go to the nearest pub for a beer, or to the nearest park for a dose of terrestrial wilderness. We are stuck in this noisy metal box for the next several weeks. Of course, it’s nothing compared to what the Minke and Fin whales have to endure.
Our purpose and the vast ocean wilderness keep us going. We’ve seen a number of sea birds including the Albatross which seems to hover without beating its wings. They fly around the ship, perhaps hoping to find discarded food scraps. Maybe the Albatross thinks we are a fishing vessel and is waiting for the discarded portion of the catch. Who knows?
Our engine room watch has been uneventful and routine. I hope it stays that way.
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