I frame the whale tail as a rectangle in my viewfinder, checking my exposure, and composing to keep in the name of the ship. To show who did this brutal killing I thought to myself. I fire a few frames.

It’s sickening to watch, and goes on for so long, this thrashing, aqua green sea water being mixed with blood. The water being pink, white, green, aqua in colour, all at once. the blue and red of the ship hull, with it’s white numbers telling depths. This horrible scene goes on so long I’m actually able to stop photographing and just watch. I shout to the crew of the catcher ship “just f***ing shoot it”. Odin shouts also. I remember our briefing not to shout or antagonise the crew, not to be violent, or throw them abuse or obscene gestures. But I feel I have to shout, it’s too horrible to watch. To shout to get them to kill the mammal, this thrashing and slow death is taking too long. The crew of the catcher ship watch us watching them. We’re about 15-20 metres off. They have a water hose running in case we come close, but we don’t. There is no point.

The whalers sink the whale, letting out the rope. The whale I presume just sinks under it’s own weight, or perhaps tries to dive with what little breath it has left. I wonder do they sink it to subdue it, to drown it ? Or do they drop it under the water out of sight of the present cameras. Both I imagine.


The Yushin Maru catcher ship of the Japanese whaling fleet injures a whale with its first harpoon attempt, and takes a further three harpoon shots before finally killing the badly injured fleeing whale. Finally they drowned the mammal beneath the harpooon deck of the ship to kill it.

Then it comes up again. The fluke breaks the surface. We edge the inflatable closer, it’s best for video to be close, easier to film, steadier. I’m photographing, still on the 70-200mm lens, taking a shot of just the fluke, the hull of the ship, and the vertical rope. Trying to get something symbolic, of this death, of all the whale deaths I’m witnessing. Through my viewfinder the sky seems heavy, grey dark clouds have gathered. I notice as it is different from the usual bland white skies I hate so much.


Transfer of whales and the flensing of whales continues aboard the deck of the Nisshin Maru factory ship of the whaling fleet of Japan. Southern Ocean.

I’ve get the picture I’m trying for. By now the tail has lost it’s energy. It’s waving from side to side, not thrashing. The whale hasn’t been up for air for quite a few minutes by now. I look at the scene around me, the catcher ship and the whale, to my right the ‘Billy G’, with my fellow crew members who have been standing silently witnessing this horror show. To my left the Arctic Sunrise comes gliding past, it’s fog horn blaring it’s displeasure or anger, a show of sadness, off on my right the Esperanza. I look up at the crew of the catcher ship. They stand, in their yellow waterproofs, their goggles, their warm hats, they stand just looking. Some busy themselves with ropes. It seems everyone is saddened, shocked perhaps, by what has just been witnessed. There seemed to be a poignancy to the moment, the end of a chase, the end of a struggle. Still I hear the occasional curse from our inflatable. I still shoot the occasional frame, but the moment has gone. It’s over.


Flensing a minke whale on the blood stained deck of the Nisshin Maru whaling factory ship. Southern Ocean,

We watch as the whale is pulled round to the port side of the catcher and tied up by it’s tail, beside that of another dead minke caught earlier. The whalers have a water hose going in case we come close, but we have no inclination.

I turn to Odin, to Hernan, and I say” lets go back, it’s done.” A whale’s life has been taken in a sickening fashion. Now it will be transferred to the factory ship for flensing. Hernan and I recorded on video and photographically it’s cruel death. Now it’s our job to get back to the ship, change into dry clothes, and sit down to replay it all in our edit. It isn’t easier to see the second time round, but important to get the images out quickly to the news agencies and media. A whale has died, but unlike many others that get harpooned down here, it did not die alone. It’s struggle for life was witnessed. It’s death won’t go unnoticed. And I for one shall never forget it.

Jeremy Sutton-Hibbert freelanced in Scotland for 14 years before deciding the light was too flat and has now relocated to colourful Tokyo, Japan. His work for editorial, corporate and NGO clients takes him far and wide, and the images appear regularly in the press, and supplements, in UK and USA, and the occasional exhibition. Photographer since age of 9, EPUK member since 2001

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