As soon as I heard my home community of Clyde River was interested in a bowhead whale hunt, I knew I wanted to be there, to be a part of my community in such a significant moment. In the months leading up to it, I was very excited; a week prior to the hunt, I was starting to lose sleep with excitement.
I knew it would be a monumental moment, a reclamation of part of ourselves. Bowhead whaling is a practice almost forgotten, but still alive in stories and oral history. Subsistence whaling had been replaced by Inuit assisting in commercial European whaling which decimated the population as a result of mass huntings in the 1800s and early 1900s.
Today, the whale population is healthy again;. The hunt is slowly being revived. The traditional hunt is unlike any other because it tests the cohesiveness of a community. It takes a large team to pull it off: a definitive characteristic of Inuit. Teamwork [or cooperation] is how we had not only survived but thrived in our environment for [hundreds/thousand of years]. Given that there would surely be apprehension and fear of the experiential unknown, I hoped with all my might that second guessing would not take hold within the community and affect the success of the hunt.
Only one member of the team, Niore Iqalukjuak had taken part in such a hunt before. It was likely this one could be very different from what he had taken part in, even if much of the approach is to be the same, and he had much to offer from that experience. But I believed in our abilities as a hunting society, that the hunter instinct would kick in. The skill, astuteness, intuitiveness, alertness, even if everyone was not known to be angunatturiktuq (abled hunter), would work – especially if everyone is to play a role: atuutiqaqtuinnauniaqtugut (having a purpose).
A couple of days before the hunt was to start I attended the safety and use demonstration by Glen Williams of the explosive harpoon gun. I was impressed by the level of accuracy and detail of the translation of the tool and all its intricate parts by the local sergeant of Rangers Levi Palituq, who was also the chair of the organizing committee.
In the use of our language, Inuktitut, that was only the start of what was to come. After the demonstration, a discussion about the strategy of the hunt ensued. The hunters were shown photo slides of previous bowhead whale hunts in Nunavut. As the discussion took place informally, I was overwhelmed by the terminology I had not been exposed to.
The hunters spoke of the bowhead whale hunt and the tools and methods that were to be used: anguvigaq, niutaq, aaqsiiq: a whole sect of a language related to this hunt that had been sleeping had awoken in the community while planning it. It was amazing to witness and hear the hunters using the words in various contexts, and ways as they had come alive again. It was a moment to see the interconnectedness of culture, language and identity and significance of our oral history.
Unexpectedly the day before the hunt was to start a person in a leadership role (not related to the hunt) reamed me with an accusation I was not prepared for. I was taken aback, and wondered briefly, emotionally whether I wanted to stay where I felt unwelcomed. Eventually I decided I would stay for what I came there for and be a part of the community that I feel is my own and will always associate as my home, the place that defined me.
In empowering situations, petty politics can be expected as we are, unfortunately, conditioned to relate to ourselves oppressively. A test to our resolve would come in various ways as the community prepared for a much more complex hunt, one which had not been practiced in living memory.
We were told to meet at the breakwater in the morning. It took a while to depart for the hunt. No one seemed to know what the delay was a result of, but some guessed the fog and ice down the inlet had something to do with it. There was a buzz in the air, and excitement for what was to possibly come. The sun was out smiling down at the hunters, and the community. When it was time to leave, people were quick to get in the boats. Except us; the mayor Jerry Natanine had forgotten the bullet for the harpoon gun he was to use. After a quick trip to his house, off we went. We left, antsy on our feet with anticipation.
We stopped down the inlet from the community in Akulaanga. Some climbed the hill Pamialluat to see the ice conditions ahead. People ate, talked, teased, and laughed. There was energy like no other, the collaborative spirit was in the air. We then headed for Umiujaq, a small island in front of Cape Christian in the area where the hunt was planned, and landed the boats. We sent a climber to the top of the hill to scope out the scene for arviit (bowheads, plural. Arvik, singular). The wind picked up and ice conditions were not great. Chunks of ice were everywhere in sight; even if the inlet was navigable by boat, it would be difficult conditions in which to hunt such a large whale. Larry Kautuq (my grandfather by namesake) caught a seal. We ate, and then headed to Cape Christian to set up camp. After the tents were up, it was clear we would not be leaving to go hunting that evening. Everyone settled into their tents, played cards or mingled outside. Some started the rope work for the four boats that were to hold lines with the floats. Ropes over 50 feet long were wound neatly in a barrel, so that they would not tangle when released. Some teams stayed up late finishing them, others finished the long and mundane task in the morning.
The next day, the wind and ice conditions were still not ideal, another test of our patience. We waited until that evening, when the hunting team decided that Captain David Iqaqrialu would drive his four-wheeler to an area further north of the cape. There was less ice there, there had also been sightings of arviit. First he spotted some large ones, excitement growing among the hunters as he described the whales to us by VHF radio. He finally described a third one which seemed smaller, and there seemed to be complete silence of anticipation. The captain then gave the go ahead for the crews to set off on the hunt. It was about 9:30 in the evening. The hunting party moved swiftly while the spectators on site relayed a play-by-play over VHF of what was happening to those still in the community. The captain would direct the hunt from the hill, which seemed selfless as he would not directly partake. He would have the advantage of distance to direct the parties, while Sandy Kautuq the assistant Captain directed the hunt on the scene. Our boat, captained by Niore Iqalukjuak was boat number six, last in line with the explosive harpoon gun.
The captain announced that Sandy’s canoe was headed towards a bowhead that seemed to be the smaller of the ones he had seen. All of the boats veered in the direction. Once it started to come up for air, we knew it was that one. The chase was on and the adrenaline kicked in. We seemed to just observe it at first while trying to pick up the pace to catch up to it. Then the first harpooner’s, Sandy’s boat was set, and in no time Roger Etuangat harpooned it. At 11:07 pm, it was struck and the buoy was attached. The arvik became very aggressive. I could not imagine how it could be hunted with that much aggression. It started to flap its flippers and tail to scare us away, and charge at boats – including ours.
It became a bit chaotic, and some hunters seemed to lose their focus. Uutukuttuk (Joanasie Illauq) as the driver was next in line in the women’s boat, and was attempting to reach this whale. He seemed hesitant – understandably. He seemed to struggle with aligning his boat to the whale’s breathing times. He would be behind each time it came up to breath. Finally, the harpooner Meena Tassugat was close enough to strike it. I could see Cynthia Panikpak the lines person dump the buoy, the rope, yelp and say “ajai” with the rope almost getting caught on something. The float was on!
Leslie (Boy) Ashevak’s boat that was next. Joelie Sanguya seemed be headed towards the whale and was radioed to hold off, it turned out afterwards his radio was not working at the time. Boy went full on, and right at it. Once he reached it, his whole boat, including his engines, was lifted out of the water by the whale. We watched, stunned. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as we tried to register what we were seeing. As quick as it had been to lift Boy’s boat, the arvik swam off. The boat rocked slightly, and they headed away from the hunt. It seemed they were getting into position, but the next thing we heard on the radio was that he was taking in water and was headed towards the shore. Niore radioed to ask if they needed to be picked up. He said no, they’ll make it. After reaching shore, Boy’s crew were picked up by two other boats and continued to participate.
Things seemed chaotic for the first while as the hunters and the crews worked to catch their senses as excitement and overwhelm had overtaken them. The hunt of this colossal aggressive mammal was clearly more of a challenge than we all had anticipated.
All of a sudden, our boat was expected to use the explosive device. Noah Kautuq had struggled putting the two pieces of the pole together, then putting the gun piece on. The wooden pole seemed to have expanded, perhaps with humidity sitting in the boat overnight. The pieces were not fitting well into the metal sleeves. In true Inuk fashion, Noah improvised with a piece of rope to keep the gun part attached to the pole. Then he and Jerry struggled putting the bullet in. Between them and Niore, they somehow managed to get it loaded. Then Jerry stood up, got in position,fired. I didn’t know how explosive it would be, whether I should duck or watch, so I half ducked because I wanted to see. We heard it set off; the whale seemed to roll but it did not seem to have any impact.
After a while, the hunters seemed to get into a rhythm with the whale. Self-doubt seemed to dissipate and the hunters emerged. It was incredible to watch as they started driving the anguvigait (lance, in plural. Anguvigaq, singular) into the whale, not just harpooning it anymore. It was clear who amongst the group were not run by fear. That energy seemed to overtake everyone involved. After a while the younger participants were encouraged and supported to drive the anguvigait into the whale, including Sandy’s young son Alexander at age five the youngest of the hunters, also two of our teens Leroy Kautuq and Maybelle Piungittuq.Not wanting to prolong the suffering, it was Noah’s turn to strike it with the harpoon gun from our boat. The trigger had been bent, so he and Jerry had to bend it back into position. Then load it. Again, it did not want to load. When he finally had it loaded, and he hit the whale, it sounded like there was a small bang, then two seconds later we heard the sound of the explosive device going off. Again, it seemed to have very little impact on the whale which made me question whether the gun was somehow defective. The whale continued to swim.
All the anguvigait seemed to have been used, and we were on a slight low on the excitement level. Some of the anguvigait were retrieved and it continued. When the youngest girl Maybelle drove the anguvigaq into the whale, we finally saw the first sign of it weakening. It stopped breathing out clear water and began exhaling blood. The end was finally near, a relief as we were mindful of not wanting to prolong the suffering.
It took about an hour and a half until we thought it was dead (12:38 am). As we all approached it, it jolted, and swam some distance. As quickly as it jolted more anguvigait were used. Finally it was on its side. I looked at it from our boat, and it seemed to stare at me. How beautiful it was. Feeling emotional, I thanked it for giving itself, told its spirit we deeply appreciate you. I did not look at the time, but that is when Esa Piungittuq set off the flare gun to signal the arvik was dead.The cheers could be heard on the radio. It looked like the whole community was strewn across the hill with their arms up in the air. What an image to have imprinted in the mind.
The hunters took turns going on the whale; photos were taken. Then the work began to try to make it transportable. We could not resist tasting the maktak, sharing the elation and gratitude. As the work began to tie it up to transport, again it stood out who were used to hunting and working in these conditions, they took the lead. There was one tricky spot they had to attach the whale, Aimosie Sivugat was held hanging by the floater suit belt while he attached the two flippers with rope. Jerry called on the biologist to help, as he stood watching.
Bringing the whale home, everyone had to be alert and ready to either push the boat off from ice or to make sure the ropes did not tangle in the propellers. Four boats were tied one after another to transport the arvik. Winds and fog hit, making the task more challenging. At times, it was a bit frustrating to watch; some were slower to respond than others. I had to remind myself to be patient and understanding that this was a moment and experience which serves a purpose for every individual as it does for me. Our hunting and land skills have been largely compromised, against a backdrop of the idea of abandoning our ways having faced strong assimilation efforts. Clearly for some of us, our hunting skills having been more comprised than others. This is a reflection of our society. In the end the whale was transported successfully to the identified beaching location.
Taking part and witnessing the hunt was truly an amazing experience. It had a profound affect on me, that can only be described by saying a sleeping part of my spirit was awakened. I have a whole new respect for our existence as a hunting society, and for those during the hunt who managed to shine and show their adeptness and quick judgment to make this a successful hunt.
In our boat, in the moments when a bit of panic would set in, Niore would chuckle at the chaos. Sometimes he would chime calm advice on radio. Jerry was so excited he could not confine himself from being comical and silly. He made us laugh throughout. Noah kept singing akuqtujuuk anngutivuuk, a song of hope. Our youngest, Anthony Iqaqrialu cheered on and encouraged each harpooner. I think the hunt can only get better as more opportunity allows it.
I knew the hardest work would start once we beached the whale and began to cut it up. The community pulled together well for that too. The team of arviuqtiit (butchers) worked tirelessly, not to mention the organizing committee that worked for months to make this hunt happen. The community supported the effort, some with indifference, and some doubted but supported in the end. The hunters, the film crew, the backup boat, I feel we have become more kin than before, ilagivassi, for sharing this moment.
Like many, I’m sure, it is an experience I will never forget. It will remain in my heart. Where a community is one, one is the community. Incredible, incredible!
As the hunt finished, our boat captain Niore radioed his father, who was listening in the community. He said: “ataataa, asuillaaraalulli!” (So it came to be). There was no reply; we knew in our hearts that one of the respected leaders and Elder in the community was overtaken by the moment, like all of us.