Harpoons Ahoy—At A

"There She Blows! There's Our Lunch!"

Shilling A Pound

By J. Edward Brown

The old whaling days have passed today’s whales are caught by expensive, scientifically equipped commercial ex peditions. But not in Tonga. In that mid-Pacific Kingdom, a glimpse of spouting whale vapour, the swirl of foam and a grey hump on the horizon are the signal for excited shouts from the native crew of a tiny sailing boat which promptly

gives chase.

iHERE is nothing commercialised about Tongan whaling. The Tongans catch whales for the Die —whale meat is a popular item Tongan menus—and many tales are caught by primitive jthods during a season lasting )rn about June to September, en the whales are passing Tonga their annual migration from the ith to the warm tropical waters, rhe whales are chased in a sail ; cutter and harpooned by hand the old-fashioned manner —ex- >t for one modern touch —a stick explosive tied to the harpoon id. The fuse is lit before the rpoon is thrown, and the charge Diodes inside the whale. [The whalers, of which there are d groups operating from Tonga »u, the main island, are allowed catch as many as they can get. 7he blubber which contains the uable oil is disregarded—only the at is wanted. But even so, idreds of pounds, mostly in four lling notes, are made from the b of meat in each whale.

Sews Up The Mouth

Viiales are caught just off-shore, 1 the first task after the whale dead is to keep it afloat. So lebody leaps overboard and sews its mouth. ’he cutter hoists a black flag and s the whale in to the beach. It sn’t matter whether it is day or ht, but news soon spreads that r hale has been caught.

'ongans in hundreds flock to the ch with their containers —baskets ie of palm fronds, enamel basins, /anised iron buckets and even eases, or just a piece of stick ch is stabbed through the flesh :wo people can carry it off. ; is a picturesque night time it to see the whalers cut into blubber and flesh by the light flaring gasoline lanterns. More :erns dot the beach and the reef people wait impatiently while amateur butchers slip and slide dss the carcase to produce nks of fatty looking meat.

The meat is sold at about 1/- a pound, far cheaper than imported fresh or tinned meat. But there are no scales and the “salesman” grabs a chunk of meat in his hand, calls out “four shillings”, or whatever he thinks it’s worth, and willing hands wave money in his face.

Trucks loaded with meat roar out to sell to the remote villages.

That Old Familiar Smell

If the wind is blowing in from the sea, people who live along the beach front have to live with the smell of whale —an oily, musty smell.

Also, no matter how much trouble the whalers take to prevent it, sections of blubber drift off and come ashore on the beach. This blubber is free, and is said to make good cooking fat. I’ve seen a boy riding a horse along the road with a chunk of white blubber a couple of feet square, and nearly a foot thick, resting in front of him.

The whalers have to work fast on the beach, for they are only given a limited time by the Health De partment to sell the meat. It soon deteriorates in the tropical heat.

When they’ve sold all they can, the stripped skeleton is towed to sea and then the sharks have their turn.

But shark meat is also popular with the Tongans, and fishermen in launches wait around the drift ing carcase with poised harpoons for hungry sharks, and take them ashore to sell.

A good sized shark is worth any thing from £6 to £lO as it lies on the beach.

If the fisherman doesn’t want to bother with selling the shark piece meal, some astute Tongan will usually buy it off the fisherman, chop it into pieces and make £lO for his initiative.