By Rebecca Aldworth
THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE, April 2—A reporter once asked me to describe the seal hunt in two words. Not exactly an easy task, but several thoughts came to mind. "Total chaos" would have been fitting, as would "absolute carnage" and "complete devastation."
But when I answered him, the words I chose were "paradise lost." To me, those two words describe so well the brutal truth of Canada's commercial slaughter of defenseless baby seals.
One week ago, I stood on the ice floes in the Gulf of St. Lawrence with these babies. Just days old, they were basking in the sun and sleeping. A few of the braver ones were slipping into the water, attempting to swim. Their round bodies, still fat from their mothers' milk, kept them from diving or doing much other than splashing around and scrambling back out. But still they tried, and it was fascinating to see these animals drawn to the water in this instinctive ritual of learning to swim.
It is hard to explain to someone who has never seen it how magnificent this place is. Part of it is the icy landscape—a stunningly beautiful environment filled with soft tones of blues, purples, and pinks. Another part of it is the ocean that lies completely flat, shimmering in the sun. But mostly, it is the strikingly lovely and gentle harp seals.
If you are quiet, in just minutes, the baby seals will accept you as one of their own. You can lie on the ice with them, and slowly they fall back to sleep. Soon, other pups will approach, and you will find yourself becoming a part of the landscape.
It is one of the only places left on earth where you can be completely alone with the animals, absolutely at peace. The only sounds you hear are the soft trilling cries of the baby seal, and the ocean lapping up against the ice pans. On a sunny day, you feel you have stumbled across the best place on earth.
To me, it is paradise.
The Ecstasy and the Agony
Unbelievably, I saw such a scene in the midst of the slaughter on Saturday evening—the last day of the seal hunt in the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
We had spent the day filming horrific cruelty and fending off violent attacks from angry sealers. We were physically and emotionally exhausted. The sun was just starting to go down, and we knew our helicopter would have to leave soon or be in violation of the Department of Fisheries and Oceans' rules—and risk not making it safely back.
But as we flew over the sealing boats, we saw one whose crew was still clubbing seals. Not far from them was a concentration of pups, and we knew the sealers would come for them. We decided to land just one more time to capture on film what would happen.
Even after all of the misery and suffering I have seen on these ice floes, I was not prepared for what I found. In the midst of the chaos and carnage and blood-soaked ice floes, these seal pups—about 30 of them—had created a haven.
They lay sunning themselves in a kind of valley formed where giant ice pans had smashed together. There were flat ledges of ice, and two small pools of open water. The setting sun streaked across the ice, illuminating it in stunning hues
The babies were mostly sleeping, some touching noses. One lay on her back, basking in the sun. They showed no fear as we quietly crept up to film them.
Some of the pups were learning to swim in the small pools. One would dip into the water and splash around, then triumphantly scramble out. Then the next brave one would take a turn.
Just feet away from us, two baby seals watched us from the ice ledge silently. One of them kept looking at me and I found myself watching him more than the others. He was so beautiful, dark luminous eyes and silver fur. He turned to his friend and softly touched his nose to hers. I talked softly to him, telling him to swim away from here, to hide under the water when the sealers came.
In just a few minutes, I felt bonded with these seal pups. I could see that each had a distinct personality, each in turn funny, brave, quiet, gentle. It was one of the most moving experiences I have ever had with the seal pups, and I am still overwhelmed by the beauty of that scene.
But when I looked up, in the distance I could see the waiting sealers. They clearly did not want us to film them killing these seals, and I knew our presence might offer these pups some temporary protection.
The golden sun had become our enemy. Our pilot had warned us we needed to leave for home no later than 6 p.m. It was already ten after the hour, and the sun was going down fast.
I looked towards the sealers, saying to myself over and over again, "Just get back on your boat. Turn around and leave this place. Just leave. Leave these ones. Go away."
But the minutes ticked by, and they didn't leave. They stayed and waited because they knew that our helicopter would have to depart in a few minutes, and they still had the rest of the day to make some quick cash
My heart breaking, I begged forgiveness from those baby seals, and we turned in agony towards the helicopter. The blades immediately began to turn. We were already so late, and our pilot was doing everything possible to buy us some time.
Halfway back to the already moving helicopter, I stopped and turned. I could see the sealers moving toward my new friends. But I was already too far to reach them in time. I was crying so hard I could barely see. We got on the helicopter and flew over the scene, knowing what we would witness.
The sealers were moving through this paradise, clubbing every seal pup there. One sealer was standing casually, his boot resting on the head of my little friend. Blood spilled out from under his head, his flippers moving.
In a moment of stupidity, greed, and callousness, paradise was lost.
And that is the simple, stark truth of this seal hunt. The Canadian government can use any argument it wants to defend the hunt. But I and so many others have seen it for ourselves.
We know the truth.
We bring back our images and our observations, and we give them to the world.
We are fighting against powerful opponents—including the government of Canada—but we have an advantage: We have the truth on our side. And in the end, it is the truth that will free the seals from relentless slaughter.
So I am asking all people around the world to see what we have seen. Take a few moments to watch the video footage we have posted, and tell all your friends to do the same. Together, we are witnesses to this atrocity, and the responsibility rests with us to expose it to the world.
Rebecca Aldworth is the Director of Canadian Wildlife Issues for The HSUS.
