Those who know me as an almost truthful teller of “Sea Tales” will accept this story unquestioned, at least to my face. Those who think this tale is mere folly, I detest. I tolerate those who casually question it, I admire those who believe it’s pure truth, will they have the guts to let go of reality and dive into imagination with me?
After years of sailing the high seas alone in my ancient, gaff-rigged sailboat Sailor Dog, I decided while sailing to rewrite Charles Darwin’s “Origin of the Species “and retrace his voyage on the Beagle. It was a fool’s errand. Time would be better spent seeking new cultures on perhaps some remaining, inhabited islands, in the South Pacific. I briefly thought I accomplished this as I spotted an island off my port bow. With my spyglass, I saw a large volcanic mountain. I made straight for it. To my frustration, as I tacked closer, I realized it was the Big Island of Hawaii. There’s a lesson for all sailors. Follow your charts, the stars, and your heart. Don’t wing it. Was I disappointed? Deterred? No! I didn’t even go ashore. I turned my beam to the sea for “Islands and Cultures” still unknown, if there were any to be found.
I sailed for days that became weeks. My navigational calculations showed I was headed towards Samoa and hoped locals would point me towards islands only they knew about. I knew the chance was “Nil”. Satellites and nosey drones see every place, yet sailing to one; last, unknown place was more than a dream, it was a quest. By latitude 45º I was making real-time. I was okay on fresh water and fishing provided “Catch of the Day” every day. One day, while pulling in a small football tuna, I was distracted by a swirling disturbance off starboard. I sat by the tiller and made ready for any emergency. Finally, a large whale surfaced, spouting misty water to take in the air. It was breathtaking to watch her renew her lungs and to be in sight of her. Then something caught my eye. This whale was emblazoned with beautiful tattoos on her sides, back, head, back, and flukes both shocking and dazzling me. She was a finback, the second largest mammal on earth. She beckoned to follow her until she realized I couldn’t keep up. She swam to port and I placed a line in her giant jaw. It was crazy to think she would take me in tow but tow me she did.
I can’t recall how many days she continued towing but noonday sightings showed we were in the vast South Pacific where my heroine Amelia Earhart went down during the 1930’s not far from Howell Island. We moved further into the South Pacific and began being accompanied by additional tattooed whales of different species. A blue whale joined, the largest mammal on earth, then a humpback, an endangered right whale, a sperm whale, and a few belugas, attended by a school of playful porpoises. Every whale was elaborately tattooed with individual designs. I began feeling I was delusional from eating spoiled fish or not drinking enough water. But on we went, the finback towing without complaint.
Our tattooed contingent began slowing and showing a cautionary attitude. Thick mist enveloped us and they relied on instinct only. I could hear crashing surf upon a beach or coral. We waited, and then whoosh; we caught a wave and quickly floated into the safety of a coral lagoon. The other whales spouted “Good Luck” sprays and left. Then the finback guided me to the atoll’s beach as the sun lit an incredible palm-treed island. As he neared shore, people came to greet me and took hold of the line. The finback gave a final goodbye spout, and then I fell asleep on the deck of Sailor Dog.
The next morning, I awoke in a beautiful weaved grass house with stunning aquatic designs of loggerhead turtles, sharks, and elaborate shells. Furniture was fashioned from oak timbers of wrecks lost at sea centuries ago and washed up on their sandy beaches. All bowls, utensils, and tools were made of shells and fish bones. Nothing of modern humanity touched this secret place. A woman brought a bowl of fish stew to renew me. She was tattooed like the Tahitian women in Gauguin’s paintings. She said nothing and left. I fell back into a deep sleep.
I awoke startled, a giant of a man standing over me. He was dark, and impressive, with thick, tight-curled hair, and tattoos covering his body. He brought along a very old Englishman who introduced himself as “Mariner Ned Healy”. Ned said he arrived 60 years ago in a storm and was the only non-islander ever to step on the Island. The Chief spoke as Ned interpreted words.
Chief – “You must be special if our finback brought you here”
Ken – “I told him my name, Ken Holm”.
The Chief smiled “Ken, you are welcome here”. Do you have questions for me?”
Ken – “Why was this atoll never discovered?”
Chief – “Because of the thick mist you came through with the finback”.
These mists have hidden us from discovery since the days of the big ships with sails. We can’t be discovered by the sea or air.
Ken – “Why do you tattoo yourselves and the whales?”
Chief -” It is magical and defensive. Sailors and whalers view our tattooed whales as mysterious, and mystical. They are afraid to bother or kill them because they fear they would expose themselves to frightening demons from the depths of the seas that will condemn them to a sea grave forever.”
Ken – “Does this have anything to do with the elaborate tattoos you and all the women, men and children have on this island?”
Ned interpreted further as the Chief gestured and continued in his language.
Chief – “Long ago, before boats with giant sails plied the oceans; other islands had brutal tribes that came to slaughter us. In sorrow, we began to tattoo ourselves to remember our murdered loved ones. Over time our tattoos became more and more encompassing of the sea, its inhabitants, and our dreams and nightmares. One day the murderous tribe returned but this time was different. We ran out of the jungle displaying incredible and mystical tattoos all over our bodies.”
It frightened them. They dropped their weapons, ran to their boats, and never returned. We didn’t hurt any of them. Our tattoo magic worked.”
Ken asked – “And the tattooing of the whales?”
Chief – “The whales are our eternal friends. We speak to each other. They came to us during the years of great whale kills and asked us to save them. Knowing our enemies feared and fled our tattooed bodies, we began tattooing the great whales of the oceans that came to us. We saved many. We tattoo them to this day. There are countries like Japan, Iceland, Norway, Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and the Basques who still engage in this terrible and murderous practice. Yet, when they see the tattoos on each whale, their superstitions surface and they leave the tattooed whales be. We’re planning to tattoo sharks to stem the cruelty of “Shark finning” for Chinese shark fin soup. It’s a despicable practice.”
Ned’s interpretations weren’t literal but clear enough for the chief and me to communicate. Finally, they led me to the beach where they had decorated Sailor Dog’s sails and hull with beautiful tattoo designs. That night I sailed away. Crossing towards Australia my back felt sore. Arriving in Melbourne, I looked in a hotel mirror and discovered a beautiful tattoo of a breaching tattooed sperm whale obviously executed while I was dead asleep in the reed house.
I never asked the name of their island nor calculated its longitude and latitude. It remains a secret. It’s better that way. I’ve run across many tattooed whales over the years. They see my tattoo-decorated Sailor Dog sailboat and they remember.
SAVE THE WHALES!
Copyright 2024 by Mark C. Nuccio, all rights reserved
For both the story and all Illustrations.
Tattooed Whales ™ is the Trademark of Mark C. Nuccio
Contact Mark —mark@designedge.net