…the Chief Harpoonist took up his position, a perfect yoga Warrior Two, except that in this case what looked like an arm extended over his bent front leg was actually his harpoon, ready to be unleashed. But it’s hard to spot a dolphin in a sea wine-darkened by the glowering sky. And the dolphins weren’t helping. Though they could easily bolt away from us, they criss-crossed in front of the Warrior, flicking his attention first left, then right, then far right, then centre left, until he didn’t know which way to look and he raised his harpoon straight up to the sky in defeat. I confess that I was not overly thrilled at the idea of having to bail diluted dolphin blood out of the boat as our catch was butchered at my feet. But as the hunt went on I grew less soppy. To get caught on a day like today, a dolphin would have to leap into a high arc directly in front of the Warrior and push the slow-motion button on itself as it breached the water to give the drunken harpoonist time to focus. […]
Later, chatting with a couple of the whale hunters, I showed photos of the red plastic kayak that I like to paddle in the Atlantic, off the west coast of Ireland. I said that I often saw dolphins from my boat, and sometimes even a whale, but I wasn’t allowed to hunt them. ‘What, because you are a woman alone in a boat?’ No, because it’s forbidden.
‘Oh right, it’s that thing, those people – there’s a word for it, isn’t there? What’s the word?’ said the other bailer. ‘Konservasi,’ prompted his friend. ‘Yes, yes, that Conservation thing!’
Elizabeth Pisani; Indonesia, Etc.