• March 10, 2005: The Calm Before the Storm
• March 23, 2005: Sunning with the Seals
• March 26, 2005: The Seal Boats Are on Their Way
• March 29, 2005: How the Death of One Pup Sums Up Everything That's Wrong with Canada's Seal Hunt
• March 30, 2005: The Waiting Game
• April 1, 2005: A Battle of Rights
• April 2, 2005: Paradise Lost
• April 15, 2005: The Carnage Moves to the Front

March 10, 2005: The Calm Before the Storm

By Rebecca Aldworth

Right now, harp seal mothers are giving birth to their pups on the spectacular white ice floes off Canada's east coast.

(photo: HSUS)

I know from experience that the spectacle is amazing. About 50 miles out to sea, the ice covering the ocean forms a magical landscape as far as the eye can see. The mothers and their pups lie contentedly in the sun, while the male seals perform their unique water ballet in nearby open leads of water. The baby seals are now fat from their mothers' milk, their fluffy white bodies almost completely round, luminous eyes blinking up from adorable, sleepy faces.

And I know that tourists from all around the world are gathering there to witness this magnificent spectacle. Like me, they will be awestruck by the charismatic and friendly seals, by the startling beauty of the icy surroundings, and most of all, by the absolute peace you feel in this pristine environment. The harp seal pups are so trusting of people that these tourists will easily be able to get close enough to them to touch them.

So it is truly heartbreaking that in just two weeks, I expect to be on those same ice floes, not to enjoy the harp seal nursery, but to witness Canada's brutal commercial seal hunt.

Beginning in the last week of March, the Canadian government will allow hundreds of thousands of defenseless baby seals to be brutally slaughtered for their skins. And The Humane Society of the United States will be there to stand with the seals and document the massacre.

This will be my seventh expedition to the seal hunt. Over the past six years, I have seen so much harm done to these gentle creatures, and there are images I know I will never be able to erase from my mind. Seals struggling in vain as they are sliced open. Such tiny little bodies, their skins peeled off, piled by the hundreds, their lifeless eyes staring into the distance, empty Coke cans and cigarette packs carelessly tossed into the open graves. A seal suffocating in her own blood, raising her head from the pile of dead seals she was dumped on, crying for help that would never come. The few survivors, terrified and covered in blood, left to crawl through the abandoned carcasses.

It is dehumanizing to watch this kind of violence. But without witnesses, this brutality would continue in silence, far away from the eyes of the public.

That is why we are asking you to be a part of our expedition. While The HSUS team is on the ice floes this year, I will keep an online journal about our experiences. Please visit our web site each day to get updates, and then find out what you can do to help us stop Canada's commercial seal hunt for good.

—Rebecca Aldworth

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March 23, 2005: Sunning with the Seals

(photo: HSUS)

MAGDALEN ISLANDS, QUEBEC, March 23—We awake to a brilliant sunny day in the Magdalen Islands. Over the past 24 hours, The HSUS Seal Hunt Watch team has arrived safely on Canada's east coast, well in advance of the start date of the commercial seal hunt.

Looking out my hotel room window, I notice the colorful boats that are lined up at the marina. It takes a few minutes for it to sink in that I am, in fact, looking at sealing boats—an ominous reminder of the slaughter scheduled to begin just days from now.

But not today. Today we are setting aside our knowledge of what is to come, as we head to the ice floes to document the magnificent spectacle of the harp and hooded seal nursery.

Our helicopters lift off and fly over the startlingly beautiful cliffs of the islands, which slope gently down to the dazzling ocean below. This island, which is often portrayed as a harsh and inhospitable landscape, is in reality a stunning wilderness full of dramatic shorelines and green pastures.

As our helicopters move out to sea, we see small pans of ice that occasionally dot the ocean surface. But soon the small pans appear closer and closer together, until they have formed a solid surface of ice across the horizon. This ice is a unique and unspoiled habitat—home to thousands of harp and hooded seals and their pups each year.

Finally, we spot some seal pups from the air, just tiny dots across the ice floes. We decide to land here, setting down at a safe distance.

It is hard to keep from grinning. It has been a year since I have been to this place that has become a second home to me, and it has felt like far longer. This is the best place I know, and I am impatient for the helicopter blades to stop turning so that I can be with the seals.

As I get out of the helicopter, I am immediately struck by the radiant light of the sun sparkling across the pristine ice and open water. Vivid purple and blue shadows are created all across the ice floes, setting off golden ice formations.

The pups are lying at the edges of this giant ice pan, close to open areas of water. As I move towards them, the only sounds I hear are the soft trills of the seals. It is a wonderful sound, this communication between mothers and pups.

Slowly I approach some baby seals who are lying happily on their backs, sunning themselves. But even as I crawl carefully towards them, I realize they are not bothered by my presence. It is as though they know we do not pose a threat.

Most of them are still covered in their fluffy white coats, their dark eyes staring appealingly up at us. One seal pup, just a few days old, lazily looks up at me and begins to feed herself some snow with the aid of her flipper. She blinks a few times, then falls back to sleep.

For a few minutes, it is all I can do to stay awake myself. I lay flat on the ice, put my head on my arms, and watch the seals from this vantage point. After a few minutes, I look around, noting with a smile that more seal pups have moved closer to us, each of them near sleep.

It is hard to describe the feeling of utter peace that comes over you as you become a part of the seal landscape. Harder still to explain the contrast that exists between this idyllic state and the brutal reality of the pending hunt.

For though it is impossible to believe, in just six days, the hunters will come. Their clubs and hakapiks will slam into the delicate skulls of these seals, bullets piercing their bodies. And everything that is perfect here will be destroyed in an annual ritual of violence that will leave these pristine ice floes running red with the blood of defenseless baby seals.

—Rebecca Aldworth

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March 26, 2005: The Seal Boats Are on Their Way

(photo: HSUS)

CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, March 26—The seal hunt is starting soon.

More than ten sealing boats have left the Magdalen Islands, and another ten are scheduled to go today. We have reports that at least 27 are on their way from Newfoundland.

They will be in the midst of the seal nursery within hours.

I can feel the tension levels rising in our HSUS Seal Watch group—I've witnessed the seal hunt firsthand, and we've all seen the video footage. And we know exactly what is coming.

It's impossible to think that in just four days, sealers will club and shoot to death these seal pups we have spent so many life-changing hours with over the past week.

I remember thinking the same thing last year, when the seal hunt started on March 24. There were still so many tiny whitecoat pups on the ice floes, some still nursing from their mothers. But the sealers came anyway, as they always do. I shudder to think about the fate that awaits the baby seals I have befriended over the past few days.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it will take to end this hunt. I believe a big part of it will be changing the perception on Canada's East Coast of seals as an "exploitable resource" to the magnificent wildlife spectacle they are.

As hundreds of sealers continue to leave Canada's shores to butcher seal pups, there are moments it seems impossible we will ever achieve this.

But then I think of whale hunting.

Because less than four decades ago, Newfoundlanders slaughtered thousands of whales for their oil and meat. And today a thriving ecotourism industry has replaced commercial whaling. You could not find a person in Newfoundland today who would advocate a return to the whale slaughter.

This transition did not come easily, and it did not come overnight. But it happened. And I know the same can happen for seals. Because the parallels between the two industries are too clear to miss.

First, there is the Norway connection.

Interestingly, the company that now buys the majority of sealskins in Canada each year is located in an old Newfoundland whaling plant. And that company, named Carino, is a subsidiary of a Norwegian firm called Rieber. In any given year, most of the sealskins are bought from sealers by Carino and shipped in an unprocessed state directly to Norway for tanning and resale to the world's fashion market.

This means that today, Norway is the economic backbone of Canada's commercial seal hunt.

And just like the seal hunt, commercial whaling in Newfoundland was also directly linked to Norway. Throughout the modern era of commercial whaling, joint venture Newfoundland-Norway companies led the whale hunts off Canada's east coast, and Norway remained closely tied to the industry until its demise in 1972. (Unlike Newfoundland, Norway never gave up its whaling industry and continues to whale commercially despite the International Whaling Commission's 1986 ban.)

And there is another disturbing connection between whaling and sealing: the fur industry. It's a connection the industries don't like to talk about.

Back in the 1950s, the development of factory fur farms on Canada's East Coast dramatically increased the number of whales slaughtered—the whale meat was used to feed the minks and foxes raised on those farms. It is interesting that the Carino sealing plant was almost exclusively used back then to process pothead and minke whale meat for fur factories. So many whales were slaughtered for this purpose in Newfoundland that the populations began to dwindle, and by the 1960s, local fur factory farmers had to import whale meat.

And just a few years ago, when it became clear seal meat could never be marketed successfully for human consumption, the sealing industry began to sell it to local fur farms. Although almost all the carcasses are left to rot on the ice today, a very small amount of seal meat is still sold to factory fur farms.

So when I feel most despairing about the future of seals, I remember that whale watching in Newfoundland today is worth more than the seal hunt has ever brought in.

In 1972 the Canadian government gave in to public pressure, and imposed a moratorium on commercial whaling—instituting a compensation package for those affected. As the global community banned the commercial hunting of whales, the world began to show interest in a new relationship with the whales—ecotourism. It didn't take long for Newfoundland to see that the whales were worth more alive than dead.

Today tourists would never think that Newfoundlanders once slaughtered the same whales they now revere.

Norway lost the battle to continue the slaughter of whales in Canada. As it will lose the battle to slaughter seals.

The HSUS Protect Seals campaign will ensure it.

—Rebecca Aldworth

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March 29, 2005: How the Death of One Pup Sums Up Everything That's Wrong with Canada's Seal Hunt

(photo: HSUS)

THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE, March 29—Today was the first day of the commercial seal hunt in Canada. And despite gale force winds, sleet, and rain, The HSUS Seal Watch team was there on the ice floes to bear witness to this slaughter and document the cruelty.

Tonight, after several hours on the ice observing the hunt, I sit here, trying to do the impossible—to find words that would come close to describing what we have seen. What we witnessed was unconscionable, and I can think of no way to adequately capture the fear, misery, and betrayal we saw in all directions.

And that is why I find myself writing mostly about one baby seal. One who endured unimaginable suffering so her skin could be turned into a fur coat. One who wanted to live so badly that she fought for more than an hour as blood oozed from her mouth and nose. One who desperately needed help that we had no way of providing.

And one who has come to symbolize for me all the reasons why this hunt should be stopped for good.

Walking on Thin Ice

I wake up in the dark at 5 a.m. Our helicopters must fly as soon as possible, because the sealers begin killing in one hour. As is always the case out here, I have not slept much. Our team scrambles to dress in our survival suits, and we race to the airport in record time.

It is not an easy flight. Our helicopters are bouncing through driving rain and snow and high winds. We have almost no visibility. But we know that if we do not make it to the ice floes today, this slaughter will occur without witnesses. The sealers themselves are saying they will kill 90,000 pups in just three days. And so we press on.

I scan the horizon for sealing boats, but can barely make out anything through the snow. Finally, I spot a black dot on the horizon and, out of nowhere, dozens more. I begin to count, realizing with horror there are at least 70 sealing boats operating out here.

And then I notice the blood. Spreading across the ice in crimson stains as far as I can see. The scale of this slaughter, just two hours after it has started, is overwhelming. From the air I can see the carcasses, thousands of them left to rot on the ice floes.

We land our helicopter on the most solid-looking ice we can find. I do my best to navigate my group across the ice, but it is difficult. Rain over the past days has made the ice slick, and we have problems crossing thin areas where I can see through to the ocean beneath.

Directly in front of us, about 30 seal pups are stranded on small ice pans. We move towards them, knowing the sealers will come in this direction. As we reach the seals, I see that several have already been clubbed, their bodies left on the ice. The sealers will return to skin them later.

A movement catches my eye, and I realize with horror that a clubbed baby seal is still conscious. She is writhing around on the ice in pain, moving her flippers. She lies next to another seal who has been killed, vacant eyes staring up, blood already frozen in the ice under her mouth. It is a macabre scene—the dead and the dying huddled together here in the rain.

There is nothing I can do to help this baby seal. Despite her struggle to survive, she has been too badly injured, and the only humane thing would be to put her out of her misery. But we have no way to euthanize her, and as is almost always the case, there isn't an enforcement officer in sight.

I kneel beside her and find myself whispering softly, telling her to go to sleep. I am begging her to die quickly. Because the sealers will come back soon. The dozens of live seal pups just feet away from us will prove too tempting for them, despite the presence of our cameras. And when the sealers arrive, this baby seal will endure a fate far worse than death.

Our group moves on to the next pile of seal carcasses. Across the ice floes, I hear panicked voices—there are more clubbed seals who are conscious and in agony. I run over to them, and see seals writhing around, breathing, and lifting their heads.

The wind blows mercilessly and the rain pelts down on these suffering animals. The few survivors, just three to four weeks old, are left to move through the blood and carcasses. I cannot begin to imagine the terror and confusion that these babies experience as they see this slaughter unfold around them. And I am deeply ashamed to be human as I watch these helpless infants staring around in panic, not knowing what to do to avoid the clubs raining down on their skulls.

What just days ago I described as heaven has become a hell.

The Final Blow

I return to the first seal. She is trying to crawl, and making anguished sounds. I cannot stop crying. She is trying so hard to live, and I know there is no hope for her. She has her eyes tightly shut, as if to keep out the sight of the dead seals around her. My heart is breaking.

Without warning, we hear the mechanical sounds of the sealers' snowmobiles racing at us across the ice floes. By law, we must stand ten meters away from the sealers, and we watch in disbelief as they slaughter all of these seals.

The suffering baby seal is not spared. A heavy metal hakapik hammers through her skull. It is a strange world up here, where an act of such violence brings the only relief available—death.

As I always do, I find myself apologizing to the seals—for being a part of a species that could ever consider inflicting so much violence on such gentle, trusting creatures. For living in a country whose government has the audacity to call this brutal slaughter 98% humane.

Out here on the ice, far out to sea in the middle of this hunt, there is little that makes sense. This is an alternate universe where laws exist only to protect sealers. Where rescuing a wounded seal can be defined as "harassment" by the authorities. And where the brutal clubbing of baby seals is called a "harvest."

I have been to this place seven years in a row. But it never gets easier to watch.

Just days ago, I stood on these same ice floes, watching as seal pups nursed contentedly from their mothers in the sun. Today, the hunters shattered that world. And everything that was perfect has been ruined.

—Rebecca Aldworth

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March 30, 2005: The Waiting Game

(photo: HSUS)

CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, March 30—Today is one of those frustrating days I have come to know so well over the years here at the commercial seal hunt.

We wake at dawn and begin to prepare for our trip to the ice. But then our pilots call: Gale force winds and freezing rain are forcing a delay until 8 a.m. Everyone waits impatiently for two hours, until we receive another call: The news is not good. The freezing rain continues, and we will have to wait for another update at 10 a.m. And so it goes, with delay after delay, until our pilots finally break it to us: We will not be able to fly for the rest of the day.

The HSUS Seal Watch team members are upset—we know these weather conditions will not stop the sealers from killing seals, just our ability to witness it. The clubs will continue to rain down on fragile baby seals, and we are unable to do anything to stop it.

Understandably, our guests are also anxious. These journalists and parliamentarians have come from around the world to witness the seal hunt for themselves. And many have publications waiting for their stories and photographs. It is tense as everyone tries to rework their deadlines.

But suddenly, we find we are being swept up in a different activity. Our office phones begin to ring without pause. Media outlets from all over the world are seeing our photos and footage from the seal hunt, and they are starting to cover the tragedy unfolding in the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

My spirits lift as I see our messages being delivered to audiences far and wide. In one interview after another, I speak with television and radio stations and newspapers as far away as Australia. Outraged people call into radio shows I speak on, asking how they can help us stop this atrocity.

It is difficult to find ways to describe what we have seen this year on the ice. In interview after interview, I try my best to make the world comprehend the suffering that occurs during this slaughter. Understandably, most people I speak with cannot believe that this is happening in Canada.

The office is a flurry of activity as our video team works to review and edit footage and our PR staff offers it to the media. And while I speak to reporters, I can see the images of our trip to the ice floes yesterday. One monitor shows the face of the seal pup we watched die in agony; another shows sealers running across the ice clubbing pups.

I find it hard not to cry as I watch these baby seals in such obvious pain, but it is fitting to see these images as I speak to journalists. Our role here is to speak on behalf of those who cannot. And these seal pups are in desperate need of our voices.

It is hard to reconcile this renewed global interest in saving the seals with the hundreds of thousands of pups who will be slaughtered over the next few weeks. The world is paying attention, but it is just too late to save these seals. I vow to myself that we will fight throughout the year for the seals and ensure we never have to witness this kind of slaughter again.

At the end of the day, we receive some good news. Our pilots call: The weather forecast for tomorrow looks promising. We will plan to fly at daybreak and once again stand with the seals to bear witness to Canada's cruel commercial seal hunt.

—Rebecca Aldworth

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April 1, 2005: A Battle of Rights

(photo: HSUS)

GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE, April 1, 2005—Today we begin by witnessing a slaughter and end at the center of a battle of rights: The sealers' rights, as defined by the Canadian government, to kill baby seals—and our rights to come to the ice floes and peacefully witness and document the slaughter. It is clear the sealers, the fishing industry, and the Canadian government believe these ice floes to be the property of the sealing industry.

This ocean, which belongs to all Canadians, has been commandeered for slaughter.

The HSUS Seal Watch team is awake at 5 am. The weather forecast is clear, and our pilots give us the go-ahead to fly to the seal hunt. We are anxious to get out to the ice. Two days of the hunt have passed, and because of the weather we have not been able to witness it.

We know this will be a challenging day for filming. The crew of the Farley Mowat—Sea Shepherd's vessel—were attacked yesterday by club-wielding sealers. The bad weather has been frustrating for the sealers, and some of their boats are getting damaged. They are far more likely to be violent with us today.

Our helicopters leave as soon as we arrive at the hangar. Our first stop will be the Farley Mowat, which is now located at the edge of the seal hunt. We are planning to pick up Sea Shepherd's footage of yesterday's attack because the members of Sea Shepherd are worried it will be confiscated if the Coast Guard boards the boat. We fly in and land. One of our team runs over to the boat and grabs a bag of video tapes. We will turn the footage over to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and media at Sea Shepherd's request.

We leave for the hunt area and are surprised to see only 25 sealing boats operating there. It is likely that many others have already filled up with seal skins and have left for home. We are determined to get as much footage as we can today.

We fly over an area where hundreds of carcasses have been left to rot on the ice. We land next to them. This is always one of the most disturbing parts of the trip: looking at the remains of this slaughter, left on the ice in open graves. By the end of this hunt, the ice will be covered with carcasses. The tiny, skinless seal bodies stare up at us, their eyes still intact.

I find myself noticing tiny details. Their teeth, so small and still developing, now set in a death grimace. The flippers, which so resemble human hands, cut off of the bodies and left at the sides of the carcasses. The skulls of too many of these pups are not even fractured.

These baby seals would have been skinned alive.

We finish documenting this carnage and leave to film sealers at their grizzly work. From the air, we see them running across the ice, clubbing baby seals. We set down our helicopters, split into two teams, and move quickly towards them. Our first team is ahead of us. I am moving my team forward as quickly as possible, but this ice is treacherous, with many areas of open water in between large sheets of slick ice. The other team reaches the sealers before we do.

My team reaches the clubbed baby seals, blood spilling out of them, their soft fur now soaked in it. Several are still breathing torturously, blood pouring out of their noses and mouths. The horror of what I am looking at sinks in.

Suddenly, I hear a shout from ahead and see a sealer running after the first team's ice guide with a hakapik. The sealer is only a few feet away from him, grabbing for his camera, blocking him from moving away with his hakapik. I yell out and begin to run towards them, slipping over the ice as I go.

Suddenly, the sealer notices me coming and changes direction. He runs right at me until he is just feet away, his hakapik held high—the metal spike intimidating as he swings it around and around.

I move back as quickly as I can without falling through the ice.

I am not afraid of this man. If he hits me, we will get it on film. But we need to do everything in our power to maintain the 10-meter distance that is a condition of our observation permits. I call out to the others to back away, and then I find myself yelling at the sealer as he chases me—"I am from Newfoundland"—as though that will mean anything to him.

He says he knows exactly who I am and tells me I am not a real Newfoundlander. This is nothing new for me. There are those from my province who believe that anyone with a differing viewpoint is a traitor.

Our camera people have gotten enough footage in this area, and we move across the ice to where another sealer is working. He doesn't mind being filmed, casually asking if anyone has a pack of cigarettes for him.

It is incongruous. This sealer is practically joking with us as his hakapik bashes in the skulls and faces of defenseless pups. Some of them cry out as he advances. But he is merciless. He beats them to death, one after one.

And he is brutal. He hooks live seals out of the water with the spike of his hakapik, dragging their still moving bodies across the ice to a place where he is better able to club them. One seal refuses to die, and he smashes the hakapik into this baby seal's skull, jaw, and side over and over and over again. Our videographer begins to cry.

It occurs to me how obscene it is that these sealers are forcing these three-week-old seals to comprehend this kind of violence. At first, as they hear their friends slaughtered in the distance, they just appear bewildered. But then, they begin to understand. And these babies try so pathetically to defend themselves from these human predators. They rear their heads back and cry at the sealers, assuming the defensive posture of a much older seal. It is heartbreaking.

We finish filming and begin to retreat from this madness back to our helicopters. But just then, a sealer rushes at us, hakapik held high. He holds it menacingly at me, and for a minute I think he might actually strike me. But once we are back at the helicopters, he finally gives up and goes back to killing seals.

We lift off and fly back to the airport to refuel. At the hangar, a call comes in to my cell phone, advising me that activists on the ice have reported more attacks and even gunfire. The upcoming afternoon's trip promises to be interesting.

As we fly back over the hunt area, we see more and more blood on the ice. The boats have been working their way through areas populated with pups, and now there are just carcasses left across the ice.

We land next to a boat named Grand Makasti. This vessel operates with a helicopter, which spots seals for them and slings sealskins across the ice to the boat. It shows how industrial this hunt has become—far away from the public perception of poor unemployed fishermen simply trying to make a living. The owner of such an expensive boat must be a millionaire.

As we move over the ice to where they are clubbing seals, one crewmember runs at us and circles the group menacingly. He has a knife on his belt, and we try to calm him down. But he gets more and more agitated until it probably occurs to him that he is wasting money and time, and he runs back to continue skinning animals.

On the ice, there are blood trails formed by the skidoos that race across the ice, carrying skins back to the boats. In front of me, two clubbed pups lie next to each other. They would have died in front of each other.

We move on to another hunting area. We move in to film the hunters, but they want to prevent us from getting footage. One grabs his skinning knife and runs at us. I get everyone back, but he is advancing quickly. I am the closest to him, and he threatens me with the knife.

We all back up and form a line. He is still threatening us, and we are worried about moving back to the helicopters. If he follows and damages one of our 'copters, we will be in real danger, unable to leave the ice floes.

He yells at us that we are crazy Americans. That President Bush is killing people in Iraq—how dare we criticize him for seal hunting. I yell back in French, "Nous sommes Canadienes. J'habite a Montreal!" (We are Canadian. I live in Montreal.) But he is too enraged to hear. He screams that he has a job—he is here to kill the seals. He asks me what I am doing here.

I reply, "I am here to save the seals. I am here to stop you."

We have had enough, and we retreat to the helicopters. The sealer follows and stands waving his hands in the air as our helicopter starts up. This is very dangerous. If we take off and he throws something into the helicopter blades, we will crash. One helicopter begins to lift off, but just then we see the Coast Guard helicopter land, so we stop.

I think for a second that they are here to arrest him for attempted assault. For threatening us with a knife. But, in a pattern of behavior long since established up here on the ice, they send him back to work and instead check our observation permits. Here at the hunt, the laws exist to protect the sealers.

Threats of assault, even with weapons, are tolerated here. Our cameras are not. This is because the Canadian government and sealing industry know, as we do, that when the world sees what happens up on the ice floes, this hunt will not be allowed to continue.

And in the end, it will be by shaming Canada with the truth that we will save the seals.

—Rebecca Aldworth

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April 2, 2005: Paradise Lost

(photo: HSUS)

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

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April 15, 2005: The Carnage Moves to the Front

(photo: HSUS)

By Rebecca Aldworth

Last night I lay awake for several hours. Yesterday afternoon, I had received bad news: The second phase of Canada's annual seal hunt would begin at 6 this morning.

The Front phase of the hunt (off the north and east coasts of Newfoundland) was supposed to open on Tuesday, April 12. But gale-force winds and heavy ice forced hundreds of the sealing boats to seek shelter in a Newfoundland port. Out of concern for human safety, the Canadian government delayed the hunt.

For a few desperately hopeful days, there seemed to be a chance the seal pups would be spared this year. But luck was not on our side. The winds began to lift, and the sealing boats started to make their way back out to the ice floes.

As the minutes ticked by last night, I thought of all of us waiting: The baby seals, so defenseless on their ice pans, tired from being tossed around in the rough ocean. The sealing boats, already in position in the middle of the nursery, rolling on angry seas. And those of us trying to stop this slaughter, helpless to intervene.

The sun was brilliant in Montreal this morning, the air cruelly still. But I kidded myself that the winds might still continue off the coast of Newfoundland.

It was not to be. The first media report at 6:55 am confirmed—the hunt had opened.

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An Incomprehensible Scale of Killing

In the end, these baby seals have no chance. Winds have pushed the ice floes up against the shores of Newfoundland. Normally up to 150 miles out to sea at this time of year, these seal pups are now within easy reach of the boats.

The slaughter will happen quickly: In each of the past two years, more than 140,000 seals have been killed over just two days during this part of the hunt. The Department of Fisheries and Oceans is saying it will close the hunt tonight to see if the quota has been reached. They think the entire larger-vessel quota of 127,747 seals could be reached during the course of today's 12 hours of daylight.

This scale of killing is something few can comprehend. In the Gulf of St. Lawrence, sealers killed 105,000 seals in about five days. From the air, the blood could be seen in all directions—literally small lakes of it washing over the wet ice.

In the Front, if the larger-vessel quota is taken by tonight, the killing will have taken place almost seven times as quickly.

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Punished for the Sin of Beauty

I know what is happening out there. I have seen for myself how the sealers in Newfoundland operate. Standing at the front of the boat, sealers with guns will shoot at the pups lying exposed on small pans of ice. The lucky ones will die immediately, their skulls blown open by a bullet. Too often the baby seals will be wounded but will slip beneath the water's surface to bleed to death slowly. They will not be counted in the official kill statistics. And their bodies will never be recovered.

The wounded ones who don't disappear into the water will endure a far worse fate. Norwegian-owned Carino, the main sealskin purchaser in Newfoundland, takes off $2 for each bullet hole found on skins. So sealers are loath to shoot the pups more than once. Instead, they will pull their boats up close to the bloody ice pan and drag the still-thrashing animal onto the deck with a boathook and club the seal to death there.

My heart breaks as I think of these gentle creatures being shot and clubbed to death—paying the ultimate price for the crime of bearing beautiful fur. They are slaughtered relentlessly for nothing more than to provide fashions for a European shop.

There are times when the needlessness of this hunt devastates me. But I find comfort now in knowing that the world is watching. Canada can no longer hide this dirty secret behind a veil of lies and secrecy. As my heart aches for the helpless babies lost forever to greed and corruption, I look to the future.

The Canadian seafood boycott will change everything. As hundreds of thousands of individuals and companies take the pledge not to buy Canadian seafood until this cruel slaughter is ended for good, Canadian fishermen are taking notice. Where nothing else has convinced them to stop killing seals, this economic pressure will make the difference.

This is what I hold on to as the kill reports start to come in.

—Rebecca Aldworth

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Rebecca Aldworth's journal, reprinted with kind permission from HSUS

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