Section B: Narrative Text

1

It had been weeks since anyone had seen the whale. On a day when the sky was a strip of old grey linen, Joe took the boat out alone for the first time. Even his thick waterproof coat afforded little protection from the icy grip of the elements as he looped his safety rope round the wheel and raised the sails. A strong, steady wind filled them, and before long he had been propelled far out, further than he’d ever sailed from the village, almost beyond sight of land. He lowered the sails and let the boat bob in the water as he threw out the lines and caught two full buckets of herring.

2

Satisfied with his catch, he tacked back against the wind. He had almost lost sight of Piran Head, but there it was, the rocky headland and the whitewashed village, the stone harbour and the church. It would take some time to sail back, but there were still a couple of hours until dusk. He set to the task, letting the ropes run through his palms, feeling the secret power of the breeze, enjoying the freedom of the vast expanse of water and its enveloping solitude.

3

His thoughts drifted to the times when he used to do this with his father. ‘Take her home, Joe,’ Pappa Mikkel would say, and they would sail between the rocky islands along the coast, with Joe at the wheel. Sometimes the wind would roar and buffet, as if charging at them. ‘Trim your sails, Joe,’ Pappa Mikkel would yell from below, and sometimes he did, but often reckless, he would disobey, and he’d feel the little vessel rising up in the water like a speedboat, skimming over the waves.

4

A black shadow sliding beneath the water in front of the boat brought Joe abruptly back to the present and at once he was alert. He tugged frantically on the wheel, and swung a few degrees to the right. There it was again. Grey this time, uncommonly fast, just a foot or so beneath the surface. The whale,’ he whispered, smiling to himself. And all at once it surfaced, only metres away, breaking above the swell like a submarine released from an underwater anchor. With a great thrust of hidden power it lifted almost clear of the rolling ocean, corkscrewing as it did so. There, for the smallest instant of time, it hung in the unfamiliar air, defiant of gravity, until with a further twist it fell into the gulf between the waves and an equally huge cascade of spray and foam rose in its place.

5

Joe’s hands tightened hard on the wheel. The upsurge from the breaching whale lifted the boat and, as it balanced unsteadily on the peak of the wave, his heart skipped a beat but down it went again, safely. Now the whale was lifting again. Up it rose, and again it turned, and this time it held steady with an eye towards the boat, seeming to return his gaze, and then down it plunged, slapping its tail against the milky foam behind it. As the impact tossed his boat for a second time, he scanned the surface of the sea wondering where the whale had gone. There it was again, another breach, a hundred metres away. This time the whale fell backwards into the water, with what he saw as a farewell wave of its fin. A minute later and there it was again – but much further off this time, heading away.

6

There were flecks of snow in the darkening sky as he turned in towards the harbour. Annie Battle was there to help tie up the ropes.

‘Any luck?’ she asked him.

‘Yes! I saw the whale! Right close!’

‘Oh yeah, we all have. It’s been out in the bay all day. But did you get any herring?’