Whale Fall
Andover, MA
2025, Senior, Creative Writing
The Ogwhan is destined for land. As the boat cuts through sapphire ocean waves, two times converge on a single tragedy. In the years before, the Ogwhan’s crew cave to their willful ignorance. In the years after, the ship sails for the Wampanoag Confederacy – a council united by the Wôpanâak language and a belief that all life is intertwined. In both, a whale falls.
***
FISHY BUSINESS: SAILORS CAUGHT BURYING STRUCK WHALE.
“Matche enїn,” Sôtyo scoffs. “Evil men. They shouldn’t have brought her to land.” He sits on his wetu’s floor, sunlight rippling over the salvaged newspaper. The date, June 2024, is streaked. He gingerly flips through the old, cream and husk-colored sheafs reflecting a past time of barbarism. “At least her body could have been a nutrient-rich colony and a carbon sink.”
Rap rap. “The port awaits!” Kees calls, knocking on the wetu’s mesh of cedar and cattail.
***
“Hey Nick?” Troy stooped under the door to the Ogwhan’s pilothouse. “Is he here?”
“Nope.” Wren fanned herself, the sticky June air clinging to her skin. The newspaper she was leafing through was already smudged by sweat, the 2024 nearly unrecognizable.
“No kidding.” Troy entered the room and stepped towards the chart table. He unfurled the map, placing cloudy glass paper weights at either end. “What the…?” he wondered aloud.
The deck cadet peeked through the entrance. “Everything alright in here?” Olivia asked.
Troy shook his head before pausing. “I mean, it’s fine, but we’re in a whale sanctuary…”
“A what?” Olivia stepped fully into the navigation room, her hands planted on her hips.
“It’s no big deal,” Wren yawned. “Sanctuaries are probably the same as open water.”
***
“Hey Nika?” Ducking under the Ogwhan’s door, Sôtyo steps into the pilothouse.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Kees peers up from his chair, his sunglasses askew on his head.
“Just looking for the first mate.” He glances around the room before approaching the map unfurled next to the helm. “Eh! chè! What in the world?” He falters backward.
“Wonkquttuwongauash!” Aiyana calls in greeting as she slips through the entrance. She clips her walkie talkie, labeled in sharpie with ‘deck cadet,’ to her belt. “What’s up?”
Sôtyo groans. “We’re not supposed to be here.” He stabs at the map, to the right of a line carving a crimson border in the ocean. “This is a whale sanctuary.”
Just then Nika walks in, her curls wild from the wind. “Everything alright in here?”
“No, a kupputtꝏn navigated us into a kobpohaheau!” Sôtyo fumes, his Wôpanâak sharp.
“What!” Nika joins them near the helm. “OK. We still have time to turn. No problem.”
***
A hollow thump suddenly reverberated through the boat. A screech pierced the air and splashing emanated from the hull. The whole boat rocked from side to side. Olivia slammed into Wren and Troy narrowly missed sliding into the helm. Footsteps pounded down the hallway.
Nick burst into the room. “The Ogwhan hit a whale,” the first mate exclaimed.
“What?” Olivia gasped. “We couldn’t– there’s no way…”
Wren backed to a wall and slid to the floor. “We’re toast,” she murmured into her hands.
Nick clenched the ship’s throttle. “We have to get to land to notify the police.”
“What!” Troy felt nauseous. “I mean, really? But what about the whale?”
“It won’t fall for days,” Olivia said. “I guess bring it ashore?” The crew fell silent.
“No one needs to know,” Wren hesitated. “Should we really turn ourselves in?”
“No way!” Nick said sharply. “We’re in deep trouble if the police find out we hid this.”
“Hey, look,” Wren’s voice was panicked. She pushed herself up from the floor. “We can bury it or something, and this business is done. It’s just a whale – it’s not like we hit a person.”
Troy looked away. “We’re not just risking our jobs – we’re risking our entire futures.”
Nick groaned. “Stop. This is messed up. We need to minimize the damage. Then we’ll decide. Troy, check the engine and Wren, calm the crew. Just… don’t mention the whale. Yet.”
***
A hollow thump suddenly reverberates through the boat. A screech pierces the air and splashing emanates from the hull. The whole boat rocks from side to side. Aiyana slams into Kees and Sôtyo narrowly misses sliding into the helm. Footsteps pound down the hallway.
“The Ogwhan– ” The second mate stops. His voice shakes. “No, we hit a whale.”
“What?” Aiyana gasps, her voice muted from pure disbelief. Sôtyo’s hands tremble.
Kees backs into a bulkhead and slides down. “No, please no,” he moans into his hands.
The engine pulses beneath them. Murder, the heartbeat thrums. Kemineíachick. Amos slams down the throttle. “We need to get to land to inform the Wampanoag Confederacy.”
“What– ” Aiyana feels nauseous. “What’s going to happen to her?”
“We need to kill her.” Amos’s knuckles flex alabaster on the helm. “Then let her fall.”
“She’s not dead?” Sôtyo chokes out. He grips the chart table tightly.
“No. But her back is broken and she can’t swim – she’s bleeding from all the lacerations. There’s so much blood– ” Amos’s emotions crash over him. “We need to do something.”
Nika breathes in deeply. “Alright. Everyone stay calm. Sôtyo, radio the engine room and Aiyana, calm the crew on deck. Tell them we’re handling the whale strike.”
“What have we done?” Aiyana murmurs to herself. “What have we done?”
***
Olivia paced back and forth. “How big is the whale? Is it one of the endangered kinds?”
“It’s pretty small,” Nick shrugged. “Does it matter? It’ll die soon, if it hasn’t already.”
“The real issue is – who was navigating?” Olivia snapped. “We’re not all at fault here.”
“Come on, no one’s blaming anyone,” Nick said.
“Not yet,” Olivia muttered, wringing her hands. “Not yet.”
***
Nika turns to the helm. “Aunchemókaw. Describe the whale, Amos.”
“She’s a young white sperm, at a mere 20 feet.” Amos exhales. “We cut her life so short.”
“I’m so sorry,” Kees sighs. “I should’ve noticed we were off course. This is my fault.”
“Moshup wasn’t just a creator,” Nika says slowly. “The Nôkkum say he and his family became whales in a union between the land and sea. He taught our tribes to respect nature’s gifts by the Aquinnah Cliffs. His den became the first school in Noepe. If we stand together, we can mend our mistakes – just as he taught us, by honoring and learning from what came before.”
Sôtyo rejoins the crew at the chart table. “Everything looks fine in the engine room.”
Amos nods. “Wunnegen. Good. We’ll slow to a safe 10 knots to reach the Confederacy.”
***
The final bucket of sand fell with a dull thud onto the packed grave.
“Good riddance.” Wren grinned. “It must’ve been pretty stupid to swim so close to us.”
Nick remained kneeling. “Shouldn’t we at least say a few words?” he wondered.
“Why bother?” Troy glanced around. “We don’t have time to waste.”
Olivia sighed with relief. “Now the evidence will rot. Circle of life or whatever, right?”
Nick placed his palms on the sand but it was too late: the young whale lay dead and buried and his apology dissolved with the tide. Sirens wailed somewhere past the sand dunes.
***
Amos stares at his hands. “She cried out,” he says softly. “When she was hit. I heard this faint sound at the hull, like a deep, sorrowful exhalation. She was just a child, barely an adult. I think she wanted to play with us – that’s why she was so close to the Ogwhan. She was curious.”
Nika stills. “We need to release her from onkquanumꝏonk. She’s suffered long enough.”
“We should honor her with a name,” Kees suggests. “For her time guarding the oceans.”
“Her short life supported trillions,” Amos ponders sadly. “Mother of whales, elder of the ocean. Nôkkum Kéhtoh. Taûbotneanaváyean. Nuppogkodtumôoe, nôkkum.”
“Taûbotneanaváyean,” the crew echo. “I thank you. Nuppogkodtumôoe, nôkkum. Forgive me, my revered elder.”
As Nôkkum Kéhtoh’s still body sinks, the sky clears, and fog creeps over the sand dunes. Moshup has dumped ash from his peeudlee. His love still stands sentinel over this shifting land – changed in more than name from Noepe to Martha’s Vineyard and back again – from the cry of the terns to the rolling mist from his pipe. And the whale’s spirit, carried by millennia of whale song, begins her journey to Cautantowwit’s house, where she is embraced in eternal ahquène.
Wôpanâak-to-English Translations:
Eh! chè! – expressive of surprise and disappointment
Kupputtꝏn – (he is) dumb, a dumb person
Kobpohaheau – haven, a place protected
Aunchemókaw – tell me your news
Onkquanumꝏonk – sorrow, pain, torment
Ahquène – peace; a truce
Reflection
Reflection
My piece was inspired by a three-year-old whale named Sweet Girl who was struck by a boat last year. She suffered deep lacerations that impeded her ability to swim, and she eventually drowned. Her death was preventable - just reducing ship speeds to 10 knots could have saved her life, along with the thousands of whales hit every year. Yet, many refuse to take accountability: they believe they own the Earth and have an inherent claim to life. The Wamponoag people, however, oppose these beliefs. I was deeply inspired by their culture of respect and interconnectedness, particularly after learning about their relationship with whales. I truly hope my piece respectfully honors their story. I wanted to tell Sweet Girls' story through a lens of responsibility and peace, and imagined a future where humans finally do the right thing. This story is my way to immortalize her death, and to pass on the sadness and frustration I felt while learning about her life. In my reality, Indigenous communities have reclaimed their identity and culture: tribal councils hold power, Wôpanâak is an official language, Martha’s Vineyard has once again become Noepe, and history is passed down orally by elders (known as nôkkum). In this future, all stories are remembered and actions accounted for. My message to viewers is simple: we need to listen. We need to change our ways. The Wampanoag have much to teach us about healing, stewardship, and learning to co-inhabit this planet, and we cannot ignore their voices. While researching, I learned a lot about Wampanoag culture and the biology of whale falls. When a whale dies naturally, its body becomes the foundation for deep-sea ecosystems for generations. Without whale falls or even whales, we would struggle to survive. So why do we continue to ignore the most important voices?