Lost in the shallows, whales refuse rescue

These are supposed to be the carefree days of summer on Cape Cod.

But at 2:30 on Tuesday afternoon – prime beach-frolicking time – clusters of vacationers are standing, silently staring into the distance.

They're peering at a group of pilot whales who've stranded themselves for a second day – this time near what locals call, of all things, Harm's Way Beach. About 200 yards from shore, standing in waist-deep water, a cluster of 50 or so experts and volunteers tries to free 48 sleek, black animals.

Suddenly, the beachgoers hear a sharp cheer from rescue crews. It's the first sign of hope all day – in the biggest such mass stranding in more than a decade.

"I see their tails moving. I think they're getting free," yells a woman in a floral-print bathing suit as she presses binoculars to her eyes. Before the tide came in this morning, her grandchildren scampered across the salt marshes with buckets and blankets to help keep the whales wet and shielded from the sun. "One of my dust ruffles – one with lace – is draped over a whale out there, bless his heart," she says.

That residents of this tiny enclave would abandon their beach time – and best linens – in what ultimately became a futile effort to save the marine mammals betrays the deep emotions many humans have for these creatures. Some observers caution that emotional ties can overwhelm other considerations, such as human safety and the cost of rescue. Yet in an era of "Free Willy" – when humans are going to great lengths to save whales and other animals – rescuing these mammals quickly became a national cause célèbre.

The response betrays dramatic changes in this seacoast region over the decades. Whaling was once an economic staple here. Harpoon boats and widows were common. Back then, whale beachings were a boon to townspeople, who ran to carve up the bodies for blubber and meat. It was a kind of Ahab's revenge against dark creatures of the deep.

But conventional wisdom about beachings continues to evolve. Just a decade ago, most people thought stranded whales were ill, and should be euthanized to prevent them from returning to their pods and contaminating other whales. Now, one dominant theory is that they are lost and should be helped back to deeper water.

"There's been a real change in thinking on this over the years," says David Wiley, a government scientist at the Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary off Boston.

It's 3:30 p.m., and the 28 whales that emerged alive from this morning's stranding are meandering in circles in barely deep-enough water. They're resisting all human efforts to guide them to sea – and swimming perilously close to marshy green grasses that stand in depths of two to three feet.

Circling around them is a bevy of watercraft: several motor boats and two jet skis piloted by members of the official response team, and seven kayaks paddled by impromptu volunteers. The humans communicate via cellphones and two-way radios. The whales constantly click and squeak and chirp at each other. When whales head for the shallows, a craft speeds to intercept them, its driver banging on the boat hull. As the whales pass by, spew from their blow holes sometimes sprays kayakers in the face.

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