So another side of whaling, another side of the debate. That of the whalers themselves. Or at least one of them, known now as Mr. Kujira (Mr. Whale). A whaler from the Nisshin Maru factory ship (some call it a research ship, some call it a factory ship…) has decided to speak out in Japan against practices he deems as wrong within the whaling industry- wasteful dumping of meat at sea due to over-catching of whales, and unauthorised removal of boxes of high quality whale meat by the crew of the ship. I get an assignment to photograph him, one of the first whaling industry whistleblowers. It interest me, another side of the whole debate.

So I go to a room in a non-descript office building, a cupboard sized conference room, rent-it-by-the-hour type place. I’m with Justin McCurry of The Guardian, intrepid journalist and one who knows his unesu from his uni (read his whaling industry whistleblower article here). Anyway, into the building, elevator door opens, beautiful women walks out and seems slightly shocked to meet the two of us, perhaps not looking our finest. Up to the 7th floor and in we go.

Mr. Kujira meets us there, and brings out of his bag his Kyodo Senpaku (whaling fleet company) uniform. He dons the jacket and skipcap for the meeting, him sitting on one side of the table, us on the other. He requests that his anonymity be preserved. The story unfolds, he tells us his employment history, his feelings about what he has seen and what he wants to happen, why he is speaking out, the dangers he faces by doing so. But there’s nothing to shoot. He’s sitting there facing me, there’s no way to hide his face whilst he talks. The room is sterile, the most sterile small cupboard I’ve ever been in. The whiteboard pressed hard against one wall is the most exciting thing there is, if you don’t count the clock that is.

Sensing I may need a prop for my photo, something to use to help cover his identity, I’d printed out three photos I’d taken in the Southern Ocean, showing the Nisshin Maru and the flensing deck. Mr. Kujira smiles at them, and smiles, looking me in the eye, when he hears that I was in the Southern Ocean twice for Greenpeace covering the whaling issue. He’s brought with him a cardboard folder full of photos, enprints. It lays on the table.

Many of my days in the Southern Ocean I looked at the Nisshin Maru ship, or the Japanese whale catcher ships, stared at them. I saw them from water level, I saw them through binoculars, I saw them many, many times from the helicopter as we hovered over the ships, causing downdraft and noise. And all those times, I always wondered what it’d be like to be a photographer actually on the whaling ships, the sights you’d see, the opportunities there’d be for images. And now, in front of me, Mr. Kujira and his folder of photos from the Nisshin Maru. I asked if I could take a look, he shoves the cheap folder over to me. I open it up.

His photos show life on the ship, from the whalers point of view. The blubber, the guts, the massive size of the minkes, the sharp blades, the colleagues with arms around each other standing as the snow falls, the yellow and green helmets each for different onboard departments, the waterproofs, there’s a lot of pink and red in the images. I notice the blue sky, it stands out. Many of his photos are taken on deck level, where the sides of the Nisshin Maru rise up each side of the deck, there’s little view of the sea I realise, only of blue Southern Ocean skies above. It’s a different view from the one I had on my ship, low rails, ample view of the swelling sea, the calm ice flows, the penguins. It’s facinating to see the images from this new angle, from Nisshin Maru deck level – the one viewpoint I’ve never had.

The interview draws to an end, and we do some photos of Mr. Kujira. He hides his face with his hand, tilts his skipcap down. I shoot some images, and have to show him on the camera back. He says “ok, ok”, then hums and ha’s about some frames. Too much ear, too much hair. I shoot some more, but there’s little to play with. I put a flash off to one side, cast a shadow on the plain wall, trying to create some atmosphere. He holds his cap in front of his face, he’s happy with it but doesn’t like a few. We agree on what is useable.

We all finish up, we’ve been in the tiny room over an hour. Mr. Kujira offers me an enprint of Greenpeace activists from his photo album, but I decline, thank you, please show it to others. I offer him my three prints of the Nisshin Maru, he smiles, seems he doesn’t want them or need them, but he takes them anyway, places them in his little anonymous bag.

I’ve just one question if I may, as we prepare to leave the room, “all those days in the Southern Ocean, when I was in the helicopter hovering above the Nisshin Maru flensing deck, the downdraft and noise being annoying no doubt for the crew. What can I ask was the feeling of your crew, of the whalers ? Did they hate us in the helicopter? What did you all think or say about us ?”. It’s something I’ve wondered over the years. I’ve seen angry gestures from some Nisshin Maru crew, friendly waves and smiles from others. Mr. Kujira listens and smiles “most of us enjoyed it he said. When Greenpeace were there there was less work to be done. Those times when we took off across the ocean and Greenpeace followed” – I nod, we both understand the times we’re talking off-  “we were happy, we’d eat and sleep and rest. When there was lots of work, some of us would wonder “when will Greenpeace come ?”".

With that we shook hands. My clean living photographer hand, his hard, gnarled seaman’s hand. We mention how beautiful it was down there in Antarctica, he says it wasn’t cold and I agree. By now we’re beside the elevator, we descend, and outside in the sunshine we bid each other farewell. “Until the next Southern Ocean” I say. We laugh, and he goes on his way.