By Ian Woods, Sky News correspondent
Reporting on the clubbing to death of cute baby seals should be a straightforward assignment. I mean, who wouldn’t be appalled at the sight of animals having their skulls crushed, their bodies hooked with a metal spike and dragged away leaving a bloody trail on the ice?
It would be easy to conjure up emotive language and add it to the shocking pictures to produce a TV report which will anger or distress a lot of our viewers.
But when we decided we were going to go to Canada to produce a comprehensive report on the annual seal hunt, we were determined to present a complete picture and give just as much airtime to the hunters as their opponents.
I watched a lot of footage filmed by animal welfare groups documenting what they believe is an inhumane slaughter; seals gasping for breath as they choked on their own blood, or still showing signs of life as they were sliced open and skinned. There were confrontations with hunters, who tried to intimidate those documenting their behaviour. No wonder many European think that those who kill seals are uncivilised barbarians.
Sitting around the kitchen table as the wife of one of Newfoundland’s most experienced hunters served me cups of tea and home-made cheesecake, you are forced to come to the conclusion that he is not a savage. He’s been a fisherman all his life, and even in his mid-70s he still skippers a boat because sealing is in his blood.
For generations, communities perched on the edge of the North Atlantic have made a living, battling the harsh climate, and harvesting the produce of the sea. That means fish, shellfish and, yes, seals. They cannot go to sea during the long winter months because the ocean freezes over. The seal hunt at the end of March provides their first income for many weeks.
They know they have a dirty job, and they know that killing seals is a gruesome sight. They’ve tried to find markets for seal meat and oils, but the fact remains that the most valuable part of the animal is its skin. And most of us have an aversion to seeing animals killed for their fur.
I’m a carnivore. I eat all kinds of meat, and I’d rather not know too much about the process in the slaughterhouse. If our local supermarket or butcher killed animals in front of us before carving it into the portions we needed, I expect sales would decline pretty dramatically. So I can’t be too sanctimonious about communities who treat seals as just another animal put on earth for man’s use.
The Canadian hunters are angered that outsiders are telling them how to lead their lives. And I suspect if foreigners tried to get us to ban the Grand National because horses are whipped and some die jumping fences, there would be huge indignation from those of us who believe it is not cruel and is a proud tradition.
Meeting and talking to the hunters gave me a valuable insight into their way of life. But then I took a helicopter trip out onto the ice floes where tens of thousands of baby seals had just been born. At this age they behave like lovable kittens or puppies, rolling around in the snow, rubbing their faces with their flippers. They stare at with their big imploring eyes. Their white fur makes them look like overstuffed children’s toys. They are so adorable you want to take one home as a pet.
You can’t imagine how anyone could want to club them to death while they are still just a few weeks old. And if they have to die you want it to be done humanely, painlessly, in a controlled environment, rather than beaten over the head by the first human they’ve seen. But out on the shifting ice, buffeted by the wind and the currents, it is impossible to replicate the standards of an abattoir.
Would we be so appalled by pictures of the seal hunt if seals weren’t as cute and photogenic? Would be travel all this way to report on inhumane treatment of lobsters? Of course not. But lobsters aren’t a big draw in zoos or aquariums. And we know seals are intelligent animals.
In the next few days I will witness first hand the brutal deaths of young seals. I will see their blood staining the pristine white ice. I will hear the yelping of animals which cannot escape, and the thump as a club crushes another young skull. I expect to be disgusted. But I hope I can still be objective in telling this powerfully emotive story.