On a blustery March day in Wellington, a group of would-be whale rescuers wearing wetsuits and hi-vis vests are waist deep in the chilly waters of Scorching Bay. Between them, a two-tonne replica of a pilot whale gently rocks in the swell.
On the sand, another group pours buckets of water over a replica dolphin, while some dig away the sand from beneath its fins. Occasionally, a trainer reminds students to stand back from the tail – if this were a real animal the tail could deliver an unexpected blow.
The animals are so life-like beachgoers run to check on them, prompting assurances from trainers they are just models to teach people how to respond if a whale or dolphin strands.
New Zealand is a global hotspot for whale strandings, with hundreds beaching along the country’s extensive coastline each year. In most countries, strandings are primarily managed by government agencies but in New Zealand, a unique cultural phenomenon plays out – a vast nationwide network of trained volunteers leaps into action to assist in the rescue of stranded whales.
The volunteers put their lives on hold and work with officials who lead the whale rescues, which can require hundreds of hands on deck.
Mark Rounce, a wastewater engineer from nearby Nelson, is one of New Zealand’s most dedicated rescue volunteers. His journey as a helper began one summer evening a decade ago, when 200 pilot whales stranded at New Zealand’s notorious “whale trap” – a long narrow spit at the top of the South Island, where mass strandings are frequent.
Over the next few days, more than 500 people – families, tourists and marine specialists – gathered and attempted to re-float the ink-black animals dotting the shallows like polished obsidian.
Rounce and his daughter were among them, despite never having attended a stranding before. They tended to a whale for hours – cooling it with water and making it comfortable. When it came time to re-float the animal, they did not have the appropriate gear and as such, were ordered off the beach before the rescue was finished.
“For days afterwards I was quite shaken up – did my whale survive?” he recalls. The experience prompted Rounce and his daughter to sign up for a one-day course that would equip them with the knowledge to see a whale rescue through.
Since then, Rounce has attended nine strandings and volunteers his time to help Project Jonah – a charity that trains marine mammal medics and advocates for the marine environment. It works closely alongside the Department of Conservation to respond to strandings. More than 5,000 New Zealanders have taken Project Jonah’s one-day course so they can assist in strandings.
“You get all walks of life turning up,” Rounce says. “No one asks what your political views are, or what your religion is, everyone just wants to pitch in and help.
“If the world could live like we do when we’re involved in a stranding, we would have no problems.”
New Zealand was one of the first countries to pioneer rescue and response programmes for strandings, says Louisa Hawkes, a biologist and one of two full-time staff running Project Jonah. This legacy, alongside the unique volunteer-based model, makes New Zealand’s stranding response internationally renowned, she says.
“I don’t know of many courses where you can go from not knowing the head or tail of a whale, to being able to help look after a whale and empower people to do the same in a day,” she says.
Overseas, a stranding is deemed large if its 10-30 animals, Hawkes says. “For us its over a hundred.” Responding to such events would be impossible without the hundreds of volunteers, she says.
“We are still grass roots – we couldn’t do this without people who are willing to put their life on pause and help.”
In some cases, scientists are able to determine why a whale has stranded, be it illness or injury. But in many events it is unclear and pinpointing the reasons why is an ongoing field of research, says Karen Stockin, marine ecology professor at Massey University.
In New Zealand, the long coastline, a large diversity of whale and dolphin species and long-sloping coastal geography can contribute. Social and behavioural factors can also play a role – if a head of a pod becomes disoriented, others may follow.
Stockin says researchers also regularly look to whether human activity is a factor, be it from underwater disturbances by ships, or nutritional distress that may be linked to over-fishing or climate change.
New Zealand has “a gumboots-and-all response to whale strandings,” Stockin says. She puts this down to the population’s close proximity to the ocean and desire to spend time at the beach over summer, which also coincides with the peak stranding season.
“It is a cultural thing, there is no doubt about that.”
Back on the beach of Scorching Bay, university student Maia Horn tells the Guardian that as a marine biology major she has longed to complete Project Jonah’s training. But her reasons are also personal.
Whales are considered a “taonga” species for Māori, meaning they are a sacred treasure of cultural significance. Horn’s family is from the small, predominately Māori, North Island community Whāngārā, where The Whale Rider – Witi Ihimaera’s novel and its film adaptation – is set.
“Whales have a special significance for me … subconsciously along the way, I think that [Whāngārā] connection was motivating me.”
New volunteer Pablo Wolinski wanted to become a medic so he could give something back to the ocean.
“Here, we rely on others,” he says. “Everyone steps up to help … including for other creatures.”
