Whales in the Flesh!

Leaning over a large plastic tank, Michel presents its contents to us: the remains of a white-beaked dolphin, cut into several pieces. A somewhat gruesome image, I admit, but what follows is equally as lurid: we would have to dismember its head in order to be able to extract all its little teeth using a pair of pliers. That’s right! All the pieces of the puzzle must be carefully recovered if we want a faithful reconstruction of the species. Like the beaked whale, this dolphin’s skeleton will probably end up in the CIMM museum. Its mortality was not in vain, as the carcass is now being used for educational purposes.

As the head is still slightly frozen, we have to wait before we can begin our work. Rising higher and higher in the sky, the sun doesn’t take long to do its job and soften up the carcass. The flies begin to swarm with increasing intensity, each one determined to get its fair share of the pie. We must act quickly. Equipped with our arsenal of destruction, we try as best we can to remove pieces of flesh from the animal to enhance our visibility and make our job that much easier. Once we dislocate the jaw, we can finally settle into our roles as dentists. I grip my pliers tightly, ready to go to work. My inspiration fades the moment I grip a tooth and start yanking. Well anchored to the bone, it was practically impossible to extract. We each take turns trying to make the teeth bend to our will, but to no avail. Faced with such tenacity, we decide to tackle another task.

Striving to restore these bones to their former glory, Michel details the stages of the long process of reconstructing a whale skeleton. First, a report must be submitted to the Quebec Marine Mammal Emergency Response Network (QMMERN). Whenever a carcass is reported, QMMERN contacts the Marine Mammal Interpretation Centre (CIMM) so that it can determine whether the species discovered is appropriate for its museum. If the answer is positive, the animal is transported to the farm in a container truck. This stage is sometimes preceded by a necropsy, the equivalent of an autopsy for a dead animal.

We leave the site in the late afternoon under a blazing sun that conjures up contradictory feelings in me. The unexpected joy of enjoying this warmth so late in the season on the North Shore clashes with a persistent anxiety about the unpredictable consequences of climate change. My mind wanders for a few more moments before I come back to my senses, the work that has just been accomplished, and the skeleton of this noble creature that will soon be put on display at CIMM’s museum. I then feel replete with a certain form of satisfaction, a feeling of having contributed to the restoration and enhancement of a genuine forgotten treasure, as if I were a modern-day paleontologist…