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Then it was over. The others had things to do. Balcomb wanted to catch a ferry; Balcomb wanted to go home.
There is no telling what public attention the Navy and Fisheries Service's joint report on the Bahamas stranding might have garnered if it hadn't been released 20 months after the event, in the last days of 2001, just in time to make the New Year's Eve papers. There were qualifications--mention of other "contributory factors" such as the unique Bahamian topography--but there were also two unprecedented admissions: The Navy's mid-frequency sonar caused the stranding; the Navy acknowledged responsibility.
Never before had sonar been shown to cause fatal trauma in marine mammals. Never before had the Navy conceded its role. The report pointedly noted that LFA "had no involvement in this case," but by leaving unanswered just how mid-frequency sonar harmed the whales, it also left dangling the questions about LFA.
Some in Washington expressed surprise, having expected more obfuscation. Ken Balcomb felt vindicated. Nothing much had changed since the night he stood in Darlene Ketten's Boston lab. Her whale ears, now finally decalcified for direct study, only confirmed what they'd seen at midnight on the CT scanner.
It occurred even to some he'd annoyed that Balcomb had helped bring this about, that he'd in large part made this report happen. From the Marine Mammal Commission, a federal watchdog agency, came now the thought that "the world needs people like Ken," that critical events "need people with fortitude to stand up and go against the tide." Navy Cmdr. Paul Stewart, an environmental liaison officer and co-author with Roger Gentry of the Bahamas report, told a visitor, "Ken is not an adversary. He's a wonderful observational biologist. He has provided excellent data. He said what he believed. He was trying to motivate. He definitely raised awareness. We wouldn't have data if he hadn't cut those whale heads."
None of this meant that others expected Balcomb to prevail in the end. Nearly everyone believed his quest to be quixotic. Therefore, few expressed shock when the Fisheries Service, in mid-July 2002, granted the Navy the permit needed to implement LFA sonar. Seven dead whales--and the amorphous prospect of more--were not likely to handcuff the Navy.
In Gentry's view, his agency had made not just an educated choice, but a shaded and qualified one. The Fisheries Service permit placed some limits on where and when the Navy could operate its sonar. It also required the Navy to continue research on LFA's impact, particularly on sperm and beaked whales. Gentry said he meant to look over the Navy's shoulder, reviewing and modifying, treating LFA's deployment as an ongoing research experiment.
That wasn't nearly good enough for opponents. In early August, a coalition led by the Natural Resources Defense Council sued to block LFA's use, calling both the sonar and the permit illegal. Among other things, the council argued that the Fisheries Service had improperly given the Navy carte blanche to operate LFA in 75% of the world's oceans without monitoring or mitigating its full impact. Policy choices aren't made in a vacuum, NRDC senior attorney Joel Reynolds pointed out; they must still follow the laws of the land. Thus did a confounding public debate swing from the scientists and rule-makers to the lawyers and judges.
In late September it swung again, this time into headlines, with news that 15 beaked whales had stranded themselves in the Canary Islands during NATO naval exercises. Echoes of the Bahamas filled the early reports. Once more, necropsies showed ear and brain trauma "consistent with acoustic impact." Once more, a U.S. Navy spokesperson said "it would be inappropriate to speculate on the cause of the stranding." Once more, assorted officials promised a thorough investigation.
Then came an unexpected if much-awaited voice from the courtroom. At the end of October, U.S. Magistrate Elizabeth D. LaPorte issued a preliminary injunction prohibiting deployment of LFA until the Navy and environmental groups agreed on limited regions where the sonar could be operated safely. It was only an interim decision, subject to modification and, eventually, a full-blown federal trial. It would restrict but not stop LFA's use for training and testing purposes. It wouldn't apply at all in times of war or "declared heightened risk." Yet here was one judge's opinion that the environmentalists would likely win their lawsuit: At a minimum, she found, marine mammals would be harassed by LFA, if not irreparably injured.
"Wow!" Ken Balcomb proclaimed when told of the ruling. "I had not heard."
He tracks both lawsuits and strandings only from afar these days, eyes on his computer monitor. He remains largely isolated. Certain colleagues still won't return his calls. The Fisheries Service has denied his application for funding of a network to record strandings. His second wife has gone her own way, their relationship strained by his extended campaign. He has not been able to get specimens or CT scans from the Bahamas. He plays no role in the Canary Islands probe.
His foray into the world of human affairs has been a journey of education. With wistful wonder, he says "the whole thing is not what you thought it was when you were growing up." Yet he also says he has no regrets. He's pleased to have played a role in winning official recognition that sonar harms marine mammals. He's gratified that so many brilliant people are finally studying this matter. He's certain that one day the world will see clearly and adjust.
That's enough, Balcomb figures. He turns now to his boat, eager to rejoin his whales. All he wanted, he points out, was to leave his mark. He wanted only to say: "We were here, this was seen."
Barry Siegel, a Times national correspondent, is the author of "Actual Innocence" and "Lines of Defense." He last wrote for the magazine about Waldron Island in the Pacific Northwest.
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