Whaling involves all the men of our village. We choose a cedar log for a seagoing canoe, a large and long cedar log without branches. Two of us who are good at this hollow it out and stretch its gunwhales wide with yew. We make our own tools to be sure of them— paddles, harpoons, lines, and seal-skin floats. We train for strength and endurance. We fast, bathe, and pray to our spirit helpers. When the weather and the time are right, we paddle out to sea, eight in a cedar canoe. Each man has his own job, the paddlers, the watcher, two harpooners, and a man to sew the mouth of the whale. During the long days and nights on the sea, we rub our limbs with stinging nettles to stay awake. When we find our whale we match its speed and wait for it to surface again to breathe. There our harpooner strikes, securing a line to the whale. We quickly backpaddle and attach our floats to the line. Now we follow it, attaching another line, tiring the whale with another set of floats. We follow the whale for days and nights. At the end, we sew up its mouth so it doesn’t sink. When we tow the whale home, buoyed by floats, the whole village paddles out to pull the whale to shore. Greetings, great whale, it’s good to see you on our shore. Thank you for visiting; it’s good to welcome you. Thank you for your meat; thank you for your bones. Thank you for coming; it’s good to have you home.