Dead whales don't float for too long out at sea - too many creatures tear away at them until there's not enough left to float and they begin to descend for the last time. Some call their final resting places whale falls, others call them graveyards as if the rest of their pod laid them down with kind words and sad songs to ease the passing of their souls.
What we found circling the rig this morning was exactly like and nothing like a dead whale.
At a glance, sure it's a 20 metre long mass of blue-grey meat with dozens of fish swarming it and digging in like they're at a half price buffet. You get caught up in the grotesque majesty of nature and the circle of life crap and you start to notice that those aren't fish.
They're lures- little squirming tendrils mimicking a non-existent feeding.
You see dozens of eyes hiding where it looks like huge chunks of flesh have already been torn away, where the sunlight doesn't quite hit but still manages to glint off the reflective surface of all those deep red eyes. It keeps looking up at us, checking our numbers and noting our positions.
It'll strike sooner or later.
I mean, as big as the rig is and for all the storms its stood against so far I just have this godawful feeling that whatever's down there playing at being roadkill is hiding a lot more of itself where we can't see. I've been staring back at it for so long now I can see exactly how big its mouth is.
We won't stand a chance.
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