The wind changes, blowing at him rather than off the water, and he’s struck by a heavy stench of rotting flesh. It’s something big, not yet fully decomposed. He’s used to the smell of partly dried seaweed and fish birds have abandoned for the crabs to pick apart, but every few months, he’ll find the corpse of a seal or, more often, blobs of jellyfish.

Very rarely does he come across a dead whale.