(light music) - [Narrator] "Putep's Tale: The Lost Finback of Mowry Beach, Lubec, Maine 04652".

Story by Rhonda Welcome and Chuck Kniffen with Turtle Dance Co-op, winter 2020.

Illustration by Andrew Long, artwork by Sherry Ashby, voiced by Kit Rogers.

(gentle music) - [Kit] Dear children of the earth, not so long ago, free and wild.

I swam the seven seas in all six directions.

I ranged through mountains of iceberg, frolicking with puffins.

I migrated south to caper with clownfish and to start a family in the waters of loggerhead turtles and coral reefs.

I leaped high over the sparkling sea as salty brine flew from my flippers and flukes.

I dove a thousand feet down (whale calling) beneath white capped rollers into inky black depths, chasing mackerel and krill.

My life at sea ended 25 years ago when I beached on the mudflats of a small fishing village in down east Maine.

The townspeople tried to drag me back into the deep water, but I would not budge, not even a bit.

I weighed 50 Tons and was as long as a five story tower.

People came from near and far to take pictures and write poems.

They cried, laughed and sang about me, a few threw stones, but don't worry.

A pebble is not much to a dead whale and they were only curious.

It took two weeks and a huge excavator to dig my grave.

Tangles of rope remained twisted around my tail.

My great flukes were last to slide into the hole and I became known as the lost finback of Lubec.

Still and quiet I laid under tons of thick mud.

Many moons passed and seasons changed, but I was stuck mired in the clam flats of Mowry Beach.

My wonderful song no longer serenaded undersea friends across fathoms of crystal blue water.

I tried to call out for help, but no one can hear a whale without a voice.

(whale calling) One day a reporter asked if anyone remembered the last finback of Lubec, some did, they made a radio show called The Big Fish Story.

Then I was left alone again with the gentle lapping of tides and raucous squawks of shore birds.

I dreamed of days long gone and wished for the world I once knew.

(seagulls calling) (wind blowing) One wild winter the cat food factory blew off its rickety perch by the Lubec cannery.

She sailed away on the waves of a wicked nor'easter.

The brining shed took off soon after, tumbling off his 20 foot pilings into the raging narrows.

He only made it to Campobello island, both hailed me on the way by, and I wished them a bon voyage.

Lost buoys and bits of flotsam stopped by and told tales of their time as ghost gear.

They were lost and without purpose searching for a new life, they washed away with the outgoing tide.

I longed to be free of this boring hole, winter gales and the robust winds of tropical storms pushed the muck this way and that.

Finally the crown of my skull and the tip of my 12 foot jaw bone broke free.

Rockweed and algae sprouted on my newly bared bones.

Surely I will be noticed now.

(water splashing) I had met a few sea kayakers during my summers in the Gulf of Maine.

One of these ocean travelers saw a puppy chewing on a giant bone and got the bright idea to help me out of this mess.

Thank heavens for curious pups.

The beach combing kayaker called upon a crew of willing diggers.

The man who had buried me so long ago, brought his mighty machine to lift my mini-Cooper sized skull from the growing pit they had dug.

Professors and students from far away schools, as well as clam diggers, locals, summer visitors and plenty of children all came to help me out.

A great P.U rose from the crowd, diggers and onlookers alike gasped at the offending stench.

That's the reason they buried me in the first place.

Once I was hauled off the beach, they laid me gently in a pile of sweet smelling Cedar shavings.

And added a dollop of horse manure, loaded with hungry microbes to hurry the cleaning process.

I was left for nearly a year to shed the ragged remains of old meat and rotten skin.

Now I am a shiny stack of bright white whale bones living in the Peacock Building at 72 Water Street.

One of my new friends, Nippygone Draugr calls me Putep.

That is the Passamaquoddy word for whale.

(native American drums banging) My new life is filled with song, dance and dreams.

My friends are all sea junk puppets put together with trash and treasures from the bold coast of Maine.

(seagulls calling) Billi Gee is a dragon of driftwood, fishing buoys, and lost party balloons.

I am so happy that they have all found a new life, no longer useless flotsam and a hazard to sea turtles, shorebirds and all the creatures in the sea.

I love to dance with Cheena, Queen of the Alder Swamp.

The children, that's you, treasure me so much.

I sing tears of joy into the cool night sky.

I hear you whisper, "I love whales."

When you see my massive bones that fill the room, your eyes sparkle with awe at my size and stories of my travels.

I too am in awe of you.

You are saving my brothers and sisters, the children of my pod as you clean our seas and shores.

The oceans are trying to heal and you are helping them.

Come, see me, touch my singing bones, study me and learn more about yourself and this amazing planet.

I look forward to our adventures together.

I end my letter, open my heart and send a both welcome and thanks to you.

Yours truly, Putep.

The Finback of Lubec.

(whale calling) (gentle music) (water splashing)