On a chilly February morning in 2026, biologists discovered a three-year-old female right whale washed up on the sand at a beach on Virginia’s eastern shore. She was a whale named Porcia’s 2023 calf. She was supposed to have decades ahead of her. Rather, she became the 43rd confirmed death in a crisis that has persisted for nine years with no end in sight.
In 2017, NOAA Fisheries declared the North Atlantic Right Whale Unusual Mortality Event. The term “unusual” suggested something transient, such as a spike, an anomaly, or a crisis that would be investigated by agencies before being resolved. It is still in operation nine years later. Two presidential administrations, numerous regulatory proposals, and numerous public comment periods have all been surpassed by the emergency. The question of when “unusual” simply becomes the new normal must eventually be asked.
It’s hard to sit with the numbers. Since 2017, 170 individual whales have been reported to have died, 40 suffered severe injuries, and 87 had sublethal injuries or poor health. That means that a single, protracted crisis has affected over 20% of the remaining population. Furthermore, NOAA admits that only roughly one-third of right whale deaths are ever properly recorded. It’s highly likely that the true cost is higher than what is documented.
There are still about 380 right whales. Of those, about 70 are females who are actively engaged in reproduction. This math isn’t difficult, but it’s also not encouraging. For years, scientists have observed that the population is declining rather than stabilizing because deaths are exceeding births. For a few weeks, the fact that there were 23 new calves this past calving season—the highest number in 17 years—felt like real good news. However, scientists claim that 50 calves are required annually simply to prevent further population declines. It’s a relief to be twenty-three. It’s not a recuperation.
Vessel strikes and entanglement in fishing gear are the two main causes of fatalities and severe injuries. These are not enigmas. They are not new dangers that scientists are frantically trying to comprehend. Right whales have been killed by these well-researched and documented causes for decades, and there are already tools in place to address them, such as mandatory vessel speed limits and ropeless fishing gear. To be honest, it is tiresome to watch the regulatory apparatus work around these solutions.
Speaking with marine biologists and conservationists who keep a close eye on this, it seems like the process’s weight has contributed to the issue. Revisions to proposals, industry opposition, legal challenges, and comment periods all require time, and this species lacks time. The Center for Biological Diversity filed a lawsuit against NOAA to compel modifications under the Endangered Species Act. That was a long time ago. Entanglements continue to occur.
There was little access to the carcass on that barrier island in Virginia. Given the terrain, it was not even possible to tow it for a complete necropsy. Biologists took aerial photos of it and did their best. It’s difficult not to notice something subtly devastating in that picture: a young whale, dead on a sandbar, too far away to properly investigate, already counted and classified in a database that gets longer every year.
It’s a long time to call something unusual—nine years. Unfortunately, it is still unclear whether the political will to match the scientific urgency will ever materialize.
