Mark Lynas listens to the Icelanders' arguments, economic and even ecological, in favour of whaling and finds himself almost (but not quite) convinced

The man at the ReykjavIk tourist office wore a mischievous grin. "We Icelanders really are savages," he said. "On one side of the pier we watch whales, and on the other side we kill them." He handed over a yellow card, advertising the name of a local restaurant. "You really must go there," he insisted. "Their whale steaks are delicious."

The restaurant was packed and wouldn't let me in without a reservation, but he was right about the pier. I walked down there that evening, and was perplexed to see a whale-watching trip departure point and ticket office just yards from four sinister-looking and rather dilapidated whaling ships, each with a red-painted H stamped on its funnel (the letter stands for hvalur, or "whale" in Icelandic).

Like many people who grew up in the 1980s, the heyday of the "Save the Whale" movement, I have never questioned my opposition to a practice that seemed as barbaric as it was unnecessary. When I arrived in Iceland last month, this opinion was as strong as ever. By the time I left, two weeks later, I had come to see things very differently.

The first surprise came when I interviewed Arni M Mathiesen, the Icelandic fisheries minister, in his office overlooking ReykjavIk harbour. Mathiesen's justification for the country's recent resumption of so-called "scientific whaling" was that research was vital to understand the role of minke whales in the marine ecosystem, and thereby to manage fish stocks properly. "But surely we need to understand the same sorts of things about giant pandas," I objected, "and yet we don't have to shoot them with explosive harpoons."

Mathiesen was unruffled. First, he explained, it's pretty much impossible to study the stomach contents of large, ocean-swimming mammals such as whales without killing a few of them, unpleasant as this might be. Second, populations of minkes - unlike the "great whales" such as blues, sperm whales and greys - have expanded dramatically since the International Whaling Commission imposed its moratorium on commercial activity in 1986; there are now many tens of thousands in the Atlantic. Third, he went on, there is a possibility that rising numbers of minkes were taking up the "ecological space" of bigger and less numerous species like blues, thereby preventing their recovery.

Although many marine biologists denounce this last argument as "pseudo-scientific", Mathiesen had exposed my ignorance in assuming that opposition to whaling was primarily about the conservation of endangered species. He hit the point home by reminding me that indigenous whaling by Native Americans in the United States - which I was defending, having once eaten whale with Eskimo people on a visit to the north coast of Alaska - does target endangered species like greys and bowheads.

"It makes no difference to the whale," he emphasised, "whether it was caught for scientific, commercial or indigenous purposes." He paused, as if changing his mind. "Actually it does make a difference - indigenous people use traditional methods where the whales take much longer to die than with the modern explosive harpoons, which cause instantaneous death or unconsciousness."

Now seriously rattled, I made my way north to HusavIk, a charming little town only 65 miles south of the Arctic Circle, to hear the other side of the story. HusavIk calls itself the "whale-watching capital of Europe", and its North Sailing boat tours boast a success rate in spotting whales of 99.4 per cent per trip (this includes dolphins and porpoises). The crews spot minke whales on 91 per cent of outings, and I too was privileged enough to see one surfacing and blowing a few times about 50 yards away in the choppy sea, as snow-capped mountains loomed out of the clouds on the other side of the bay.

Our captain, Hordur Sigurbjarnarson, had no truck with his government's arguments. "I don't believe a word of it," he spat contemptuously. "These so-called scientific programmes are just about opening commercial whaling. This will severely damage our image in the community of foreign nations." And more specifically, it would also damage his business. "If they start shooting the minke whales, they will be wary of boats, whereas now they are friendly - our whale-watching business depends on them being relaxed near the boats."

Iceland's most vociferous anti-whaling campaigner is Asbjorn Bjorgvinsson (universally known as Abbi), manager of the HusavIk Whale Centre - a new and very popular museum in a converted meat-packing warehouse on the town's harbour. In a country where 70 per cent of the 280,000-strong population support whaling, Abbi has been accused by opponents of "conservation terrorism", and his numerous enemies frequently try to smear him with accusations of closeness to Greenpeace (still a dirty name in Iceland, due to the passions stirred up during the 1980s anti-whaling boycotts). The news had just come through that Icelandic boats had killed two minkes the previous night (including a young calf), and we were repeatedly interrupted by calls from the international media as we tried to talk.

His first statement was something of a shock. "I agree with the government," he began, "that taking 200 minke whales out of 50,000 animals is not going to make any difference. That will not deplete the whale stocks or have any effect on ecosystems." Then why oppose it? "Yesterday, 21 tour operators in Europe sent us pleas not to resume whaling. There is still time to turn back now. All the money the government has put into promoting Iceland as a nature destination will be thrown out of the window if they continue." Abbi - who is also co-ordinator of the Whale Watching Association of Iceland, a group of tour operators - has based his case on economics rather than the emotional appeal of whales, pointing out that the direct value of the whale-watching business to the Icelandic economy has now reached US$8.5m, far eclipsing the cash that could be generated from killing whales and selling their meat and blubber.

I got a lift to the ferry terminal at Seydisfjordur with a tourism official who was on his way home. We talked - yet again - about whaling. "Why is killing a whale different from killing a fish, or even a cow or a pig?" he asked, with passionate intensity. "They are big, intelligent animals, too." Try as I might, I couldn't give him a logical answer for why whales are different. But I still feel they are. Whatever Abbi says, it's not the economics that convince me, it's the emotional pull of whales - great and awe-inspiring creatures that they are - living out their lives in the wild ocean without the fear of being harpooned every time they surface to breathe. After all that whales have suffered at the hands of human beings down the centuries, it is the least that they deserve.

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