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Duncan Murrell - A Whale of a Time

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Duncan Murrell - A Whale of a Time

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  • What an auspicious start to my trip! I had already made one false start leaving too late in the day and having to head back to the relative shelter of Tamatave. The next day I paddled 20 miles along the completely featureless coastline, and all I saw was a continuous, steep beach, with the big swells of the Indian Ocean crashing down onto it. I couldn’t see any ideal places for making a safe landing so I had to just go for it, come what may. I monitored the sequence of waves and made a dash for it at what seemed the safest point. I managed to get through the surf but as soon as I hit the beach and jumped out of the kayak the next wave broke into the cockpit and the powerful undertow started to drag my heavy flooded kayak back out to sea. The alarm bells were already clanging away inside my head, along with the thought, “Here’s another fine mess I’ve got myself into!”<br />
I instinctively started grabbing bags out of the kayak and hurling them up onto the beach while either my feet or knees were desperately anchoring into the abrasive shingle, but I was still being dragged around mercilessly by my unruly kayak. I looked down along the endless beach and saw two diminutive figures so I started hollering for help. As they got nearer my heart sank because I could see that it was a young girl with a child. They could only grab my things that were floating away in the relentless surf but then miraculously a strong young man appeared on the scene, and jumped into the sea to help me wrestle with my half-submerged kayak. The kayak was a dead weight in the water so I decided to start dismantling the cockpit coaming so that some of the water could be drained from the cockpit. It worked, and after much heaving we managed to drag it up the beach away from the surf; we both collapsed on the shore, utterly exhausted and chilled by the cold water. I was eternally grateful for the providential arrival of that young man on that deserted stretch of coastline.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey1.jpg
  • I gave up on trying to find my paddle, and tried to find a quiet stretch of beach to make camp; I wasn’t really in the mood for attracting a big audience that evening. But as I was racing through the surf towards the beach I saw some people pouring out of the trees and racing towards me, and they eagerly helped to drag my kayak away from the surf. Looking along the beach I could see a line of huts set back from the beach, and there were more people swarming towards me! Greetings ensued and then I started collecting firewood. I assembled a big pile of wood to be fed to the fire gradually whilst cooking my dinner and when I turned around I was horrified to see that they had set the whole pile ablaze; it was party time and the occasion called for a blazing bonfire to celebrate my arrival. It was time to chill out, so I relinquished any prospect of dinner and a quiet evening, and joined the party. I made tea and tried to find as many drinking containers as possible. Darkness settled and the crackling fire illuminated the circus of animated laughing faces around me. My phrasebook once again became the centre of attention and everyone wanted to have a go at trying to speak some English. The trials and tribulations of the day were soon forgotten amidst the laughter.<br />
I camped near the village for a couple of days, doing more repairs and trying to heal my sores. I continued to be the centre of attention of the village, and many people stopped by to observe the strange piece of flotsam that had washed up on their beach. The apparent village leader milked me as frequently as possible for new English phrases. His big opportunity came when it was time for me to leave, and he put his newly learnt expressions into practice by giving a running commentary on my departure - “Duncan Murrell is leaving today and the sun is shining, it is not cloudy, he had a good time here” – all perfectly enunciated like David Attenborough describing the actions of a wild animal.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey17.jpg
  • I had a cold restless night on that windy beach, nursing the deep wounds inflicted on my feet and legs when I was wrestling with my kayak. I was stuck on a beach in the middle of nowhere wondering how I was going to progress. The next morning I was discovered by some local people from a nearby village who brought me water every day. I would make a fire and we would drink tea and have a lot of fun trying to learn each other’s language; one of them was a schoolteacher and knew some English. The first Malagasy expression that I learnt was “Tsara Be”, which means very good, and it became a mantra after every sip of tea, and would be greeted with fits of laughter followed by another chorus of “Tsara Be”.  I met fishermen who came down to the beach with their families to cast their simple fishing lines out into the surf and kept them refreshed with cups of tea and roasted peanuts. I had become a local attraction; a regular watering hole and social venue for the local people that promenaded the beach. <br />
My new local friends tried in vain to help me get out through the surf, and after the second capsize I knew that it was hopeless and was resigned to trying to find a car to drive me to the next town, Foulpointe, beyond which there looked the possibility of better protection from the big ocean swells. One man watched my gear whilst another one escorted me via Taxi-Brousse to Foulpointe where I was able to secure a car to come and collect me the next day.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey2.jpg
  • I gave up on trying to find my paddle, and tried to find a quiet stretch of beach to make camp; I wasn’t really in the mood for attracting a big audience that evening. But as I was racing through the surf towards the beach I saw some people pouring out of the trees and racing towards me, and they eagerly helped to drag my kayak away from the surf. Looking along the beach I could see a line of huts set back from the beach, and there were more people swarming towards me! Greetings ensued and then I started collecting firewood. I assembled a big pile of wood to be fed to the fire gradually whilst cooking my dinner and when I turned around I was horrified to see that they had set the whole pile ablaze; it was party time and the occasion called for a blazing bonfire to celebrate my arrival. It was time to chill out, so I relinquished any prospect of dinner and a quiet evening, and joined the party. I made tea and tried to find as many drinking containers as possible. Darkness settled and the crackling fire illuminated the circus of animated laughing faces around me. My phrasebook once again became the centre of attention and everyone wanted to have a go at trying to speak some English. The trials and tribulations of the day were soon forgotten amidst the laughter.<br />
I camped near the village for a couple of days, doing more repairs and trying to heal my sores. I continued to be the centre of attention of the village, and many people stopped by to observe the strange piece of flotsam that had washed up on their beach. The apparent village leader milked me as frequently as possible for new English phrases. His big opportunity came when it was time for me to leave, and he put his newly learnt expressions into practice by giving a running commentary on my departure - “Duncan Murrell is leaving today and the sun is shining, it is not cloudy, he had a good time here” – all perfectly enunciated like David Attenborough describing the actions of a wild animal.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey16.jpg
  • Young brown bear (Ursos arctos) foraging for food on the beach at Point Hayes, Chichagof Island, Southeast Alaska, USA<br />
<br />
This was a young brown bear that I encountered quite frequently at my regular camp at Point Hayes on Chichagof Island. It was often foraging on the beach for food while I was cooking on my campfire, but it would always make a wide detour around me before continuing along the beach. I always had to be on my guard against bears getting into my food, especially black bears. I usually hung all of my food high up in the trees. On one occasion I arrived at a camp too late and I just covered everything up with a tarp. I disturbed a large bear that visited my camp in the night and could feel it’s heavy weight vibrating the ground when it was running. In the morning I discovered that it had “sucked” all of my bananas and pears through a mesh bag that I stored them in and I eventually found my large empty jar of peanut butter cracked open like an egg and licked spotlessly clean.<br />
This bear was well behaved but on one occasion it walked right up to my tent in the forest, and sniffed the air while looking up at my food hanging in the trees. I had cut open a lemon and the pungent smell was just too much for the curiosity of the bear. I talked to it in a calm, gentle voice, as I had learned to do: I had even made a bear fall asleep once while I was setting up my tripod to photograph it. I didn’t want to startle the bear too much so I just bent down slowly, picked up a small stick, and tossed it so that it hit the bear on the nose, upon which it promptly ran away.
    wildlife-5.tif
  • I paddled around Eilean Thuilm at the northern tip of the island and found this beautiful place to camp with a clear view of the Isle of Rum. I spent a lot of time beachcombing or sitting on the grassy slope in the foreground gazing out across the beautiful sea view towards the Isle of Rum. To get to Cleadale and then Galmisdale there was a scenic footpath to get to the long sandy beach in the Bay of Laig, and then on to the single road leading to Galmisdale. It was a fascinating walk through a mixture of rugged coastal terrain, along a nice beach and then arable land with some dilapidated old farm buildings. I particularly remember an old atmospheric abandoned house with a lot of the original contents scattered around. The only thing that wasn’t good to see was the vast amounts of plastic flotsam and jetsom that had accumulated at the top of the beach. The Bay of Laig seems to have become the unfortunate receptacle and receiving end for so much garbage borne by the Atlantic Ocean from distant places, and more likely jettisoned by ships. There were many layers of it fringing the top of the long beach, more than I’ve seen anywhere else in the UK. It’s something that I had become very familiar with in Southeast Alaska, where a beautiful pristine coastal wilderness is exposed to an open ocean, and whatever unwanted trash it is carrying.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland43.jpg
  • This was one of the most amazing things that I witnessed on the trip. I was on a beach where large numbers of squid were beaching themselves after mating. Once they were stranded they started flushing red rapidly back and forth along their bodies, presumably as a sign of agitation. Then I saw several large moray eels wriggling through the shallow water following them right up to the water’s edge and then to my amazement I watched them engulf and swallow the squid whole in the blinking of the eye. I could see why the moray eel has such a large head with wrinkled skin to allow it to swallow large prey whole rather like a snake.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California92.jpg
  • This was a young brown bear that I encountered quite frequently at my regular camp at Point Hayes on Chichagof Island. It was often foraging on the beach for food while I was cooking on my campfire, but it would always make a wide detour around me before continuing along the beach. I always had to be on my guard against bears getting into my food, especially black bears. I usually hung all of my food high up in the trees. On one occasion I arrived at a camp too late and I just covered everything up with a tarp. I disturbed a large bear that visited my camp in the night and could feel it’s heavy weight vibrating the ground when it was running. In the morning I discovered that it had “sucked” all of my bananas and pears through a mesh bag that I stored them in and I eventually found my large empty jar of peanut butter cracked open like an egg and licked spotlessly clean.<br />
This bear was well behaved but on one occasion it walked right up to my tent in the forest, and sniffed the air while looking up at my food hanging in the trees. I had cut open a lemon and the pungent smell was just too much for the curiosity of the bear. I talked to it in a calm, gentle voice, as I had learned to do: I had even made a bear fall asleep once while I was setting up my tripod to photograph it. I didn’t want to startle the bear too much so I just bent down slowly, picked up a small stick, and tossed it so that it hit the bear on the nose, upon which it promptly ran away.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • After the unforgettable rigours of my crossing from Ardnamurchan to Muck, the relatively short passage to the next island of the Small Isles, Eigg, was relatively comfortable. It is the second largest of the four islands with an area of 31 km2 (12 sq mi), 9 km (5.6 mi) long from north to south, and 5 km (3.1 mi), with a population of about 50. The main settlement on Eigg is Cleasdale, a fertile coastal plain in the north west. It is known for its quartz beach, called the “singing sands” because of the squeaking noise it makes if walked on when dry. The centre of the island is a moorland plateau, rising to 393 metres (1,289 ft) at An Sgurr, a dramatic stump of pitchstone, sheer on three sides.<br />
I landed on the south of the island on a beach near the ferry jetty at Galmisdale where there is a sheltered anchorage for boats, and a new building near the jetty, housing the post office, shop, craft shop, café, restaurant and bar, and of great benefit to me, toilet and shower facilities that are open 24 hrs a day. This modern and welcoming building near the ferry jetty gives a good indication of how important tourism is to the local economy of Eigg, especially during the summer months, and it was a welcome haven for me whenever I was in need of some extra treats during the time that I was camping on the island. At first I camped behind the beach in Galmisdale Bay, and then I paddled around the rugged and steep east coast to find a place to camp with more solitude.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland42.jpg
  • I always pitched my tent back in the forest where it was sheltered, and there was a thick bed of moss on the forest floor giving me a very comfortable bed. I was always beach-combing looking for either natural treasures like skulls, or flotsam and jetsam that I could use in my camp. One of those items, the yellow bottle crate, accompanied me on many journeys and was useful as a stool and for carrying things. I found the bench back in the forest not far from here. Next to the fire is an old pressure-cooker that I found in the Salvation Army charity shop in Petersburg, and it was an essential part of my cooking gear. I stripped down so it was just metal, and it had a lid that closed and locked rotationally, so I could leave it in the fire without fear of it tipping over. It was solid stainless steel with a copper bottom, so it could take a lot of heat without burning the feed ...too much. Sometimes I had my campfire on the other side of the beach depending on which way the wind was blowing from. It was a great beach for firewood because there was always plenty of driftwood washed up around the point.
    Alaska-camping-kayaking12.jpg
  • After the unforgettable rigours of my crossing from Ardnamurchan to Muck, the relatively short passage to the next island of the Small Isles, Eigg, was relatively comfortable. It is the second largest of the four islands with an area of 31 km2 (12 sq mi), 9 km (5.6 mi) long from north to south, and 5 km (3.1 mi), with a population of about 50. The main settlement on Eigg is Cleasdale, a fertile coastal plain in the north west. It is known for its quartz beach, called the “singing sands” because of the squeaking noise it makes if walked on when dry. The centre of the island is a moorland plateau, rising to 393 metres (1,289 ft) at An Sgurr, a dramatic stump of pitchstone, sheer on three sides.<br />
I landed on the south of the island on a beach near the ferry jetty at Galmisdale where there is a sheltered anchorage for boats, and a new building near the jetty, housing the post office, shop, craft shop, café, restaurant and bar, and of great benefit to me, toilet and shower facilities that are open 24 hrs a day. This modern and welcoming building near the ferry jetty gives a good indication of how important tourism is to the local economy of Eigg, especially during the summer months, and it was a welcome haven for me whenever I was in need of some extra treats during the time that I was camping on the island. At first I camped behind the beach in Galmisdale Bay, and then I paddled around the rugged and steep east coast to find a place to camp with more solitude.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland41.jpg
  • It was a beautiful place to camp and I spent several days clambering over the offshore rocks and inshore san dunes. There were a lot of shy grey seals that hauled out on the rocks that I tried to get close enough to photograph without disturbing them. Not surprisingly the sea was very cold for swimming but I had brought a wetsuit with me for snorkelling. There was plenty of driftwood to collect on the beaches so I had some spectacular fires on the beach at night to cook my dinner under the glittering canopy of stars.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland4.jpg
  • I started my kayaking trip from the Isle of Mull, the second largest island of the Inner Hebrides (after Skye). I camped alongside the grazing cows near Ardmore Point at the northern tip of the island, and spent a week exploring the area in my kayak before making the crossing to the Isle of Coll to the west. I was more accustomed to taking precautions against potentially dangerous brown bears in Alaska than ensuring that grazing cows didn’t trample on my tent, so I knew that it was going to be a very different kind of trip. There was a small, well-protected beach sandy beach there along the rocky shoreline of Ardmore Bay that made the launching of my kayak easier. I was going to experience the same problems as in Southeast Alaska where there are very few sandy beaches along the rocky and pebbly coast.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland1.jpg
  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey7.jpg
  • I met fishermen who came down to the beach with their families to cast their simple fishing lines out into the surf and kept them refreshed with cups of tea and roasted peanuts. I had become a local attraction; a regular watering hole and social venue for the local people that promenaded the beach. It was very exposed and windy there, and much colder than I had anticipated; It made me wish that I had taken a sleeping bag on the trip.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey3.jpg
  • I met fishermen who came down to the beach with their families to cast their simple fishing lines out into the surf and kept them refreshed with cups of tea and roasted peanuts. I had become a local attraction; a regular watering hole and social venue for the local people that promenaded the beach. It was very exposed and windy there, and much colder than I had anticipated; It made me wish that I had taken a sleeping bag on the trip.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey4.jpg
  • It was such a relief to set foot on my first beach along the Masoala Peninsula and what a beautiful beach it was. There was a small river flowing out from the dense forest and I couldn’t wait to explore it. But I was physically drained and the next day was a day of recovery and quiet, relaxed contemplation of my verdant surroundings. When I finally paddled up the river and walked as far as I could I was mesmerised by the vegetation. There was such a wonderful variety of different trees, tree ferns and palms, many of them undoubtedly endemic to Madagascar or even to the Masoala Peninsula. This is what I had been dreaming of when I first made plans for this trip; to be alone in a remote part of Madagascar with the means to explore rivers and penetrate one of the most scientifically valuable rainforests on <br />
the planet. I continued along the peninsula looking for more rivers to explore.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey34.jpg
  • This was one of the most amazing things that I witnessed on the trip. I was on a beach where large numbers of squid were beaching themselves after mating ? Once they were stranded they started flushing red rapidly back and forth along their bodies, presumably as a sign of agitation. Then I saw several large moray eels wriggling through the shallow water following them right up to the water’s edge and then to my amazement I watched them engulf and swallow the squid whole in the blinking of the eye. I could see why the moray eel has such a large head with wrinkled skin to allow it to swallow large prey whole rather like a snake.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California91.jpg
  • My Klepper Aerius 1 kayak on a beach on one of the Brothers Islands, Frederick Sound, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
This was a truly idyllic location that I loved visiting. I can tell this was taken in my early years kayaking in Southeast Alaska because I was still using the heavy wooden Klepper paddle. It made so much difference to paddling when I started using a very lightweight fibre-glass paddle. It made a big difference to reducing arm fatigue when I was paddling for long periods. But arm fatigue was a minor problem compared to my bottom and back aching, and I experimented for years to try to find the perfect seating and back support. I ended up with several layers of foam until I finally bought a special  inflatable kayak seat and back-rest.
    Alaska-camping-kayaking6.jpg
  • I had plenty of good weather to enjoy this beautiful, isolated location. I didn’t see anybody while I was there and very few boats passed by. Most of the marine vegetation was the same as what I was used to in my home of South Devon, with species such as thrift and white campion. But the summer peaks at an earlier date than South Devon so a lot of the plants had already finished blooming. After about a week I was ready to continue my journey towards my next island destination, Lunga in the Treshnish Isles to the south of the Isle of Mull. I first had to paddle along the east coast of Coll to reach the main settlement on the island, Arinagour, located at the head of Loch Eathara. On the way I stopped for a break and came across a very small dilapidated house on the beach with an old fisherman living in it. He was very welcoming and gave me an insight into an isolated and traditional subsistence lifestyle that seems so far removed from the majority of the UK now. Unfortunately before I could reach Arinagour I encountered my first really bad weather on the trip and I really had to fight to get there safely. It was a good test for the stability of my new kayak, as well as my nerves, because the sea conditions were so horrendously chaotic with waves coming at me from all directions. I can clearly remember being so relieved after entering the stormy loch to see the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry approaching, because up until that point I didn’t see any other boats if a rescue had been necessary. I camped near the shore there and the next day I enjoyed exploring the quaint settlement of houses and shops scattered around the loch before heading off towards Lunga. What a different life they have to most places on the UK mainland. I was used to living in, and visiting isolated island communities in Southeast Alaska, but the communities that I encountered on this trip seemed more removed from the influences of modern amenities – street lights for example.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland5.jpg
  • This is the pebbly beach and stack at the northern tip of the island near where I was camping. The steep escarpment that fringed the eastern half of the island can be seen in the background. I can imagine that the Inner Hebrides is a geologist’s paradise. I can only profess to having a keen layman’s interest in geology; physical geography was one of my favourite subjects at school, and I always find myself trying to remember and identify geomorphological features on my travels.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland44.jpg
  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey8.jpg
  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey6.jpg
  • This was one of my favourite campsites. It is directly opposite the native town of Angoon, where I often used to catch the ferry to from Petersburg to start my kayaking trips in the summer. I then usually had a relatively easy crossing to get here. To the right and south of the photo is Peril Strait, which is a narrow passage that leads to Sitka and the Pacific Ocean. Offshore is the submerged Morris Reef, which was one of the regular feeding places for bubble net feeding humpback whales, which were usually the ones that I dubbed "the Famous Five". The converging currents there create strong upwellings and choppy water that made the conditions difficult at times. It was a great campsite because it has a beaches facing north and south with a small causeway leading to a small islet that was cut-off at high tide. It made it easier for me to land  depending on which way the wind was blowing. The islet looks odd in this photo because half of the trees burnt down one summer. I was paddling across Chatham Strait and could see smoke belching from the islet that was such a special lookout point for me. As soon as I landed I found a big empty plastic oil drum on the beach and used it to go back and forth with water to make a fire break to save half the islet. But it was still upsetting for me when I was sitting next to my campfire in the evening watching one tree after another crashing down on the other side, sending up fireworks of glowing embers in the night sky. It was a really dry summer that year and small islands without any groundwater are particularly vulnerable to slow burning fires smouldering in the tinder-dry forest litter. In the foreground is a rudimentary totem and circle of log seats that some Tlingit native people from Angoon must have carved. I had been coming to this campsite for a few years, and was pleasantly surprised to find these here one summer, and they added more unique character to this campsite, as well as the islet with half its trees gone.
    Alaska-camping-kayaking11.jpg
  • The crossing to the Isle of Coll was good, but I was already experiencing the difficult sea conditions and ocean swells resulting from strong currents and variable wind patterns. I landed at the northern end of the island, and camped on a nice sandy beach between the extensive sand dunes and offshore rocks that create a labyrinth of pools and channels. There is an unmanned lighthouse on one of the offshore rocks. Coll is about 13 miles (20.9 km) long by 3 (4.8 km) miles wide with a population of around 220. Coll has no street lights and little other light pollution, and has been recognised as only the second location in Scotland with dark skies, enabling spectacular views of the heavens, including the Milky Way, when the sky is clear, something that I have also been able to enjoy whilst camping in Alaska and Baja.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland3.jpg
  • This is the entrance on the West side that faced Admiralty Island. To the right of the photo you can see the distinctive outline of the hills that creates "the Sleeping Giant", as everybody called it. Later on when I was just kayaking, I still liked to stop here to camp because there was a very good place to camp near where I took this photo from. In the opposite direction behind this beach was a small island that was used as a haul-out by Steller sea lions. Whenever they were there you could constantly hear their rumbling groaning and roaring. There is also a lot of seal and seabird activity around the island, and particularly around the kelp beds. One of the regular seabirds there are pigeon guillemots (Cepphus columba), with their distinctive high-piched squeaking. Humpback whales also frequently feed in the nutrient-rich waters around the island, as a result of the strong upwelling created by strong currents colliding. I had my first close encounter with humpback whales lunge-feeding right next to the rocky shoreline of one of the islands.
    Southeast-Alaska-Avalon19.jpg
  • In the early 90s I bought a new kayak; a small double kayak that would enable me to carry more supplies and take anybody out with me if I ever wanted to. The French Nautiraid Raid double kayak is designed to have the versatility of being paddled well as a large capacity single kayak as well as a double. I ordered it from my regular supplier of kayak gear in Sitka, Baidarka Boats, and it was delivered to Tenakee Springs. At that time I was also using an old pilot boat, “Selena”, that I had bought with the help of a natural history filming company that I was going to do some work for, but it never really worked out, and my filming career was very short-lived. Although I had progressed to using a larger kayak it was still a challenge to get everything in, including myself. The two clear containers strapped above the blue dry bag on the bow are my mobile “garden” in which I grew bean sprouts. The wheels strapped to the deck are for a kayak cart that didn’t survive very long. I had always used two polystyrene crab-pot floats strung on rope as rollers to haul my kayak up and down the rocky beaches. I discovered very few sandy unobstructed beaches in Southeast Alaska to make launching and landing any easier. Packing and launching, and then beaching and unloading was always time-consuming especially when I was either impatient to get underway, or tired from a hard day’s paddling and just wanting to make camp, a fire, cook dinner and sleep.
    Alaska-camping-kayaking16.jpg
  • This was my main camp for many years when I was photographing the bubble net feeding humpback whales. It was a perfect lookout point enabling me to look up and down Chatham Strait, which is the longest navigable channel in the USA. It’s also the point where the Peril Straits enters Chatham Strait from the Pacific Ocean to the west. It was a perfect camp site in many ways apart from being near one of the whales’ favourite feeding sites, the Morris Reef. It had two protected beaches for ease of launching and landing, facing either north or south, depending on which way the wind was blowing from. It was close to streams for fresh water and there was always plenty of firewood washed up on the shore. Perhaps my favourite reason was that in the forest nearby was the biggest patch of huckleberry bushes that I knew of, and huckleberries were my favourite berries to have on my stack of pancakes every morning, to fuel me up for another long hard day paddling with the whales.<br />
It was also a beautiful spot to eat my dinner in the evening. I cooked very elaborate dinners because that was evening’s entertainment every night. Every night I would slide back into my reclining camp seat and watch the dying embers of the fire flicker beneath the stars, and the moon cross Chatham Strait from Admiralty Island to Baranof Island. The stillness of the night was periodically punctuated by a gentle volley of whale breath, which perfectly complemented the sounds of contentment rumbling inside my full belly.
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  • One of the best features of this campsite is that not far back inside the forest was the biggest red huckleberry (Vaccinium parvifolium) patch that I ever found anywhere in Southeast Alaska, and they were unquestionably my favourite berries, especially when they were cooked into a sauce to have with delicious multigrain pancakes. There were also plenty of blueberry (Vaccinium ovalifolium) and some thimbleberry (Rubus parviflorus) bushes, which was also one of my favourite berries. I started every morning collecting firewood and berry picking. There was also a nice cool mountain stream not too far away for collecting drinking water, washing my clothes and having icy cold baths.<br />
I quite often baked bread either in a reflector oven or one in the ground next to the campfire. It very rarely emerged without getting burnt. This campsite was also particularly good for two of my favourite wild plants that I used regularly: wild spinach, also known as lamb's-quarters, white goosefoot, fat hen (Chenopodium album) and sea asparagus or perennial glasswort (Sarcocornia ambigua). Wild spinach is commonly found along the border of beaches and sea asparagus grows in low mats in flat areas flooded by the sea at high tide. Sea asparagus has a salty taste that reminds me of black olives.
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  • My partner and I eventually separated and I had one last fantastic summer alone cruising around Southeast Alaska with “Avalon” and my Klepper folding kayak. After that I just used my kayak and took everything that I needed to travel around with the humpback whales and camp out for many weeks alone in the Alaskan wilderness. It became a big challenge to be able to pack so much food and equipment in drybags into and onto my small folding kayak; everything had its place in the intricate jigsaw puzzle. Packing the kayak was always a chore but a necessary one to enable me to have so much freedom all summer. I developed a good system for taking the right dried food along with a certain amount of fresh food that could be hung up in the trees and eaten in the right order. That was supplemented with a growing knowledge of wild food that could be harvested from the beaches and the forest.
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  • I had stopped for a rest along this stretch of coastline and came across this mummified carcase of a dead minke whale. I removed a small section of its baleen plates, which I was later able to use in my school presentations to show the children exactly what baleen plates look like and how they work. I also found a lot of nautilus shells washed up on that stretch of coastline and miraculously managed to transport the incredibly fragile wafer-thin shells back to England. They are some of the most exquisitely beautiful objects that I have ever collected.
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  • On the journey back from La Paz I had an exhilarating encounter with a large pod of Bryde’s whales lunge-feeding on a shoal of fish in this channel between the Baja Peninsula and Isla San Jose; Bryde’s whales are medium-sized baleen whales, specifically rorqual whales belonging to the same group as blue whales, humpback whales and others. They closely resemble their close relative, the sei whale, are found in tropical waters and are easily identified by the distinctive, three longitudinal ridges on their rostrum ( the extended dorsal surface of a whale’s head ). After many years of having hair-raising close encounters with feeding humpback whales in Alaska I was taken aback by how much faster the Bryde’s whales were; they can accelerate up to 15 mph compared to their usual cruising speed of 1-4 mph. I was just thinking that I would have to shift into a higher gear of alertness when a dorsal fin suddenly burst into view right in front of me, and it slid beneath my kayak with barely a whisker between us ! A few days later I had my first ever encounter with a grey whale. I had already seen a breaching humpback whale between La Paz and Isla San Jose but I was still yet to see the big one – a blue whale.
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  • I tried to re-launch my kayak with the help of my local friends but every time I jumped into the kayak and tried to paddle out through the surf my kayak was swung around and I capsized, with my head getting rubbed into the sand. We eventually gave up and I made plans to be collected by a taxi and driven north to somewhere with more protection. My fully loaded, heavy kayak just wasn’t suitable for getting out through heavy surf and that was going to be a major limiting factor for the rest of my journey.
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  • I was discovering how relentless the prevailing south-westerly winds are from the Atlantic Ocean and how completely exposed the west coast of Scotland is. Although I still experienced plenty of beautiful sunny days during my trip the sea very rarely, if at all, calmed down. The wind blew strongly for the next few days and I had little chance to make the relatively short crossing to the Isle of Muck, so I had plenty of time to visit the lighthouse and explore the peninsula on foot. It was another beautiful place to camp but every day I could feel the might of the Atlantic Ocean on my doorstep, and as much as I enjoyed camping at that dramatic location I was getting increasingly frustrated that I couldn’t continue my journey onwards to Muck. <br />
I’ve always used folding kayaks for travelling, and they are generally wider than rigid kayaks, making them slower but more stable. My kayaks have always had fairly big open cockpits, because I prefer the comfort for extended periods of paddling, and I also have extra equipment to accommodate as a fully equipped photographer, and often need it close at hand. I’ve never particularly liked using spray-decks or spray-skirts, so consequently, in addition to the extra beam, doing an Eskimo roll has never been an option, if I had ever been unfortunate enough to capsize. I’ve never really had to develop so many technical skills as anyone who just uses rigid kayaks, apart from being able to do high and low braces, which I had to do a lot on this trip. Although the wider hull of folding kayaks, relative to their length, affects the tracking, and usually necessitates the use of a rudder, there are always conditions when I also have to use technical skills to assist with steering.
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  • As I got farther from the shore and out into the fully unobstructed jaws of the Atlantic Ocean, I quickly realised that I was taking a really big chance with such chaotic sea conditions. I debated whether or not to turn back, but I decided against any rational thinking as usual, and adopted my King Canute attitude of defiance against the might of the ocean. If I remember correctly it seemed as if I had waves coming at me from all quarters, especially from the stern, that required some heavy-duty bracing to prevent me from jack-knifing and capsizing. I felt as small and vulnerable as I have ever done in a kayak anywhere in the world. It was quite reminiscent of an epic paddle on the east coast of Madagascar, when the following waves and swell were so big that I had to paddle in a reverse position into the waves, and “back into” the safety of a sheltered lagoon. To say that my heart was in my mouth the entire way would be too understate how genuinely scared I felt, but as always I was fully focussed and defiant, and even shouted at the waves from time to time just to let them know that I wasn’t going to surrender to them. My eyes were fixed on my destination, the small Isle of Lunga, and constantly analysing how much nearer it seemed. <br />
I had good memories of camping on Muck during my previous visit there in 1990. I was really looking forward to being there again, and that as well as my sense of self-preservation kept me battling away with gritted teeth. It may sound very clichéd but when you are paddling along the precipice, as I was in those sea conditions then every fibre of every muscle in your body is as taut as bowstrings. As I slowly got nearer I could already feel some degree of relief coursing through my veins along with the adrenaline. I could see the entrance to the harbour and the new ferry terminal getting delightfully larger and larger. I then paddled around the eastern side of the island towards a sheltered sandy bay on the northern end of Lunga.
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  • For the majority of over 30 years of sea kayaking I have paddled solo, because I prefer to do so, but that has put me at much greater risk, in addition to the safety limitations of folding kayaks as opposed to a technically advanced paddler in a rigid kayak. I suppose that I must have thrived on the additional adrenaline rush of being completely alone and totally dependent on myself for personal survival, although I have been through some horrendous and frightening survival situations that I could have done without!! Anyway, I always have to factor in the original risks when deciding whether or not to set off on a journey, especially if it’s a crossing over open and exposed water, as I was facing here at Ardnamurchan.
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  • Anthropomorphic iceberg, LeConte Inlet, Southeast Alaska, USA<br />
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Ice calving off from the tidewater glaciers of Southeast Alaska can assume just about any shape or form, that gradually metamorphoses as they melt. This was one of the most anthropomorphic icebergs that I ever came across washed up on the shore of the Le Conte inlet where the Le Conte Glacier is situated, the southernmost tidewater glacier in North America.
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  • Tenakee Inlet and the small community of Tenakee Springs became my regular haunt for a few years. The feeding whales would regularly appear here late in the summer and September to feed. The small Alaska Marine Highway ferry that travels between the smaller communities stops here, and this is where I often finished my trips and returned to Petersburg. The local inhabitants of Tenakee Springs became very familiar with my arrival in late summer. There is an enclosed natural hot spring at the end of the ferry dock, and I would often take a long relaxing soak there after a hard day paddling with the whales. If I wasn’t out on the inlet with the whales then I would often go looking for brown bears to photograph along the beautiful Kadashan River on the other side of the inlet. There is an old native Tlingit cemetery on the small island in view.
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  • I paddled onto the town of Mananara, whilst nursing my painful foot injury and infected sores. I had to make a long detour around the next point to avoid the minefield of fringing coral reefs and faced the prospect of trying to find a way through the maze of threatening coral in the fading light of the day, and was relieved when I eventually found a clear passage through to the shore. I received treatment for my injuries, in Mananara, and then shared a ride to Maroantsetra, the gateway town to the Masoala Peninsula, in the back of a pickup truck with other foreigners. I was glad that I was able to experience that road journey through the beautiful, biodiverse vegetation of Mananara National Park. I then explored the amazing island of Nosey Mangabe in Antongil Bay, where I had my first encounter with an incredible leaf-tailed gecko, which was love at first sight.<br />
I then paddled from Maroantsetra to the Masoala Peninsula. The sea was flat calm when I passed Nosy Mangabe but just after midday the wind started to pick up as it often did at that time of day. It was coming in from the entrance to the bay, which opens out onto the Indian Ocean, and in a very short time I found myself battling into winds gusting over 30 mph. Once again I had to keep stopping to pump out water whilst trying to hold my position facing into the oncoming waves. Progress was painfully slow and with every laboured stroke I felt as if my shoulders were dislocating. I was getting drenched with spray every time I ploughed into a wave and the salt was building up on my skin. As my body gyrated with each paddle stroke my back was getting rubbed raw by my backrest and the salt aggravated the sores. My throat was parched and I didn’t have enough water to quench my thirst; I was beginning to feel like a galley slave! My arms and shoulders screamed with the exertion, the salt was burning my flesh, and I had to overcome exhaustion; by the time I eventually reached my destination I was completely drained.
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  • I have always been a dog lover and throughout my travels I have befriended dogs, usually by feeding them and showing them some unfamiliar kindness. I teamed up with a dog from the ranch and he accompanied me on a hike up the rocky canyon, where I had to traverse one large boulder after another and often have to help my canine friend along the way. He stayed with me and slept at my camp with me right up until when I left. It had been nice to have a loyal companion for a few days but sad to watch him wandering along the shoreline rather disconsolately as I paddled away.
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  • Blue icebergs develop from older, deep glaciers which have undergone tremendous pressure experienced for hundreds of years. The process releases and eliminates air that was originally caught in the ice by falling snow. Therefore, icebergs that have been formed from older glaciers have little internal air or reflective surfaces. When long wavelength light (i.e. red) from the sun hits the iceberg, it is absorbed, rather than reflected. The light transmitted or refracted through the ice returns as blue or blue-green. Older glaciers also reflect incident light preferentially at the short wavelength end of the spectrum (i.e. blue) due to Rayleigh scattering, much in the same way that makes the sky blue.
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  • Blue icebergs develop from older, deep glaciers which have undergone tremendous pressure experienced for hundreds of years. The process releases and eliminates air that was originally caught in the ice by falling snow. Therefore, icebergs that have been formed from older glaciers have little internal air or reflective surfaces. When long wavelength light (i.e. red) from the sun hits the iceberg, it is absorbed, rather than reflected. The light transmitted or refracted through the ice returns as blue or blue-green. Older glaciers also reflect incident light preferentially at the short wavelength end of the spectrum (i.e. blue) due to Rayleigh scattering, much in the same way that makes the sky blue.
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  • The town of Loreto is a regular staging post for commercial kayaking tour groups. I enjoyed mixing with some of them but farther down the coast I was I was shocked by the territorialism of some of the kayaking tour leaders. I encountered a dispute between two “rival” American tour groups that each laid claim to a nearby beach to camp on. The beautiful “unclaimed” beach that I gratefully accepted to camp on was evidently less desirable. The next day I stopped at an empty beach to stretch my legs when one of the groups that was involved in the dispute came into view and their leader paddled towards me. I greeted him politely as always and he promptly retorted by just asking me where I was heading. I told him that I was just heading south, to which he curtly replied, ‘I just wanted to let you know that we’ll be camping at the next beach, OK.” I didn’t take it as an invitation to join them for a campfire dinner or to share kayaking stories; I had no desire to detract from their wilderness experience or pollute their airspace with smoke from my campfire. The commercial kayaking groups don’t venture very far south of Loreto so it wasn’t long before I had left that bewildering attitude behind me and could embrace the infinite solitude that Baja had to offer.
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  • It was a beautiful place to camp and I spent several days clambering over the offshore rocks and inshore san dunes. There were a lot of shy grey seals that hauled out on the rocks that I tried to get close enough to photograph without disturbing them. Not surprisingly the sea was very cold for swimming but I had brought a wetsuit with me for snorkelling. There was plenty of driftwood to collect on the beaches so I had some spectacular fires on the beach at night to cook my dinner under the glittering canopy of stars.
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  • When I was camping on one of the Los Candeleros islets, I was sharing it with three ravens. They were rolling and tumbling acrobatically in the updraughts that were whipping up the precipitous face of the island. I have developed a special affinity with that most ubiquitous, intelligent and successful of all birds over many years in Alaska, where their amazing repertoire of calls is an integral feature of the ancient forests. I have even learnt how to mimic some of their calls and capture their attention. After a few days cutting the ice with my fellow residents one of them started flying out to my kayak to seemingly greet me whenever I returned to the island; it would circle overhead whilst calling out and then escort me back to shore.<br />
After a couple of weeks of familiarisation my glossy black friend vanished. A few days later I landed on a nearby beach at Ensenada Blanca to visit an American living in the local fishing village. As I stepped ashore I noticed a raven flying demonstrably towards me. I replied to its raven calls and it flew overhead and did a few rolls as if it was showing off. The acknowledgement was plain to see, rather like a dog wagging its tail. Then it flew ahead of me and proceeded to harass and dislodge the turkey vultures that were perched in the trees. After each successful assault it called out and then proceeded to dislodge another vulture in the next tree; within seconds the sky was full of screeching, disgruntled vultures! It seemed as if the raven was clearly intoxicated with its own sense of bravado, and maybe it was even trying to impress me. When I arrived at the American’s house at the end of the beach I told him about the hilarious encounter with my shiny black friend and when he looked out of the doorway to see if the raven was still out there he looked at me, laughed, and informed me that it was waiting outside for me, and sure enough it was perched on a cactus just a few metres from the door!
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  • It felt better to arrive safely at yet another beautiful campsite than I could have ever imagined! I had a wonderful time there before in 1990, especially photographing the colony of breeding seabirds on the cliffs at the northern end of Lunga. It is the smallest of the four main islands in the Small Isles, measuring roughly 2.5 miles (4.0 km east to west) and has a population of around 30, mostly living near the harbour at Port Mor. The other settlement on the island is the farm at Gallanach, and during this visit I was fortunate enough to get to know the family living there, and to have a glimpse of their isolated traditional subsistence lifestyle. The only road on the island, about 1.6 miles long (2.5 km) connects the farm to the port. I camped just behind a really nice sandy beach, where there were often some white horses grazing or walking on the beach. There were plenty of grey seals bobbing their heads above the water and seaweed around the bay. There is a characterful old house there, which is available for holiday rental, and I got to know, and dined with a lovely family staying there. Although it’s such a small community I had a very sociable time while I was there and met some very interesting people. There was a very nice café and shop at Port Mor, that I enjoyed snacking in and meeting some of the locals and visitors. Apart from observing and photographing the breeding seabirds as before I also climbed the main hill on the island, Beinn Airein, 137 metres (449 ft) high. The view out across the choppy ocean dotted with islands was tremendous, and gave me such a feeling of expansive space. I could visually embrace the relentless passage of the strong wind from the distant horizon, whipping up the sea into ranks of advancing whitecaps, before flying up to nip my face with its invigorating salty chill. I was glad that I had braved the adverse sea conditions for another special visit to the Isle of Muck and hope that it won’t be so long before my next visit.
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  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
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  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
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  • Point Gardiner was one of my favourite places to camp, explore and kayak around. The shore was great for beach-combing because Point Gardiner is in such an exposed location at the southern tip of Admiralty Island where Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait converge, and faces towards the opening to the Pacific Ocean at the southern end of Chatham Strait. Many of the beaches are littered with logs from logging.
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  • A pack of wolves (Canis lupis) on an island in Adam’s Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
Two subspecies of wolves are currently recognized in Alaska; wolves in Southeast Alaska tend to be darker and somewhat smaller than those in northern parts of the state. Wolves are social animals and usually live in packs that include parents and pups of the year. The average pack size is six or seven animals, and pack members often include some yearlings and other adults. Packs of 20 to 30 wolves sometimes occur, and these larger packs may have two or three litters of pups from more than one female.<br />
The social order in the pack is characterized by a separate dominance hierarchy among females and males. In most areas wolf packs tend to remain within a territory used almost exclusively by pack members, with only occasional overlap in the ranges of neighboring packs.<br />
This was my first close encounter with a pack of wolves in Southeast Alaska. They are generally hard to see because most of their range is densely forested but the landscape is much more open in Glacier Bay. I was paddling around this island in the middle of winter when I heard some wolves howling. Around the next bend I encountered a pair of cow moose out in the water protecting themselves from a frustrated pack of wolves howling on the shore. I just sat motionless in my kayak and eventually one of the wolves trotted down the frozen beach and stood right in front of me for a few seconds before returning to the rest of the pack. It was a thrilling experience to look a wolf in the eyes at such close quarters.
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  • The Jesuit missionary Ciamente Guillen founded Mission Dolores in 1721 on the coast of the Baja Peninsula about midway between Loreto and La Paz. There was a small ranch near the beach with these burros. The people were very friendly and helpful, allowing me to replenish my water supply from their well and there was an unexpected bonus; I arrived just when the mangos on their mango tree were ripe so for a small price I was able to stock up on a rare treat of fresh succulent fruit; truly manna from heaven in that barren place.
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  • Point Gardiner was one of my favourite places to camp, explore and kayak around. The shore was great for beach-combing because Point Gardiner is in such an exposed location at the southern tip of Admiralty Island where Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait converge, and faces towards the opening to the Pacific Ocean at the southern end of Chatham Strait. Many of the beaches are littered with logs from logging.
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  • Whenever I was in Angoon, usually at the beginning of a kayaking trip after I had caught the ferry from Petersburg with my kayak, and my gear and food, I always visited the city dump, which was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Sometimes they were having a bath in the ditch alongside the road, and I was able to observe their playful behaviour in the water, although with a little trepidation, because they always seemed to have one eye on me. They seemed to be OK with my presence as long as I just stood in one spot and didn't move around too much.
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  • Two subspecies of wolves are currently recognized in Alaska; wolves in Southeast Alaska tend to be darker and somewhat smaller than those in northern parts of the state. Wolves are social animals and usually live in packs that include parents and pups of the year. The average pack size is six or seven animals, and pack members often include some yearlings and other adults. Packs of 20 to 30 wolves sometimes occur, and these larger packs may have two or three litters of pups from more than one female.<br />
The social order in the pack is characterized by a separate dominance hierarchy among females and males. In most areas wolf packs tend to remain within a territory used almost exclusively by pack members, with only occasional overlap in the ranges of neighboring packs.<br />
This was my first close encounter with a pack of wolves in Southeast Alaska. They are generally hard to see because most of their range is densely forested but the landscape is much more open in Glacier Bay. I was paddling around this island in the middle of winter when I heard some wolves howling. Around the next bend I encountered a pair of cow moose out in the water protecting themselves from a frustrated pack of wolves howling on the shore. I just sat motionless in my kayak and eventually one of the wolves trotted down the frozen beach and stood right in front of me for a few seconds before returning to the rest of the pack. It was a thrilling experience to look a wolf in the eyes at such close quarters.
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  • After stocking up with fresh provisions in Tobermory and spending a few more days in Ardmore Bay I set off for the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. I passed a lot of grey seals hauled out on the rocks on the way. Unfortunately I left later than planned and by the time I reached the lighthouse at Ardnamurchan Point, the most westerly point on the British mainland it was already dark, but at least I had the light of the lighthouse to guide me. Once again the sea conditions were very agitated, and it was that much more challenging because I was paddling in the dark. It was both exciting and unnerving as I paddled around the sheer rock face at the point with the blinking lighthouse lighting up the heaving swells and waves around me. I have always had a bad habit of setting off too late in the day and have frequently paid the price with some challenging survival experiences. But on this occasion it was more exhilarating than worrying although once again I was relieved to reach a relatively sheltered beach on the other side of the point.
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  • A pack of wolves (Canis lupis) on an island in Adam’s Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
In Southeast Alaska, Sitka black-tailed deer, mountain goats, and beaver are the most important sources of food. Research indicates that salmon are important seasonally where they are available, especially to young wolves. During summer, small mammals including voles, lemmings and ground squirrels are taken. Wolves will also scavenge, and coastal wolves will beach comb.
    wildlife-10.tif
  • After spending so much time under the full glare of the sun under permanently cloudy skies I became very brown. Fortunately my skin tans very quickly. When I was a young boy spending nearly every day at the beach during the summer holidays I became so dark that people were asking my parents if they had adopted me from India. Isla Monserrat and Isla Catalina were the farthest offshore islands that I paddled out to.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California79.jpg
  • After stocking up with fresh provisions in Tobermory and spending a few more days in Ardmore Bay I set off for the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. I passed a lot of grey seals hauled out on the rocks on the way. Unfortunately I left later than planned and by the time I reached the lighthouse at Ardnamurchan Point, the most westerly point on the British mainland it was already dark, but at least I had the light of the lighthouse to guide me. Once again the sea conditions were very agitated, and it was that much more challenging because I was paddling in the dark. It was both exciting and unnerving as I paddled around the sheer rock face at the point with the blinking lighthouse lighting up the heaving swells and waves around me. I have always had a bad habit of setting off too late in the day and have frequently paid the price with some challenging survival experiences. But on this occasion it was more exhilarating than worrying although once again I was relieved to reach a relatively sheltered beach on the other side of the point.
    New-Scotland39-Edit.jpg
  • I was discovering how unpredictable the weather is along the coast of Madagascar and got caught in a few bad squalls including one on the afternoon of my 50th birthday. I paddled back to the mainland from Nosy Boraha and camped on the long spit that extends out into the channel. Shortly after setting off the next day I had the next mishap; the wooden rudder yoke of my kayak broke, making it virtually impossible to steer my kayak in the big ocean swells and get ashore without capsizing in the surf. I had heard the usual surfeit of shark attack stories involving tiger sharks along the east coast so I decided to err on the side of caution and not enter the water to attempt a repair so I had to try to do it by crawling along the back deck of the kayak and reaching out with extended arms. As I was doing it the kayak was drifting ever near the breaking surf on the steep beach, and waves were swamping the cockpit, so I had to keep crawling back into the cockpit to pump out the water. Eventually, with my arms fully extended and frequent duckings of my head underwater, I was able to make a splint for the broken yoke using some wooden cooking utensils all held together with tape, straps and cable ties. It wasn’t a moment too soon as my kayak was just about to be swept ashore into the pounding surf! But that wasn’t the end of the day’s mishaps because when I got back into the kayak I realized that I had omitted to secure my paddle and it had been swept away by the waves! Fortunately I always carry a spare paddle and I spent the rest of the day paddling around the area trying to find the lost paddle but to no avail. Everything just kept going from bad to worse, and I was less than a month into my trip.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey15.jpg
  • I took this photo near my first real private accommodation in Petersburg. I had gone from living in the forest next to the beach in a shelter made from skunk cabbage leaves, to a polythene shelter in the forest, to a dilapidated old house, then to the cannery bunkhouse, and then to an apartment in the old Petersburg Pilot Newspaper building on Sing Lee Alley. I shared a darkroom in the old building with another local photographer. From there I moved onto the sailboat Avalon.
    Southeast-Alaska-winter3.jpg
  • The Brothers was one of my favourite and safest anchorages, with an entrance on either side, and a good beach near the anchorage for landing the dinghy or kayak. The intertidal life was amazing, and there was a special bonus of a rhubarb patch on one of the islands where there used to be a home.
    Southeast-Alaska-Avalon11.jpg
  • Two of the three Alaska brown bear (Ursos arctos) siblings wrestling in muddy water in a roadside ditch near the Angoon garbage dump, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
Whenever I was in Angoon, usually at the beginning of a kayaking trip after I had caught the ferry from Petersburg with my kayak, and my gear and food, I always visited the city dump, which was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Sometimes they were having a bath in the ditch alongside the road, and I was able to observe their playful behaviour in the water, although with a little trepidation, because they always seemed to have one eye on me. They seemed to be OK with my presence as long as I just stood in one spot and didn't move around too much.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • In Southeast Alaska, Sitka black-tailed deer, mountain goats, and beaver are the most important sources of food. Research indicates that salmon are important seasonally where they are available, especially to young wolves. During summer, small mammals including voles, lemmings and ground squirrels are taken. Wolves will also scavenge, and coastal wolves will beach comb.
    Alaska-wildlife-wolf1.jpg
  • I had read about this small mammal, which is actually a member of the racoon family and not a cat, and it didn’t disappoint. They have obviously become habituated to the procession of kayakers that camp on the island, and on one particular beach. One of them crept into our camp even when we were awake and cooking on a campfire, and came very close to us; I could hear the sound of it clattering around with our cooking pots.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California39.jpg
  • Whenever I was in Angoon, usually at the beginning of a kayaking trip after I had caught the ferry from Petersburg with my kayak, and my gear and food, I always visited the city dump, which was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Sometimes they were having a bath in the ditch alongside the road, and I was able to observe their playful behaviour in the water, although with a little trepidation, because they always seemed to have one eye on me. They seemed to be OK with my presence as long as I just stood in one spot and didn't move around too much.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • Whenever I was in Angoon, usually at the beginning of a kayaking trip after I had caught the ferry from Petersburg with my kayak, and my gear and food, I always visited the city dump, which was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Sometimes they were having a bath in the ditch alongside the road, and I was able to observe their playful behaviour in the water, although with a little trepidation, because they always seemed to have one eye on me. They seemed to be OK with my presence as long as I just stood in one spot and didn't move around too much.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • Whenever I was in Angoon, usually at the beginning of a kayaking trip after I had caught the ferry from Petersburg with my kayak, and my gear and food, I always visited the city dump, which was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Sometimes they were having a bath in the ditch alongside the road, and I was able to observe their playful behaviour in the water, although with a little trepidation, because they always seemed to have one eye on me. They seemed to be OK with my presence as long as I just stood in one spot and didn't move around too much.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • From Eigg it was a relatively short paddle to the largest island in the Small Isles, the Isle of Rum. I left quite late as usual, and had to negotiate strong currents and big swells between the islands in the Sound of Rum in diminishing light. I paddled northwest until I reached Loch Scresort on the eastern side of Rum and made my camp along the coast before the main community of Kinloch at the head of the Loch. Rum has an area of 40.4 sq miles and a highest point, Askival, of 812 metres (2,664 ft). This photo was taken from Askival in the highlands in the southern half of the island, looking northwards towards Kinloch to the east, and the sheltered anchorage of Kilmory Bay at the northern end of the island, where there is a good beach and the remains of a village. For much of the 20th century the island became Rhum, a spelling invented by the former owner who did not relish the idea of having the title “Laird of Rum”. Rum has been inhabited since the 8th millennium BC providing some of the earliest known evidence of human occupation in Scotland. The population grew to over 400 by the late 18th century but was cleared of its indigenous population between 1826 and 1828. The island then became a sporting estate and the exotic Kinloch Castle was constructed by the Bulloughs in 1900. Rum was purchased by the Nature Conservancy Council in 1957, and is now an <br />
important study site for ecology research, especially of red deer at Kilmory, and is the site of a successful reintroduction programme for the white-tailed sea eagle. Its economy is entirely dependent on Scottish Natural Heritage, a public body that now manages the island. The 30 or so residents of Rum are all employees of Scottish National Heritage and their families, along with a few researchers and a school teacher, all who live in Kinloch, which has no church or pub, but does have a village hall, small primary school, and a shop and post office, which is manned by volunteers and only opens on an irregular basis
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland50.jpg
  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey44.jpg
  • Sculpted shoreline rocks in the fog near Point Hayes, Chichagof Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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This is not far from my regular campsite at Point Hayes. There was always so much to explore along that stretch of rocky coast, and I spent a lot of time beach combing and photographing the intertidal life.
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  • This was the first little town that I had arrived at for some distance. Antanambe is a gateway town to Mananara Nord National Park. The people there were very inquisitive and friendly, particularly in this little shop where I enjoyed a refreshing cup of tea from a thermos with some snacks. I remember startling a small boy on the beach when I first arrived. He was playing with a football in the shallows and when he saw me he was so startled that he ran away and left his ball behind: it was if he had seen a ghost or an alien.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey21.jpg
  • Duncan Murrell’s fully loaded Nautiraid folding kayak, Hoonah, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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Although I had progressed to using a larger kayak it was still a challenge to get everything in, including myself. The wheels are for a kayak cart that didn’t survive very long. I usually used two inverted polystyrene crab-pot floats as rollers to haul my kayak up the rocky beaches. There were very few, clear flat beaches available anywhere to make it any easier to move my kayak up and down. Packing and launching, and then beaching and unloading was always a major work-out, done the hard way of course.
    Whaleman-11.tif
  • Dead puffer fish washed up on beaches are a very painful hazard to avoid. They are like little mines that cause an explosion of pain if you are unfortunate enough to step on one.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California28.jpg
  • The biggest challenge for the trip was being able to carry sufficient water and ration it because after I left Loreto there were only two places between Loreto and La Paz that I was aware of where I could replenish my water supply, and this small fishing village called Puerto Agua Verde that I’m setting off from was one of them. The photo was taken by a British couple that I met there who were also kayaking to La Paz. I was using my large French Nautiraid folding double kayak, which has a large open cockpit and ample storage space for an extended trip like that. When I started the trip I was only able to buy a limited selection of fresh fruit and vegetables and it was also a major challenge preserving them in the constant heat and ensuring that I had sufficient nutrition to get me all the way to La Paz. There were many contrasting benefits of kayaking in the Sea of Cortez compared with Alaska. Firstly, there is minima tidal range in the Sea of Cortez compared to Alaska, meaning that I didn’t have to drag the kayak up and down the flat sandy beaches and secondly there were so many places that were suitable for landing, whereas in Alaska there are very few accessible beaches and most of those are steep and rocky. This stop was the last human habitation until the ranch near the ruins of Mission Dolores.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California12.jpg
  • The harbor seal (Phoca vitulina), a widespread species in both the north Atlantic and Pacific oceans, is found in Alaska along the coast extending from Dixon Entrance north to Kuskokwim Bay and west throughout the Aleutian Islands. Harbor seals, and other phocid (true) seals, also are called “hair” seals, which helps distinguish true seals from fur seals. Harbor seals haul out of the water periodically to rest, give birth, and nurse their pups. In winter seals spend up to 80% of their time in the water. In spring and summer they spend more time hauled out during pupping and moult season. Reefs, sand and gravel beaches, sand and mud bars, and glacial, pan ice, and sea ice are commonly used for haul-out sites. The moulting lines on these seals are clearly visible.
    Alaska-harbour-seal1.jpg
  • Reproductively mature male sea lions aggregate on traditional rookeries in May, usually on beaches on isolated islands. A week or so later, adult females arrive, accompanied occasionally by sexually immature offspring, and form fluid aggregations throughout the rookery. Steller sea lions are polygamous but they do not coerce individual females into harems but control spatial territories among which females freely move about. Pregnant females give birth soon after arriving on a rookery, and copulation generally occurs one to two weeks after giving birth, but the fertilized egg does not become implanted in the uterus until the autumn. After about a week of nursing, females start taking increasingly longer foraging trips, leaving the pups behind until in late summer when they both leave the rookery. Males fast until August, often without returning to the water, after which time the rookeries break up and most animals leave for the open seas and disperse throughout their range.<br />
Steller sea lions are predated upon by orcas and I actually witnessed the death of one bull that had become quite attached to me. It had been showing so much interest in me and it even raised its head out of the water right in front of me to have a good look with its bulging eyes. A short while later I heard a commotion in the distance and saw that a pod of transient orcas had arrived on the scene and were systematically charging the sea lion and thrashing it with their flukes. It was a difficult event to witness, especially whenever the big bull re-appeared on the surface gasping for breath. It took the orcas about 15 minutes to finally kill it and not long after that they were attacking some humpback whales that had strayed onto the scene. It was an exhilarating experience to be paddling my kayak so close to a pod of orcas engaged in a hunt, but they showed no interest in me. It was one of those occasions when I wished that I’d had someone else with me to witness such an amazing spectacle.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion1.jpg
  • Once I managed to drag myself away from the feeding basking sharks in Gunna Sound I headed SE to the southern end of Mull and then E to the small island of Lunga not too far off the mainland. The sea conditions were quite moderate and it was a very pleasant paddle highlighted by a most unexpected encounter. Shortly before arriving at Lunga I saw something on the surface with part of it sticking up above the surface and moving quickly. As I got closer I was able to identify the unmistakeable shape and unique means of propulsion of a sunfish. They can grow to a massive size but this was just a very small one. It was the first time that I’ve seen one, although they have been sighted quite frequently along the south coast of England, and even very close to the shore of one of my local beaches in Torbay. I had always associated them with tropical waters and never ever expected to see one that far north, but such is the changing nature of our climate and ocean currents that there will be a concomitant shift in the migratory patterns of many warm water creatures such as turtles. I managed to get close enough to get a good view of its unusual shape and the gyrating “sculling” action of its tail fin but then it disappeared, although it kept returning to the surface, so I could see how it gets its name of sunfish because they are surface baskers like the basking shark, although they are just doing it to feed.<br />
I had very good memories of visiting Lunga by boat during my first trip to the Inner Hebrides in 1990, especially seeing puffins up close for the first time. I was really looking forward to returning there and being able to camp on the island for a while. It is of volcanic origin and has been described as “a green jewel in a peacock sea” and once I was there again I could only echo that poetic description. It is one of the most beautiful places where I have ever camped and a place that I will always dream of returning to.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland14.jpg
  • From Ariganour I paddled south along the east coast of Coll passing the big open Crossapol Bay with extensive sandy beaches, and stopped to camp near Calgary Point and the small island of Gunna in the strait that divides Coll from the adjacent Isle of Tiree. It was another really beautiful location, and kayaking around to the west coast allowed me to experience the ocean swells and the feeling of open exposure to the North Atlantic. The next morning shortly after heading out for the long crossing to the south end of Mull and then Lunga, I had the encounter that I had been hoping for – basking sharks !! In the distance I could see their tall tail fins sweeping from side to side, and as I got closer, their unmistakeably comical bulbous snout ploughing across the surface above their massively inflated jaws while feeding on plankton. I was so excited, and full of eager anticipation to get close enough to see them underwater. It was one of those magical moments akin to when I had my first whale encounters in a kayak. I couldn’t wait!!
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland11.jpg
  • Reproductively mature male sea lions aggregate on traditional rookeries in May, usually on beaches on isolated islands. A week or so later, adult females arrive, accompanied occasionally by sexually immature offspring, and form fluid aggregations throughout the rookery. Steller sea lions are polygamous but they do not coerce individual females into harems but control spatial territories among which females freely move about. Pregnant females give birth soon after arriving on a rookery, and copulation generally occurs one to two weeks after giving birth, but the fertilized egg does not become implanted in the uterus until the autumn. After about a week of nursing, females start taking increasingly longer foraging trips, leaving the pups behind until in late summer when they both leave the rookery. Males fast until August, often without returning to the water, after which time the rookeries break up and most animals leave for the open seas and disperse throughout their range.<br />
Steller sea lions are predated upon by orcas and I actually witnessed the death of one bull that had become quite attached to me. It had been showing so much interest in me and it even raised its head out of the water right in front of me to have a good look with its bulging eyes. A short while later I heard a commotion in the distance and saw that a pod of transient orcas had arrived on the scene and were systematically charging the sea lion and thrashing it with their flukes. It was a difficult event to witness, especially whenever the big bull re-appeared on the surface gasping for breath. It took the orcas about 15 minutes to finally kill it and not long after that they were attacking some humpback whales that had strayed onto the scene. It was an exhilarating experience to be paddling my kayak so close to a pod of orcas engaged in a hunt, but they showed no interest in me. It was one of those occasions when I wished that I’d had someone else with me to witness such an amazing spectacle.
    wildlife-3.tif
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