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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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  • Observing sea lions at close quarters at their haul-outs was like going to a circus, because there always so much going on to entertain and amuse. They are such noisy and smelly places, and sometimes I had to crawl through the foul, stagnant rockpools to get amongst them, but it was always worth it. There was often sparring going on between the big bulls, which involved a lot of heaving and wheezing, and roaring. If they weren't sparring then they would be posturing in  a high and mighty fashion with their heads thrown back and their chests puffed out. Younger bulls appeared to congregate in gangs like delinquents hell-bent on mischief, usually directed at the less mobile larger bulls. One of the funniest incidents I have ever seen in the animal kingdom was when there was a big bull teetering on a narrow ledge on a rock-face about 2 metres above the sea. Beneath him there were some mischievous juveniles that were leaping up at him out of the water to nip him on his exposed posterior that he was unable to protect because of his precarious situation. He was getting understandably very irritated, and eventually fell off the narrow ledge into the sea making a big splash: it was hilarious! I also enjoyed watching the juveniles playing in the tidal surges that swept them back and forth along channels between the rocks. Sometimes when I was paddling in big swells with waves crashing onto the rocks I marvelled at how the sea lions revelled in the opportunity to play close to the rocks in sea conditions that were threatening to me.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion3.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
  • This was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. It was a beautiful day that started well when I encountered a group of playful sea lions. They were inquisitive as always and hung around for quite a while. Most of them eventually swam away but one very inquisitive big bull remained with me for a while. It circled me and dived down beneath my kayak so that it could look up at me: then suddenly it erupted out of the sea right in front of the bow of my kayak, and there was the sudden jolt of eye-contact with his big bulging wild eyes that penetrated deep within my primal being. He then swam away and I continued paddling out to the middle of Seymour Canal. Then suddenly I heard a commotion in the distance, and when my eyes homed in on the source I saw the tell-tale dorsal fins of orcas, and then to my dismay I saw my friend on the surface near them: he was being attacked! I frantically paddled out towards the developing melee and wondered what I should do, and even contemplated trying to rescue him. But of course nature had to run its course, and I had to be grateful that I had a ringside seat for such a dramatic wild spectacle, as the orcas continued to ram the sea lion at high speed: I could see an orca cutting a confused furrow of water before colliding with its quarry in a big explosion of spray. The sea lion then reappeared at the surface gasping for breath, which tugged at my heart strings so much that I wanted to intervene, but there was a hungry family of predators that had to eat. Eventually it failed to resurface and it was all over...... but it wasn't because a pod of humpbacks happened to stumble onto the killing stage and they too were attacked by the orcas. I paddled right alongside the conflict and observed the whales rolling onto their sides and flailing their flippers to try to thwart their attackers. The orcas eventually gave up and disappeared along with the whales leaving me all alone highly charged and shaking with adrenaline.
    Southeast-Alaska- orca3.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
  • After leaving Antanambe I faced a 15 mile paddle across a stretch of unprotected ocean, with the biggest ocean swells that I had encountered. The waves generated by the steadily increasing wind were really daunting, especially as sometimes they seemed to be coming from two different directions. My kayak is very stable, but the deck was leaking quite a lot, so I had to keep stopping to pump the water out, and at the same time stop the kayak from being swung around broadside to the oncoming waves, which would have risked getting swamped and capsizing. Unfortunately the prevailing wind was from the SE, and because of my required course to get to the islands the waves were approaching too close to my beam.<br />
To counter this I had to keep tacking and trying to head to the east of the outer island to compensate for any drift. I also had to avoid running directly with the waves because they were so big that they would have washed over my stern or slewed me broadside to the wave, and an inevitable capsize! I had to maintain my concentration to keep the waves on the quarter. As I got closer to the islands I could see the massive breakers smashing onto the rocks; it was one of the most unnerving situations that I have ever been in. I was level with the closest island in the group and rather than trying to run with the waves I decided to go in reverse. The safest angle for any boat to handle big seas is to head into the swells and ride up over them; you offer the least resistance and can maintain the best possible control of your craft. I was allowing the oncoming waves to drive me backwards to where I wanted to go. My heart raced every time a monster wave bore down on me and I rode up and over it. It took a long time but I had no choice. When I was close enough, I could see a break in the coral reef protecting the islands, and I turned my stern into the waves, and surfed towards safety whilst glancing over my shoulder to brace my kayak with my paddle for each surging wave.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey24.jpg
  • After leaving Antanambe I faced a 15 mile paddle across a stretch of unprotected ocean, with the biggest ocean swells that I had encountered. The waves generated by the steadily increasing wind were really daunting, especially as sometimes they seemed to be coming from two different directions. My kayak is very stable, but the deck was leaking quite a lot, so I had to keep stopping to pump the water out, and at the same time stop the kayak from being swung around broadside to the oncoming waves, which would have risked getting swamped and capsizing. Unfortunately the prevailing wind was from the SE, and because of my required course to get to the islands the waves were approaching too close to my beam.<br />
To counter this I had to keep tacking and trying to head to the east of the outer island to compensate for any drift. I also had to avoid running directly with the waves because they were so big that they would have washed over my stern or slewed me broadside to the wave, and an inevitable capsize! I had to maintain my concentration to keep the waves on the quarter. As I got closer to the islands I could see the massive breakers smashing onto the rocks; it was one of the most unnerving situations that I have ever been in. I was level with the closest island in the group and rather than trying to run with the waves I decided to go in reverse. The safest angle for any boat to handle big seas is to head into the swells and ride up over them; you offer the least resistance and can maintain the best possible control of your craft. I was allowing the oncoming waves to drive me backwards to where I wanted to go. My heart raced every time a monster wave bore down on me and I rode up and over it. It took a long time but I had no choice. When I was close enough, I could see a break in the coral reef protecting the islands, and I turned my stern into the waves, and surfed towards safety whilst glancing over my shoulder to brace my kayak with my paddle for each surging wave.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey25.jpg
  • The sight of a big bull orca powering towards my kayak would seem to be very intimidating, but after many encounters with them I was very confident that they had no interest in me other than curiosity. I had several palpitating encounters with bulls that seemed to be on a collision course with me but just at the very last moment they veered underneath my kayak and turned on their sides to avoid hitting me with their towering dorsal fins.
    Southeast-Alaska- orca8.jpg
  • I can never forget the amazing lighting on this morning when I was heading out of Tenakee Inlet with some guests aboard my boat "Selena" to take them to see humpback whales bubble net feeding at Point Hayes to the south down Chatham Strait. It was my birthday and I had a very unique and unexpected birthday present. We were motoring down Chatham Strait when I spotted an unusual shape bobbing on the surface: almost like the shape of ice cream sitting in a cone. When I looked through my binoculars I could hardly believe my eyes because I instantly recognised it as being a big bull northern elephant seal (Mirounga angustirostris) on the surface with its unmistakeable big proboscis drooping from its head. I had no idea that they ventured that far north, and after consulting with some local fisherman I was informed that it was indeed a very rare occurrence.
    Alaska-coast12.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland35.jpg
  • I was on my way to explore two offshore islands just to the south of Isla Carmen, Isla Monserrat and Isla Catalina in thecBahia de Loreto National Park, when I encountered a pod of short-finned pilot whales; this was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. This was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. They are very impressive cetaceans, with a prominent melon (acoustic swelling), like big black shiny torpedoes. They were very inquisitive about me and were frequently spyhopping to get a better view of me. Spyhopping is when cetaceans elevate themselves vertically out of the water to be able to get a better view of something.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California70.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
  • 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
  • The Steller sea lions of Alaska have entertained me many times and provided company during bad weather when there were no other animals around. They were always inquisitive, if not a bit wary of me, and would often swim beneath my kayak and look up at me with their big bulging eyes. Sometimes they would even engage me in a race to show off their speed on the surface where they can leap like dolphins.<br />
Among pinnipeds, it is only inferior in size to the walrus and elephant seals. The males are bigger than the females and grow to a length of about 2.82-3.25 metres long, with an average of 3m. The males have much wider chests, necks and general body structure and weigh 450-1.120 kg with an average of 544 kg. Males are further distinguished from females by broader, higher foreheads, flatter snouts, and darker, slightly tuftier hair around their large necks, giving them a maned appearance. Indeed, their Latin name translates roughly as “maned one with the broad forehead”.<br />
The range of the Steller sea lion extends from the Kuril Islands and the Sea of Okhotsk in Russia to the Gulf of Alaska in the north, and south to Ano Nuevo Island off central California. The global Steller sea lion population has traditionally been divided into an eastern and western stock roughly through the Gulf of Alaska. They have attracted considerable attention in recent decades due to significant, unexplained declines in their numbers over a large portion of their range in Alaska. While the population of the eastern and Asian stocks appear stable, the population of the western stock, particularly along the Aleutian Islands, was estimated to have fallen by 70-80% since the 1970s. One suspected cause of their precipitous decline is overfishing of Alaska Pollock, herring and other fish stocks in the Gulf of Alaska. In 1997 the western stock was listed as threatened but in 2013 they were removed from the U.S Endangered Species List after a major population recovery.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion7.jpg
  • The sea lions have such a thick coating of blubber to cushion their bodies that they can sleep just about anywhere and look very comfortable. It is a different matter when they are trying to haul their bulky bodies around with only their flippers to assist them. It involves a lot of huffing and puffing, heaving and swaying with much grunting and steam belching from their open mouths. They look like big sacks of blubber and bones being dragged across the rocks: in stark contrast to their fluid graceful motion underwater like huge flying fish.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion6.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
  • 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
  • I was on my way to explore two offshore islands just to the south of Isla Danzante, Isla Monserrat and Isla Santa Catalina in the Bahia de Loreto National Park, when I encountered a pod of short-finned pilot whales; this was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. They are very impressive cetaceans, with a prominent melon (acoustic swelling), like big black shiny torpedoes. They were very inquisitive about me and were frequently spyhopping to get a better view of me. Spyhopping is when cetaceans elevate themselves vertically out of the water to be able to get a better view of something.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California71.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California48.jpg
  • If I paddled past a sea lion haul-out I always attracted a tightly-packed group of noisy sea lions like a magnet: they would extend their heads as high as they could to get a better look at me. They always stayed bunched together rather like a shoal of fish that employs the "one in the middle" defensive group strategy that relies on strength of numbers to increase an individuals chance of survival. They were very vociferous but always kept a safe distance, unless they dived underwater to get a closer look at me: I could see them circling beneath me and looking up at me with their big bulging eyes.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion8.jpg
  • Humpback whales have the longest flipper of any cetacean: 5 metres long or up to a third of the body length. They vary in colouration and can be almost completely white like this individual. Humpback whales in the Southern Hemisphere are more likely to have white flippers than in the Northern Hemisphere. I observed how they appeared to use their big flippers to help to herd their prey towards their gaping jaws during lunge feeding. I also observed how they use them for splashing the water to assist in panicking and herding their prey, and they probably also use them for audible communication. But they also appear to use them recreationally like this one laying on its side waving its flippers aloft and then bringing it crashing down onto the surface. This whale rolled over and over towards me with its flippers going around like a windmill or a gigantic propellor.<br />
I once felt the power and weight of a flipper when I was accidentally caught directly above an ascending bubblenet feeding pod. Before I had the chance to get out of the way one of them rolled over and its flipper landed on top of the bow of my kayak, which became partially submerged by the weight: it then rolled back the other way and released me.
    Alaska-humpback-whale-pec-slapping1.jpg
  • Encountering orcas was a much rarer event than being with the humpback whales in Southeast Alaska so I always viewed it a special treat and a bonus for the summer. I always felt like I had to shift up into a much higher gear with the faster swimming orcas, and I usually knew that something out of the ordinary was going to happen. Most of pods of orcas I encountered were small transient pods specializing in hunting for marine mammals. On this occasion I was able to paddle many miles with a very large pod of at least 30 individuals that spanned the width of Chatham Strait. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the sea was calm without a puff of wind, which always makes it a bit easier to keep up with them. They appeared to be hunting for salmon by corralling them judging from the way their speed and direction changed periodically. It’s fascinating listening to the extensive chatter of orcas; they are much more vocal than the humpbacks and can produce a great range of sounds from clicks, squeals and whistles to what sounds like someone knocking on a door. The most memorable thing that happened on this day involved some young calves, which like the humpback calves were very inquisitive about me. I had just stopped for a rest and was observing the behavior of some of the orcas swimming past. Suddenly two calves popped their shiny black heads out of the water right next to the cockpit of my kayak! They were chattering away at me with their squealing and whistling, and after greeting them with a very surprised “hello’, my next instinct was to pat them on the head like puppies, but they disappeared before I had the chance to do that. <br />
I never ever felt threatened by orcas, even when the big bulls would sometimes swim straight towards me, and they would twist sharply at the last minute just before their tall dorsal fins could slice into me. I’m quite sure that they were only ever inquisitive about me.
    Southeast-Alaska- orca4.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.
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  • 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.
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  • Seymour Canal, which almost bisects Admiralty Island was one of my regular boating and kayaking haunts in my early years in Southeast Alaska. I always used to anchor Avalon in a beautiful little anchorage called Pleasant Bay, on the east side of Seymour Canal, but this camp was on the opposite side on the Glass Peninsula. This is where I was camped when I had one of my most amazing experiences when I witnessed a pod of orcas killing a big bull Steller's sea lion and attacking humpback whales in the middle of Seymour Canal.
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  • 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.
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  • I often used to creep up close to the sea lions hauled out on Yasha Island, just off Point Gardiner at the southern end of Admiralty Island. I could see this young sea lion laying down on its belly, and that it had something around its neck, but nothing could have prepared me for the gut-wrenching sight when it reared up and I could see the full extent of the damage and suffering that this poor creature must have endured. The net had become deeply embedded in its throat as it had continued to grow after first getting entangled with it when it was probably playing with it. One strand of the net passed through its mouth like a horse's bit, and had pulled its mouth back into a horrific frozen grimace. I felt so sickened by the daily torture that this poor animal must have been subjected to, but it also seemed like it had somehow adapted to it demonstrating the incredible resilience of wild animals. Apart from its horrific embedded necklace it looked just as well fed and healthy as the other sea lions. I felt compelled to try to capture it without really knowing how I could hang onto the sea lion to remove the net, but I wasn't able to get close enough without disturbing all of the sea lions. When I returned to Petersburg I reported it to the Dept of Fish and Game, and was glad to hear that they were going there to do a survey, but unfortunately I later heard that they were unable to find the poor animal. I don't know how much longer that it would have been able to survive like this if it was still growing.<br />
This kind of entanglement in fishing nets is a major problem for all marine life, but it must be particularly so for sea lions because they are so inquisitive and playful. A few years later I was working on a whale research boat in Sri Lanka, and we came across two turtles entangled in a big clump of fishing net, but fortunately we were able to free them.
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  • I hired another car to take me and my kayak, and gear, from Foulpointe to Soaniarana-Ivongo, to avoid the last of the exposed stretch of coastline, from where I caught the passenger ferry to Isle Sainte Marie. I was now conducting my “circumnavigation” within the limitations of my kayak, which was just to big and heavy, and vulnerable to flooding, to break out through the constant surf. I discovered that the ferryboat had exactly the same problem, and we got momentarily stuck on a sand bar near the mouth of the river there, where the ferryman had to navigate a difficult passage through the sandbars and surf. Waves started to break over the bow, hitting the passengers, and there was some degree of panic amongst them as the ferryman struggled to free the fragile boat and prevent it from jackknifing into a capsizing situation; it probably didn’t help the confidence of the passengers that there had been a tragic sinking of a ferryboat on the crossing not that long before, with quite a few passengers drowned.
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  • Shortly after arriving on Mull I experienced some of the wettest and windiest conditions that I have ever experienced anywhere, and that is saying something! I didn’t know it at the time but it was actually the tail end of the infamous Hurricane Katrina. I was still using an old tent that I had used for over 20 years, and when I bought it in Seattle it was one of the most advanced, extreme condition tents available, with its 2 walls connected, and just one main sturdy staking point at each end making it quicker and easier to erect. It was called the “Omnipotent”, and had been tested in high winds in Antarctica, but now that it was 20 years old it was completely “Impotent” in the assault of wind and rain that it was subjected too. It could just about withstand the strong gusts of wind but not the torrential rain, and my tent became flooded, and my equally ancient down sleeping bag rendered into a big bag of soggy porridge. I abandoned my tent and sought refuge in the village hall, where I was able to hang all of my wet gear up to dry. Some of the residents that I spoke to were surprised that I had been camping out in such severe weather conditions and informed me that it was the most rainfall that they could recall in living memory. Once I had dried all my gear out I pitched my tent on a designated camping area overlooking the harbour, which even had the considerate luxury of propane CO2 burners for trapping the bothersome midges. I wasn’t quite sure what it was until I saw the clear receptacle full of midges packed into a dense black cake of their minute bodies. I have forgotten to mention them up until now but they are undoubtedly the living and biting scourge of camping in Scotland. Fortunately it was usually windy enough to keep them away for the majority of the time that I was there, but I do remember on some occasions, particularly on Lunga, that I was glad that I had a head-net to wear.
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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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  • The Steller sea lions of Alaska have entertained me many times and provided company during bad weather when there were no other animals around. They were always inquisitive, if not a bit wary of me, and would often swim beneath my kayak and look up at me with their big bulging eyes. Sometimes they would even engage me in a race to show off their speed on the surface where they can leap like dolphins.<br />
Among pinnipeds, it is only inferior in size to the walrus and elephant seals. The males are bigger than the females and grow to a length of about 2.82-3.25 metres long, with an average of 3m. The males have much wider chests, necks and general body structure and weigh 450-1.120 kg with an average of 544 kg. Males are further distinguished from females by broader, higher foreheads, flatter snouts, and darker, slightly tuftier hair around their large necks, giving them a maned appearance. Indeed, their Latin name translates roughly as “maned one with the broad forehead”.<br />
The range of the Steller sea lion extends from the Kuril Islands and the Sea of Okhotsk in Russia to the Gulf of Alaska in the north, and south to Ano Nuevo Island off central California. The global Steller sea lion population has traditionally been divided into an eastern and western stock roughly through the Gulf of Alaska. They have attracted considerable attention in recent decades due to significant, unexplained declines in their numbers over a large portion of their range in Alaska. While the population of the eastern and Asian stocks appear stable, the population of the western stock, particularly along the Aleutian Islands, was estimated to have fallen by 70-80% since the 1970s. One suspected cause of their precipitous decline is overfishing of Alaska Pollock, herring and other fish stocks in the Gulf of Alaska. In 1997 the western stock was listed as threatened but in 2013 they were removed from the U.S Endangered Species List after a major population recovery.
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  • “Muskeg” pond, pond in sphagnum bog, Port Houghton, Southeast Alaska.<br />
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The “muskeg” or sphagnum bogs were interspersed with black ponds with many water plants. The surrounding sphagnum bogs were are a Lilliputian world of miniaturized plants, like the vivid red of the nagoon berry visible in this photo, that only bears one berry; but it as big, sweet and succulent as a perfect raspberry and was always one of my favourite berries to search for.
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  • Pod of orcas (Orcinus orca) cruising in Chatham Strait, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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Encountering orcas was a much rarer event than being with the whales in Southeast Alaska so I always viewed it a special treat and a bonus for the summer. I always felt like I had to shift up into a much higher gear with the faster swimming orcas, and I usually knew that something out of the ordinary was going to happen. Most of pods of orcas I encountered were small transient pods specializing in hunting for marine mammals. On this occasion I was able to paddle many miles with a very large pod of at least 30 individuals that spanned the width of Chatham Strait. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the sea was calm without a puff of wind, which always makes it a bit easier to keep up with them. They appeared to be hunting for salmon by corralling them judging from the way their speed and direction changed periodically. It’s fascinating listening to the extensive chatter of orcas; they are much more vocal than the humpbacks and can produce a great range of sounds from clicks, squeals and whistles to what sounds like someone knocking on a door. The most memorable thing that happened on this day involved some young calves, which like the humpback calves were very inquisitive about me. I had just stopped for a rest and was observing the behavior of some of the orcas swimming past. Suddenly two calves popped their shiny black heads out of the water right next to the cockpit of my kayak! They were chattering away at me with their squealing and whistling, and after greeting them with a very surprised “hello’, my next instinct was to pat them on the head like puppies, but they disappeared before I had the chance to do that. <br />
I never ever felt threatened by orcas, even when the big bulls would sometimes swim straight towards me, and they would twist sharply at the last minute just before their tall dorsal fins could slice into me. I’m quite sure that they were only ever inquisitive about me.
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  • I was on my way to explore two offshore islands just to the south of Isla Carmen, Isla Monserrat and Isla Catalina in the Bahia de Loreto National Park, when I encountered a pod of short-finned pilot whales (Globicephala macrorhynchus); this was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. They are very impressive cetaceans, with a prominent melon (acoustic swelling), like big black shiny torpedoes. They were very inquisitive about me and were frequently spyhopping to get a better view of me. Spyhopping is when cetaceans elevate themselves vertically out of the water to be able to get a better view of something.
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  • 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.
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  • This was one of my very few whale photos that was taken from a boat when I was living in Petersburg: this was taken a short distance from the town. The products manager that used a lot of my work for Athena International moved to another big international paper products company, Verkerke based in the Netherlands. He continued to select my whale photos for the new company, and this is one of the first images that was used for a large poster.
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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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  • 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
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  • Duncan Murrell’s Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak and gear at the start of a kayaking trip, Angoon, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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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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