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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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  • 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.
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  • 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.
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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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  • 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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  • This was definitely one of my favourite camps in Southeast Alaska because Point Gardiner is such a spectacular location with tremendous views across Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait down to the Pacific Ocean, and Baranof Island with its spine of lofty mountains and glaciers. It wasn't the easiest camp to get to after arriving because of the extensive wave-cut platform at Point Gardiner, and if i was exhausted, which I usually was because the crossing from Kupreanof Island to the south was the longest of the crossings I had to do, having to carry all of my gear to the camp in the dark used up the very last of my energy reserves. There was always so much wildlife off the point. The strong currents of Chatham Strait and Frederick Sound converge there creating upwellings and challenging sea conditions, which attracts a lot of life there, from seabirds to whales. There are extensive kelp beds around the point as well. Just offshore from the point is Yasha Island, which was my favourite sea lion haulout for observing Steller's sea lions at close quarters.
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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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  • 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.
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  • 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.
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  • Duncan Murrell eating his breakfast of huckleberry pancakes at Point Hayes, Chichagoff Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
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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  • 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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  • 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.
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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 />
<br />
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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • Most of my kayaking and outdoor gear was used for many years, and occasionally, I treated myself to something new like this excellent Sierra Design tent. Most of my kayak dry-bags were well worn and scratched, but as long as I could keep repairing them I carried on using them. One of the biggest culprits for damaging my dry-bags were the pesky squirrels that always knew how to find their favourite snacks, especially peanuts! It was uncanny how they would nibble a hole straight through the coated waterproof fabric and heavy-duty polythene zip-lock bags exactly where their desired morsels were located. My cooking gear was certainly well battered and grubby with carbon, but all of my tatty gear and clothes had served a vital role for many years, and formed part of what was like a friendly family of very familiar objects that accompanied me on all of my epic kayaking trips.
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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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  • The mouth of the Stikine River with its extensive delta was very near Petersburg, so it was a very convenient area that I could paddle my kayak to in a day. The mountain scenery up there is stupendous, and gives such a breathtaking sense of scale and perspective. There are many shelters and cabins along the river where I used to stay for a short while, and there was always plenty of wildlife to be found including a very healthy population of moose and wolves, and on one occasion I was very fortunate to observe a fisher (Martes pennanti), a member of the weasel family (mustelidae) that I had never heard of before, at close quarters when I surprised it on the front porch of  a cabin that I was staying in.
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  • Duncan Murrell’s fully loaded Nautiraid folding kayak, Hoonah, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
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.
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  • It was great to suddenly have a fun young American kayaking companion after many weeks of solitude paddling from Loreto. It was also great to come across a well that we could draw cool fresh water from to wash. Corrie remained with me during the time that I was on La Paz, where I was able to catch up on some urban treats like dining in restaurants and disco dancing. La Paz is a really nice medium sized city with an attractive promenade and a lively nightlife that attracts a lot of foreign visitors and cruisers. I managed to meet a lot of interesting cruisers on their yachts. I had a good social time in La Paz before setting off on the long return journey, which started with an epic close to drowning experience!
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  • Up the next river I found a variety of stick insects and was able to watch a frog chirping at very close range. The frog chorus started in unison at about the same time very day, each species with its own distinctive call. I saw an incredible bird called a helmet vanga with the most ostentatious bright blue beak and paradise flycatchers trailing long ribbons of feathers behind them; this was the tropical paradise that I had been dreaming about. I was glad that my foot had healed sufficiently well enough to give me almost full mobility again. The next river that I paddled up was much larger than the others and there was a fishing village at the entrance and several dwellings along the lower reaches. I paddled as far as I could to find the greatest sense of solitude. I was well provisioned and I planned on camping there for a few days so that I could explore the surrounding forest. Just past my camp I found a beautiful tributary with a series of small waterfalls. When I hiked up the stream in the evening I entered frog heaven. I found six species, many of them very small and cryptic. The largest one was perched on a small branch and was not disturbed by my presence. I was able to photograph it from every conceivable angle.
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  • It was always a relief to get everything packed into and onto my kayak. I broke all of the conventional rules regarding how much could be loaded onto the decks, but I was carrying such a heavy load with all of my camping and photographic equipment as well, that my kayak was still very stable, if not a little heavy to paddle. But after paddling so many miles like that and keeping up with the whales day after day I developed a very efficient strong paddling style all of my own. It became very metronomic and relaxing with the sound of the water gliding past me.
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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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  • This is a view towards the Isle of Rum, from the northern side of An Sgurr across the central moorland plateau, with a series of lochs along the way. The Bay of Laig and the northernmost point of the island where I was camping can be seen to the right of Rum. This was a fantastic hike with breathtaking views all the way. For much of my younger days I had Dartmoor to enjoy as my regular local camping and hiking destination so I was well used to hiking across moorland terrain with ocean views to the north and south of Devon, but not as close as this on the islands of the Inner Hebrides. It was truly magical to be hiking across this ancient rugged terrain, with the sea and other islands always enhancing the view, and adding greatly to the sense of isolation and perspective. I seem to remember that my feet were quite sore by the time that I got back to my camp at the northern tip of the island in the fading light. It was one of my classic “race against the fading light” hikes, especially with a precarious coastal footpath to negotiate at the end.
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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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  • 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.
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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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  • I camped on one of the three Los Candeleros islets just to the south of Isla Danzante in the Bahia de Loreto National Park for three weeks on the way back to Loreto. From the top I had a clear view of the southern end of the channel between Isla Carmen and Isla Danzante, a passage frequently travelled by whales and dolphins. I was hoping for my first view of blue whales. I had only seen the second largest whales, fin whales, up to that point. When I wasn’t scanning the horizon for whales I was being hypnotised by the graceful magnificent frigate birds circling overhead in the thermals. They are the ultimate gliders among birds, able to hang in the for hours with harly a movement of their long, thin, angular wings. The shallow water around the islets was excellent for snorkelling although the water was much colder than I expected. It was wonderful to camping under the clear skies, with the stars so vivid because of the absence of light pollution from people. The temperature at night was perfect without any need for a sleeping bag or any protection from insects.
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  • It was always good to have Fred Sharpe and his fellow whale researchers around in their Alaska Whale Foundation boat, “the Evolution”. We both had a lot of mutual respect for each other, and very importantly to me he shared the same respect for the whales, and always operated in a very non-intrusive manner. I was so used to being out there camping alone, but it was always nice to enjoy their company, and catch up on some jovial socializing and fine dining onboard his boat.<br />
Dr. Fred Sharpe started studying the behaviour of humpback whales in Southeast Alaska from a small skiff around about the same time that I started photographing them from a kayak. While I became quite obsessed with photographing the incredible cooperative bubble net feeding strategy of the whales, Fred conducted ground-breaking research into that behaviour and established such things as the task specialisation of individual members within a feeding group, whereby the same whale blows the bubbles and the same one makes the piercing feeding call. he is now stationed at the Five Finger Lighthouse, armed with a wireless hydrophone that AWF hopes will allow them to record and broadcast live, the diverse vocalizations made by humpback whales in Southeast Alaska.
    Alaska-humpback-whale-sounding22.jpg
  • 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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  • I was now camping near Kinloch Castle built by Sir George Bullough in 1900. His father, John Bullough, was a millionaire from Lancashire, who like many entrepreneurs at the time, especially in the north of England, made his fortune from the Industrial Revolution; In his case as a manufacturer of cotton machinery. After buying the island in 1888 he continued to use it as a sporting estate until his death in 1891, but when his son took over the island he used the fortune he inherited from his father to take it to the next level of upper class extravagance. To build the castle he had to import all of the raw materials to the island. The sandstone used for its construction was quarried in Dumfries and Galloway. At the time there were about 100 people employed on the estate who were paid extra to wear kilts to work on the extensive grounds that included a nine-hole golf-course, tennis and squash courts, heated turtle and alligator ponds, and an aviary including birds of paradise and humming birds. Soil for the grounds was imported from Ayrshire, and figs, peaches, grapes and nectarines were grown in greenhouses. The interior boasted an amazing “orchestrian” device that could simulate the sounds of brass, drum and woodwind, an air- conditioned billiards room, and also a Jacuzzi.<br />
I was fascinated by the place and took advantage of a guided tour. I also ate in the small café at the back of the castle as well as taking a shower in one of the original bathrooms fitted with an innovative plumbing system. Sir George Bullough also used his wealth to travel around the world, and throughout the castle there are interesting artefacts that he collected on his travels, including his large collection of photographs, as he was also a keen photographer. The ballroom, that had a concealed balcony for an orchestra, was particularly atmospheric, and I could visualise the lavish parties that were held there for all of his high society guests from the upper class elite of the UK.
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  • Duncan Murrell paddling his fully laden Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak, the Brothers Islands, Stephen’s Passage, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
It was always a relief to get everything packed into and onto my kayak. I broke all of the conventional rules regarding how much could be loaded onto the decks, but I was carrying such a heavy load with all of my camping and photographic equipment as well that my kayak was still very stable, if not a little heavy to paddle, but after paddling so many miles like that and keeping up with the whales day after day I developed a strong paddling style all of my own.
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  • Ravens love to fly and appear to revel in it more than any other birds that I have observed. There was a steep cliff on the seaward side of the islet where I was camping and the thermal updraughts from the ocean blasted vertically up its face. The ravens loved to play there, getting carried abruptly aloft, and then tumbling and rolling back down before taking the elevator back up again.
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  • 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.
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  • Humpback whale (Megaptera novaeanglia) sounding near some whale researchers in their inflatable boat, Chatham Strait, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
It was always good to have Fred Sharpe and his fellow whale researchers around in their Alaska Whale Foundation boat, “the Evolution”. We both had a lot of mutual respect for each other, and very importantly to me he shared the same respect for the whales, and always operated in a very non-intrusive manner. I was so used to being out there camping alone, but it was always nice to enjoy their company, and catch up on some jovial socializing and fine dining onboard his boat.
    Humpback whales-24.tif
  • 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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  • After many years of good service from my ageing Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak, I invested in a new French Nautiraid Raid double folding kayak, which is a small double that is very adaptable to paddle as a solo kayak. It gave me more carrying capacity and a larger, more comfortable cockpit to work from and move around in, but such a large beamy kayak required more effort to paddle it. It was much easier to pack than my old kayak and it was also incredibly stable, even in rough sea conditions. I very rarely used the cockpit cover and sprayskirt, which sometimes got me into trouble in heavy seas. After a few years of heavy usage the deck leaked quite badly, which was a serious  problem in heavy seas, and contributed to one of my worst near-death experiences when I got caught in bad weather crossing Chatham Strait, and my kayak filled up with icy cold water. I had to keep stopping to pump out the water but part of the pump came out so I had to use my cup to bale out the water after that. I only just made it and was shaking from being so chilled and the trauma for a long time even though it was a warm sunny day.<br />
This photo was taken by fellow whale photographer Francois Gohier from France. I had been familiar with his work for a long time as one of the most published whale photographers. He was shooting from a boat at one of my regular locations and camp sites, where the whales often perform bubble net feeding. He was kind enough to send me some of the photos that he took of me and commented, “You really know how to do things the hard way!” I couldn’t disagree with that comment because that’s my style, and even to this day I still do things the hard way because it’s the only way that I know how to be.
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  • 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.
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  • 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.
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  • Marojejy National Park was undoubtedly one of the highlights of my trip. The Marojejy Massif is a chain of mountains that rises to an elevation of 2,132 metres.The trekking up to the peaks was challenging, the scenery incredible, and the abundance and biodiversity of the flora and fauna all along the way was second to none: at least 118 species of birds, 148 species of reptiles and amphibians, and 11 species of lemur occur within Marojejy National Park. One of the lemurs, the silky sifaka (Propithecus candidus) is one of the world’s 25 most endangered primates.<br />
I travelled with a lovely couple from Switzerland, and we had an excellent guide called Rombo. The second base camp was just out of this world! The camp was raised up on stilts and overlooked a river that plummeted to the valley below and opposite, one of the peaks of the Marojejy massif towered above us; all around was lush verdant forest that resonated with the sound of birds, frogs and insects.
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  • 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.
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  • This was a frequently enjoyed beautiful view from my camp on a small promontory overlooking Tenakee Inlet. It was good look-out point to watch for the arrival of any whales in September when I usually ended my summer kayaking trips here in time to catch the arrival of the bubble net feeding pods of humpback whales. At high tide the little islet with trees is cut-off for a while. There is an old Indian cemetery with several wooden grave markers on there making it an even more atmospheric look-out point. When the whales are bubble net feeding in September they often feed close to the shore along here.
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  • 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.
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  • 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.
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  • 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
  • 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.
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  • 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
  • At the end of the bay I camped on an island within the boundaries of another marine park.  I had heard that the snorkelling there was the best in the bay - I wasn’t disappointed. I couldn’t believe how many species that I saw in a short space of time;  I lost count at about 20. Being in the water brought some relief from the pain of my swollen ankle and foot, and also from the swarms of mosquitoes, by far the worst that I had encountered so far. Up until that point I had been pleasantly surprised at how few of the jungle nasties, like mosquitoes and leeches, I’d encountered. Although I was supposedly camped within a protected marine park I witnessed several fishermen searching for lobsters in the area. It wasn’t so much that they were just catching lobsters but the very destructive manner in which they were doing it; they were using a long pole to probe the rocks with some considerable force, which would undoubtedly damage the coral.<br />
<br />
 I continued northwards through waters protected by offshore coral reefs and camped near Cap Masoala. I received a visit from two park rangers in a very impressive looking kayak. They were very interested in my trip and examined my swollen foot. They had no idea what it could be but one of them pointed to a hard black spot on my toe, one of a few I’d noticed, and informed me that a parasitic flea had laid its eggs in there, and that they had to be scraped out. I had suspected that they were more than just calluses. He had obviously had plenty of experience with them so I handed my knife to him and invited him to scrape them away; sure enough, once he had removed the black “crust” it revealed a small cavity packed with tiny eggs. He told me that it was very important to remove every last one to prevent my foot being turned into a flea hatchery. I was renowned for hosting uninvited guests on my travels but this was beginning to look like the definitive, open door trip to add to my ever-growing collection of body invaders.
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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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  • Rocks in Tompolo Marine Park, Masoala National Park, the Masoala Peninsula, eastern Madagascar.<br />
<br />
My next camp was at Tompolo, which is within one of two Marine Parks in Antongil Bay. From there on the shoreline was dotted with the most unusual looking outcrops of large rocks; each one looked like it had a set of broken teeth embedded in the top of it. The point at Tompolo was protected by a cluster of these strange looking rocks and in between them was the first significant aggregation of living coral that I had seen on the entire trip to date. The crystalline water was alive with brightly coloured fish, crabs and shrimp. I could clearly see the benefits of the area’s protected status, and at last I was getting a glimpse of Madagascar’s disappearing marine biodiversity.
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  • This natural spring was the first water that I had encountered since I left La Paz. There was a small trickle of water from above this pool and I had one of the most heavenly showers ever in that most welcome oasis. It felt strange to see so much lush greenery and living creatures after so many miles of dry arid coastline. 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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!!
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  • Three brown bear (Ursos arctos) siblings at a dump, Angoon, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
I often caught the Alaska Marine Highway local ferry to the native town of Angoon on Admiralty Island before paddling across to my camp at Point Hayes on Chichagof Island. I had to walk past the city dump to get to the town to buy provisions, and there were usually brown bears foraging there, and particularly three young siblings who had apparently lost their mother. They became quite familiar with me and recognized me as someone who didn’t provide them with any food; most people who drove to the dump were providing them with reject salmon. <br />
But one of the three young siblings was more aggressive than the other two and on one occasion it kept advancing towards me expecting me to provide it with something to eat. I decided to teach it a lesson, that people are dangerous, as indeed they are, particularly to dump bears because once they lose their fear of humans they are easy targets for hunters. I was carrying a red pepper bear deterrent spray but when I tried to fire it at the bear I discovered that there was no pressure left in the canister and the contents just trickled down my arm; it was out of pressure when I was under pressure! So I threw the useless canister towards the bear so that it would stop to investigate it and then I climbed on top of an old car. Bears are inquisitive like dogs and I usually carried a few stones in my pocket to distract any bears that might try to be too friendly.
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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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  • Inside the protective barrier of the islands and coral reefs there was a beautiful tranquil lagoon. Beyond the tranquillity the Indian Ocean was still hurling waves and creating explosions of spray. I wanted to investigate the biggest breaks on a huge outcrop of bare rock on the outer side of the islands. I clambered up on to the rock and watched the massive swells that had travelled thousands of miles across some of the most tempestuous seas on the planet colliding with a boulder the size of a house. It was an awesome spectacle of the power of the ocean. I took some dramatic photographs but wanted to capture the perfectly timed moment of maximum impact. I dashed out onto the rock to a position that I thought was out of reach of the waves and quickly retreated to avoid the spray. They seemed to be consistently hitting a maximum height but all of a sudden a monster wave crept in unnoticed from a slightly different angle and hit me from the side. I spun around to face it and was engulfed in a surging mass of energised water; it felt like being hit by a car! I was swept off my feet and desperately tried to arrest my slide towards the foaming cauldron below, and to protect my camera. I just managed to save myself from what could have been a desperate plight if I had been swept into the sea. I felt pain, and the first thing that I noticed was that my arm was badly scraped; then I could see that I was standing in a pool of blood. I lifted my foot up and winced at the sight of a huge gash; it was very painful and I couldn’t stand on it. The infected sores on my shins and feet were still causing me some discomfort, especially at night. I wasn’t looking forward to going to bed that night because I wasn’t expecting to be able to find any comfortable positions. When I hobbled back to camp I cleaned and dried my camera and lens, but that camera body and my essential wide-angle zoom lens were now out of commission.
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  • Early morning fog clearing at Point Gardiner, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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Point Gardiner at the southern end of Admiralty Island was one of my favourite places to camp because of the commanding view across Stephen’s Passage and down Chatham Strait to the snow-capped mountains of Baranof Island. There are strong currents there with extensive kelp beds, and not far offshore a small island called Yasha Island, that was regularly used by Steller sea lions as a seasonal haul out, and my favourite place to observe them. Landing or launching my kayak anywhere around Point Gardiner was never easy because there are very wide wave-cut platforms and the coastline is generally very rocky.
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  • Duncan Murrell photographing humpback whales in his Nautiraid double folding kayak at Point Hayes, Chichagof Island, Southeast Alaska, USA. Photo courtesy of Francois Gohier.<br />
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After many years of good service from my ageing Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak, I invested in a new French Nautiraid double folding kayak, which gave me more carrying capacity and a larger, more comfortable cockpit to work in, but it also meant more effort to paddle it. It was much easier to pack than my old kayak and it was also incredibly stable even in rough sea conditions. It is designed to be used as a small double kayak that can also be paddled solo.<br />
This photo was taken by fellow whale photographer Francois Gohier from France. I had been familiar with his work for a long time as one of the most published whale photographers. He was shooting from a boat at one of my regular locations and camp sites, where the whales often perform bubble net feeding. He was kind enough to send me some of the photos that he took of me and commented, “You really know how to do things the hard way!” I couldn’t disagree with that comment because that’s my style, and even to this day I still do things the hard way because it’s the only way that I know how to be.
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  • This was taken just off the entrance to Pleasant Harbour where I either used to anchor my boat or camp on the little islet at the entrance that is on the right of this photo. This was my regular base in my early years with the whales in Southeast Alaska. It was always a thrill to emerge from the beautiful cosy little safe anchorage in the morning and be greeted by volleys of whale blows illuminated by the rising sun against the shaded Glass Peninsula.
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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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  • Ankarana was a really special experience for me. I loved the marriage between the sculpted limestone rocks and the lush vegetation. The tsingy limestone formations are amazing but quite hazardous to walk around on because the rock has been eroded into vertical jagged blades. I discovered that some of the local crowned lemurs have become semi-habituated to visitors, and associate them with snacks, which is not usually a good thing, but unfortunately it is often inevitable, especially if the guides encourage it too. I was able to camp overnight in the forest on the way back to the park headquarters, and had a memorable soak in a cooling stream to listen to the nocturnal sounds of the forest – and to avoid the worst mosquitoes on the trip so far. <br />
I was really impressed with Ankarana, so it was with the usual mixture of wonderment and sadness that I looked back at the very finite perimeter of another protected area when I was driving away in the taxi-brousse. The abrupt transition from incredibly rich biodiversity to barren scrubland was painfully depressing and becoming too familiar in Madagascar.
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  • When I was in La Paz with the American kayaker, Corrie, we met an American guide who worked for the main commercial kayaking tour company in La Paz and he invited us to stay at their place while we there. I later arranged to meet up with him and one of his tour groups when I headed north back to Loreto. Shortly after meeting up with them at their camp I heard an animal crying out in the desert not far away from us so I ran in the direction of the cries and surprised a coyote attacking this mule deer fawn; It had its jaws clamped onto the fawn's back as you can see from the wound on its back. The startled coyote ran away leaving the wounded fawn behind. The Mexican support boat operator in the photo, who was accompanying the kayaking group, kindly offered to take the fawn back to La Paz to see if it could be saved.
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  • I often caught the Alaska Marine Highway local ferry to the native town of Angoon on Admiralty Island before paddling across to my camp at Point Hayes on Chichagof Island. I had to walk past the city dump to get to the town to buy provisions, and there were usually brown bears foraging there, and particularly three young siblings who had apparently lost their mother. They became quite familiar with me and recognized me as someone who didn’t provide them with any food; most people who drove to the dump were providing them with reject salmon. <br />
But one of the three young siblings was more aggressive than the other two and on one occasion it kept advancing towards me expecting me to provide it with something to eat. I decided to teach it a lesson, that people are dangerous, as indeed they are, particularly to dump bears because once they lose their fear of humans they are easy targets for hunters. I was carrying a red pepper bear deterrent spray but when I tried to fire it at the bear I discovered that there was no pressure left in the canister and the contents just trickled down my arm; it was out of pressure when I was under pressure! So I threw the useless canister towards the bear so that it would stop to investigate it and then I climbed on top of an old car. Bears are inquisitive like dogs and I usually carried a few stones in my pocket to distract any bears that might try to be too friendly.
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  • This was a breaching whale that left an unforgettable visual imprint in my memory for all time. I was camped in Icy Strait where there are usually many humpback whales, and the scenery is incredible, with a fantastic backdrop of the massive Fairweather Mountain Range bordering Glacier Bay. It was a beautiful, flat-calm, sunny morning and one whale had got off to a flying start. It was breaching repeatedly and I got off to an early start to try to catch up with it on the other side of Icy Strait. <br />
Unfortunately by the time I got there it had stopped breaching, as always seemed to happen. I continued to paddle my kayak on that beautiful peaceful morning, gliding across the mirror-calm sea with the sound of the water dripping from my paddles amplified by the stillness. Then suddenly without any warning I could “feel” something erupting out of the water nearby so I spun around trying to locate the source of the disturbance. Glancing over my shoulder my view of the rising sun was eclipsed by the massive silhouette of the whale leaping out of the water, just a few metres behind my kayak; it had an auro of the sun’s rays around it like a religious icon. My jaw dropped with astonishment, and my heart must have skipped a few beats; and before I could react to protect myself or my camera there was a massive thud when the whale struck the water and I was drenched by a whale-sized, icy cold shower: I suddenly felt very small and vulnerable in my kayak. I had experienced the whales so many times at close quarters, but it’s not until you can actually view one in its entirety hovering above you that you can really appreciate the scale of a whale!
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  • The snorkelling around the islet where I camped for a week was excellent. There was a shallow underwater shelf that extended out from the northern end of the islet and because of the strong upwelling around the islet there was abundant marine life. This was the most surprising creature I encountered a very short distance from the shore, a stone fish, that blended in perfectly with the seaweed, apart from its incredible eyes, which seemed to be illuminated by fire. I was able to approach it very closely with a certain degree of caution.This was my first ever trip with a reasonably good underwater camera, and my first attempts at some serious underwater photography.
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  • A sweeping panoramic view at the southern end of the island looking towards a chain of small skerries, that I paddled out to explore. I was camped on the other side of the rocks in the foreground on a grassy ledge overlooking a rocky cove. The cliffs on either side of the last fragment of the island were quite high and very precipitous. This is where I had my next dramatic viewing of basking sharks, because they were swimming very close to the base of the cliff so I was able to look directly down on them, and get a very good impression of their massive size. Once again it was one of those wildlife encounters that is so vividly etched in my memory forever. From my lofty viewpoint I could watch them swimming towards the island and then follow the base of the cliffs as they were feeding.
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  • Lunga is the largest island in an archipelago of small islands and skerries that stretches roughly 7 kilometres (4.3 m) called the Treshnish Isles. Lunga is designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest because of its abundant plant life. Many rare and endangered plants are native to the island. Plants include primrose, birdsfoot trefoil, orchids, sea campion, sea thrift, sea pinks, yellow flags, tormentil and the oyster plant. The Treshnish Isles are also designated as a Special Protection Area due to their importance for breeding seabirds such as storm-petrels, kittiwakes, Manx Shearwaters, guillemots, puffins and fulmars. They are also a marine Special Area of Conservation and grey seals can be found there along with basking sharks, as I was pleased to discover. I particularly enjoyed watching the seabirds nesting on the precipitous cliffs, and a dramatic sea stack called the Harp Rock separated from the island by a narrow passage. It was hypnotic to watch the real masters of flight like the kittiwakes and fulmars launching from their precarious nests and soaring in graceful arcs in front of the cliffs and above the rocks and meadows.<br />
Lunga was populated up until the 19th century, and to the NE of the island, and just around the rocks to the right of this photo can be found the ruins of the village, which was abandoned in 1857. I often used to sit in amongst the ruins looking out across the sea dotted with vegetated skerries towards Mull and the mainland wondering what it must have been like to live there. I camped there for a week, and it was a wonderful place to live during the good weather of the short Scottish summer, but I can imagine how challenging it must have been to eke out a subsistence life there in the past.
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  • A sweeping panoramic view at the southern end of the island looking towards a chain of small skerries, that I paddled out to explore. I was camped on the other side of the rocks in the foreground on a grassy ledge overlooking a rocky cove. The cliffs on either side of the last fragment of the island were quite high and very precipitous. This is where I had my next dramatic viewing of basking sharks, because they were swimming very close to the base of the cliff so I was able to look directly down on them, and get a very good impression of their massive size. Once again it was one of those wildlife encounters that is so vividly etched in my memory forever. From my lofty viewpoint I could watch them swimming towards the island and then follow the base of the cliffs as they were feeding.
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  • 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.
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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 a breaching whale that left an unforgettable visual imprint in my memory for all time. I was camped in Icy Strait where there are usually many humpback whales, and the scenery is incredible, with a fantastic backdrop of the massive Fairweather Mountain Range bordering Glacier Bay. It was a beautiful, flat-calm, sunny morning and one whale had got off to a flying start. It was breaching repeatedly and I got off to an early start to try to catch up with it on the other side of Icy Strait. <br />
Unfortunately by the time I got there it had stopped breaching, as always seemed to happen. I continued to paddle my kayak on that beautiful peaceful morning, gliding across the mirror-calm sea with the sound of the water dripping from my paddles amplified by the stillness. Then suddenly without any warning I could “feel” something erupting out of the water nearby so I spun around trying to locate the source of the disturbance. Glancing over my shoulder my view of the rising sun was eclipsed by the massive silhouette of the whale leaping out of the water, just a few metres behind my kayak; it had an auro of the sun’s rays around it like a religious icon. My jaw dropped with astonishment, and my heart must have skipped a few beats; and before I could react to protect myself or my camera there was a massive thud when the whale struck the water and I was drenched by a whale-sized, icy cold shower.<br />
I suddenly felt very small and vulnerable in my kayak. I had experienced the whales so many times at close quarters, but it’s not until you can actually view one in its entirety hovering above you that you can really appreciate the scale of a whale!
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  • Between mid-November and March is when moose typically lose their antlers; younger moose keep their antlers until later in the winter and it is usually only two year old moose that may still be adorned with their antlers come March. Moose are the largest living member of the deer family (Cervidae) and fittingly bear the largest set of antlers. Moose antlers are usually paired and shaped like the palm of a hand with outstretched fingers, thus the expression palmate. After a male moose reaches one year of age he starts to grow antlers that increase in size becoming more elaborate with more points and heavier for each new set of antlers he grows until he reaches his prime. After a male (Bull) moose reaches his prime the antlers start to recede each year until the moose dies. Every year the cycle is the same. In the spring antlers begin to grow from the skull covered with a tissue called “velvet”. By September the growth has completed and the velvet dries and falls off. Moose will often aid the removal of the velvet by rubbing their antlers on trees and shrubs (on occasion they’ll eat the velvet too!). The continuous rubbing on trees, combined with the dried blood and dirt will give the Moose Antlers the brown colour in the fall. They do not serve a useful purpose until the fall and during the mating season (called the Rut).<br />
This was during one of my best winter experiences in Southeast Alaska. There was such a great feeling of wildness and solitude up in Adam's Inlet. Very few boats go right up into Glacier Bay during the winter, and certainly not deep into Adam's Inlet. It was so peaceful up there in winter. It has always been my dream to spend a whole winter camped with the moose and wolves up Adams Inlet.
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  • I was camped above a rocky cove at the southeast end of the island. Every day I walked around the small island as if I was the laird of my own little dominion. There was a small fairly well trodden trail that I had to be very vigilant on in places because of its proximity to precipitous drops. This photo was taken at the NW end of the island with a view of some of the offshore skerries. I became very familiar with every different aspect of the island, the birds and the plants. In the middle there was an open grass meadow leading up to a terraced outcrop of rock, which may be a volcanic plug as the islands are volcanic in origin. If I wasn’t sitting near a cliff watching the aerial display of the seabirds I was the king of my own little domain sitting on top of my throne surveying the distant ocean and islands.
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  • Tenakee Inlet penetrates deep into Chichagof Island, and at the far end there is an old portage with a rail-track and cart to get across to Port Frederick, which leads to the native town of Hoonah. Nearly every September my summer kayaking trips ended up in Tenakee Inlet, when humpback whales usually arrive to feed on herring cooperatively using bubble nets. They often followed the herring up and down the inlet with me in tow in my kayak. This photo was taken over half-way up the inlet.
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  • This was another photo taken by Francois Gohier when he was also photographing the bubble net feeding whales around the Morris Reef at Point Hayes. After I won the Mammal Category of the BBC Wildlife Photographer of the Year Competition in 2002 I was commissioned to write an article for the BBC Wildlife Magazine and this photo was used on the cover of the magazine, which was indeed an honour for me as I have been reading the magazine since I was a young boy.
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  • This was one of the very rare occasions when a humpback whale ever showed any aggression towards me. I always tried to avoid obstructing the passage of whales but with so many encounters it was inevitable that sometimes I didn’t have enough time to get out of their way, especially if they surfaced in front of me without any warning. Even then I was often amazed at how they would just roll beneath me like a gigantic ball caressing the soft hull of my kayak with barely a ripple. But on this occasion I encountered a slightly more irritable whale and as it was sounding (diving), instead of just lifting its flukes up before sliding gracefully out of view, it rolled its flukes sideways, creating a large wave that surged towards me, over the bow of my kayak and onto my lap. The icy water of Southeast Alaska was always cold enough to give me a sharp intake of breath, and some degree of punishment for not giving way to a much larger vessel fast enough!
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  • 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 photo was taken by one of the leading humpback whale researchers in Southeast Alaska at the time, Cynthia D’Vincent. She was actually working with a film crew at the time who were making an IMAX film. We had a lot of encounters during the filming and she pointed out that I was getting into "rather too many" of their shots, and politely asked me if I could try to avoid doing that. I was getting fed up with having to breathe in the exhaust fumes from their fast boats, whilst I was left rocking in their wake. I continued to work in my usual low impact fashion, but eventually they got all of the shots that they needed and I was thanked for obliging with her request, and I was rewarded with a bottle of wine. <br />
The unusual lighting, and atmospheric conditions at sunset, was a result of an extensive forest fire in the Yukon Territory hundreds of miles away to the northeast.
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  • This was one of the very rare occasions when a humpback whale ever showed any aggression towards me. I always tried to avoid obstructing the passage of whales but with so many encounters it was inevitable that sometimes I didn’t have enough time to get out of their way, especially if they surfaced in front of me without any warning. Even then I was often amazed at how they would just roll beneath me like a gigantic ball caressing the soft hull of my kayak with barely a ripple. But on this occasion I encountered a slightly more irritable whale and as it was sounding (diving), instead of just lifting its flukes up before sliding gracefully out of view, it rolled its flukes sideways, creating a large wave that surged towards me, over the bow of my kayak and onto my lap. The icy water of Southeast Alaska was always cold enough to give me a sharp intake of breath, and some degree of punishment for not giving way to a much larger vessel fast enough!
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  • I always felt completely safe in my kayak with the whales. If anyone ever asked me if I was afraid to get as close to the whales as I did, the answer was always a resounding yes because I always trusted them not to be aggressive towards me because I always tried to ensure that I posed no threat towards them. I often stayed with a pod for an entire day from morning to night and they would often surface alongside me and accompany me as if I was one of them. I became a familiar and unthreatening shape and presence to them, with no potentially deadly slashing propeller to concern them; I was virtually no different from other marine creatures like sea lions that often accompany them.
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  • This is one of my favourite photos because it captures the serenity and hypnotic bliss that I felt when I was kayaking in Southeast Alaska. It wasn’t easy at times, and sometimes the distances seemed interminable, especially when I was tired and hungry, but at the end of another rewarding day with the whales I felt like I was imbued with their power and resilience, and could glide across the surface effortlessly for eternity.
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  • This was my first ever memorable day kayaking with humpback whales in Southeast Alaska; an amazing day that set the tone for another 20 years of involvement there with the whales. It was a beautifully flat calm day out on the water and there was a large pod of humpback whales feeding in the vicinity of the Brothers Islands where we were moored with “Avalon”. It was the day when I realized that a kayak was the only way that I could really appreciate being around the whales without disturbing them or interrupting their natural feeding behaviour. I discovered that they are completely safe to be around and that I could manoeuvre the kayak more than adequately to stay out of their way. It was such an adrenaline-rush to be so close to them, and to be able to feel their power and energy transmitted through the water.
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  • This amazing day was probably one of the most seminal days in my whole life; one of those days, as many were that I can still vividly remember, like the first really close encounter on this day when a whale surfaced right in front of me, but then it stopped abruptly and its massive rotund back rolled like an enormous ball right up against and beneath my kayak without creating barely a ripple. It gave me a sense of exhilaration that I had never ever experienced before. I may have just been paddling on flat calm water but it felt like I was gliding in the air because I was as high as a kite.
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  • I bought my Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak from a couple in Petersburg who were retired schoolteachers. Carolyn and Jay Pritchett were wonderful people who were passionate about the great outdoors, and every summer they conducted kayaking trips up in the Alaskan Arctic. This kayak was Carolyn's kayak and it was a veteran of several trips up to the Arctic. Klepper folding kayaks have been manufactured since 1907, and have been used on many expeditions such as the Germany-India expedition 1923 by Karl Schott, the North Pole expedition 1926 by Roald Amundson, the First Atlantic Crossing in 1928 by Captian Romer, the Atlantic Crossing in 1955 by Dr. Lindemann, the expedition to the magnetic Northpol 1985 by Arved Fuchs and the Circumnavigation of Cape Horne 1989 by Howard Rice. They have a wooden frame, canvas deck and hypalon hull, making them relatively easy to repair. Eventually the deck had so many canvas patches that it looked like a pair of my old jeans. It was badly damaged when it was swept off the deck of my boat in a storm, and I had to completely rebuild the stern, but unfortunately my challenging repair job was completely undone when a brown bear found my kayak and completely destroyed the stern again!
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  • The LeConte Inlet and Glacier were only a day's paddle from Petersburg so it was a good day out for me whenever I was living in the town. The glacier is the southernmost tide-water glacier in the Northern Hemisphere. I always enjoyed the challenge of trying to navigate my way through the congested ice floes, and then trying to photograph the seals without disturbing them, which most of the time I was able to do because of the stealth that a kayak provides. Being in a kayak also enabled me to get very close and low to icebergs so that I could take close-ups of the amazing icebergs sculpted into infinite shapes and forms, and luminescent with ethereal shades of blue and green. I always used the Indian method of anchoring with a rock tied to an anchor line resting on the bow, and then an additional longer bow line with the last half metre wrapped around the rock, so that when I pushed the kayak out and yanked on the long bow line the rock and anchor line were dislodged and fell into the water.
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  • This was another photo taken by Francois Gohier when we were both photographing bubble net feeding humpback whales on the Morris Reef, near Point Hayes. I was very familiar with the underwater topography around the Morris Reef and became very good at predicting the movement of the feeding whales along it as they herded the herring. The main problem there was the sea conditions because it is near the junction of Peril Strait and Chatham Strait, so there are usually very strong currents and any wind can exacerbate the conditions as well.
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  • This is looking west towards the end of the inlet.
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