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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • Yasha Island was my regular place for observing, photographing and simply being entertained by sea lions. I had to land my kayak on the opposite side of the islet, creep stealthily through the rocks and trees, and then low down on my belly to get right in amongst them. There is usually so much noise and commotion at a haul-out that it's surprisingly easy to get in amongst them. Their vision is evidently quite poor out of water, so as long as I moved very slowly and didn't stand up and become boldly silhouetted, I could "bluff" my way into their close company. Sometimes one of them would stare at me inquisitively but as long as I kept completely motionless, it then continued participating in the general pandemonium that frequently pervades the haul-outs. But sometimes a degree of calm is restored as this photo illustrates, but it takes just one incident to flair up, perhaps when one of them is rudely awakened by the clumsiness of another one trying to get past it, and then the pandemonium sweeps across the haul-out like a wild fire with their extended heads swaying in the air belching out disgruntled roars and groans.
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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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  • 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 lovely paddling around the protected shallow lagoon between the three small islets of Nosy Atafana Marine Park but the currents were very strong. I observed a lot of fish in the sea in and around the islets.
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