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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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  • Cape Fanshawe was always one of my first anchorages after leaving Petersburg, either in one of my boats, Avalon and subsequently Selena, or in my kayak. It’s on the mainland and at the entrance to my favourite place for vegetation in Southeast Alaska, Port Houghton. Although there are some safe anchorages in amongst the small islands there, and there used to be a fur farm situated there, the actual cape is very exposed to the full power of the elements as can be seen by the way these rocks on the shore have been sculpted; they have been sculpted like waves and are extremely slippery to walk on.<br />
I always remember being trapped there in my kayak late in the summer because the sea conditions were so rough. I was trying to get back to Petersburg at the end of a trip, and when the weather eventually cleared for a while, I had to make a dash for town and paddled continuously for 14 hours to make it back there. I had nearly been out of food, and to add to my torment my tent was being constantly bombarded with cones by a very petulant and territorial squirrel: it developed into squirrel wars!
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  • Sculpted shoreline rocks in the fog near Point Hayes, Chichagof Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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This is not far from my regular campsite at Point Hayes. There was always so much to explore along that stretch of rocky coast, and I spent a lot of time beach combing and photographing the intertidal life.
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  • Wave-cut platform at Cape Fanshawe, on the mainland, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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Cape Fanshawe was always one of my first anchorages after leaving Petersburg, either in one of my boats, Avalon and subsequently Selena, or in my kayak. It’s on the mainland and at the entrance to my favourite place for vegetation in Southeast Alaska, Port Houghton. Although there are some safe anchorages in amongst the small islands there, and there used to be a fur farm situated there, the actual cape is very exposed to the full power of the elements as can be seen by the way these rocks on the shore have been sculpted; they have been sculpted like waves and are extremely slippery to walk on.<br />
I always remember being trapped there in my kayak late in the summer because the sea conditions were so rough. I was trying to get back to Petersburg at the end of a trip, and when the weather eventually cleared for a while, I had to make a dash for town and paddled continuously for 18 hours to make it back there. I had nearly been out of food, and to add to my torment my tent was being constantly bombarded with cones by a very petulant and territorial squirrel; it developed into squirrel wars!
    coast-3.tif
  • 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 photos shows how bare the rocks are in the inlet that has been sculpted by glacial action, and before there has been sufficient time for plant succession to gain any foothold.
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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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