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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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  • 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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  • Humpbacks have an enormous lung capacity, which makes it possible for them to dive for long periods, often in excess of 20 minutes, These extended dives allow the animals to descend to deep water for foraging (up to 500 ft - 150 m). When the whale surfaces to breathe, it only has a few moments to exchange the air in its lungs, so it must exhale with tremendous force. The force of this exhalation vaporises the seawater that surrounds the blowhole and creates a "blow". This vertical plume of water vapour is usually the first indicator that a whale is in the area, and can usually be seen and heard over long distances. On several occasions I paddled stealthily up to a whale resting or sleeping on the surface just to be able to observe the blowhole in operation at close quarters, and was amazed at the power and speed that the blowhole opens and shuts during the exhalation and inhalation, and the explosive force of the breath rushing out and fresh air rushing back in.<br />
I observed them often sleeping in the afternoon, their rotund backs completely motionless with their flukes and long pectoral fins hanging down. Whales and dolphins don't sleep for extended periods the way that we do but just take short naps. To avoid drowning during sleep, it is crucial that marine mammals retain control of their blowhole. The blowhole is a flap of skin that is thought to open and close under the voluntary control of the animal. Although still a matter of discussion, most researchers feel that in order to breathe, a dolphin or whale must be conscious and alert to recognize that its blowhole is at the surface.
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  • The prevailing wind in Southeast Alaska is SE, and in the early days when I was kayaking mainly in Frederick Sound and Stephens Passage I had to paddle southwards back to Petersburg against strong headwinds and waves. But sometimes the wind and waves were too much for me when the weather  deteriorated in late September, and I had to just sit out the storms and wait for a break in the weather. On this occasion I had to wait at least a week, and I was down to my last provisions. It was exhilarating to look out across the stormy sea feeling the full might of the wind rampaging across the long fetch of Frederick Sound. But I was getting frustrated and my tent was being attacked by a very aggressive territorial squirrel that objected to me living on his patch. It was the only clearing that I could find to pitch my tent, and because it was relatively open the forest floor was riddled with the squirrel's burrows. It started chewing holes in my precious "Omnipotent" tent and then it escalated to bombarding it with fir-cones. I had to retaliate and throw them back at him, and the tension continued to escalate from there until I had to declare war on the squirrel. I was always very wary of the squirrels in Southeast Alaska because they were worse than bears for trying to raid my food, and they chewed holes in some of my drybags, with perfect insight into where their favourite snacks like peanuts were located. Eventually I woke up one night and the moon was beaming across a placid Frederick Sound so I made a dash for it and paddled for 14 hours straight to get back to Petersburg before the weather changed.
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  • Three brown bear (Ursos arctos) siblings at a dump, Angoon, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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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 one of the most incredible experiences of my life. It was a beautiful day that started well when I encountered a group of playful sea lions. They were inquisitive as always and hung around for quite a while. Most of them eventually swam away but one very inquisitive big bull remained with me for a while. It circled me and dived down beneath my kayak so that it could look up at me: then suddenly it erupted out of the sea right in front of the bow of my kayak, and there was the sudden jolt of eye-contact with his big bulging wild eyes that penetrated deep within my primal being. He then swam away and I continued paddling out to the middle of Seymour Canal. Then suddenly I heard a commotion in the distance, and when my eyes homed in on the source I saw the tell-tale dorsal fins of orcas, and then to my dismay I saw my friend on the surface near them: he was being attacked! I frantically paddled out towards the developing melee and wondered what I should do, and even contemplated trying to rescue him. But of course nature had to run its course, and I had to be grateful that I had a ringside seat for such a dramatic wild spectacle, as the orcas continued to ram the sea lion at high speed: I could see an orca cutting a confused furrow of water before colliding with its quarry in a big explosion of spray. The sea lion then reappeared at the surface gasping for breath, which tugged at my heart strings so much that I wanted to intervene, but there was a hungry family of predators that had to eat. Eventually it failed to resurface and it was all over...... but it wasn't because a pod of humpbacks happened to stumble onto the killing stage and they too were attacked by the orcas. I paddled right alongside the conflict and observed the whales rolling onto their sides and flailing their flippers to try to thwart their attackers. The orcas eventually gave up and disappeared along with the whales leaving me all alone highly charged and shaking with adrenaline.
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  • I paddled onto the town of Mananara, whilst nursing my painful foot injury and infected sores. I had to make a long detour around the next point to avoid the minefield of fringing coral reefs and faced the prospect of trying to find a way through the maze of threatening coral in the fading light of the day, and was relieved when I eventually found a clear passage through to the shore. I received treatment for my injuries, in Mananara, and then shared a ride to Maroantsetra, the gateway town to the Masoala Peninsula, in the back of a pickup truck with other foreigners. I was glad that I was able to experience that road journey through the beautiful, biodiverse vegetation of Mananara National Park. I then explored the amazing island of Nosey Mangabe in Antongil Bay, where I had my first encounter with an incredible leaf-tailed gecko, which was love at first sight.<br />
I then paddled from Maroantsetra to the Masoala Peninsula. The sea was flat calm when I passed Nosy Mangabe but just after midday the wind started to pick up as it often did at that time of day. It was coming in from the entrance to the bay, which opens out onto the Indian Ocean, and in a very short time I found myself battling into winds gusting over 30 mph. Once again I had to keep stopping to pump out water whilst trying to hold my position facing into the oncoming waves. Progress was painfully slow and with every laboured stroke I felt as if my shoulders were dislocating. I was getting drenched with spray every time I ploughed into a wave and the salt was building up on my skin. As my body gyrated with each paddle stroke my back was getting rubbed raw by my backrest and the salt aggravated the sores. My throat was parched and I didn’t have enough water to quench my thirst; I was beginning to feel like a galley slave! My arms and shoulders screamed with the exertion, the salt was burning my flesh, and I had to overcome exhaustion; by the time I eventually reached my destination I was completely drained.
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  • I 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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  • 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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