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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • Young brown bear (Ursos arctos) foraging for food on the beach at Point Hayes, Chichagof Island, Southeast Alaska, USA<br />
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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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  • 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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  • 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!
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