Duncan Murrell - A Whale of a Time

After many years of feeling like an amphibian kayaking in Southeast Alaska, one of the wettest places on earth, I was ready to shed my impervious layers and head south to the other end of the rain gauge, to one of the driest places on earth, the Baja Peninsula in Mexico; but the Sea of Cortez that it encloses, like Southeast Alaska is one of the richest marine ecosystems in the world. The humpback whales of Alaska had held me captive in Southeast Alaska for nearly twenty years, despite the often inhospitable weather. I had gazed longingly towards the balmy dry conditions of Baja for many years and in 1999 I was finally enticed by the desire to kayak with other species of whales and dolphins, as the Sea of Cortez is one of the world’s hotspots for cetaceans. It is one of the world’s youngest seas but it has evolved into one of the richest marine habitats on earth, supporting a food chain productive enough to satisfy the biggest of appetites. There are few places on earth that attract so many different species of whales and dolphins, including the largest of them all, the blue whale. The fertility of the sea blooms in stark contrast to the harsh, arid landscape of the Baja Peninsula. I chose to kayak down a particularly dramatic stretch of coastline fringing the aptly named Sierra de la Giganta ( Mountain of the Giants ). I was used to being surrounded by mountains towering above me in Alaska but here the massive blocks and craggy spires impose their stature by being stripped of the more familiar snow, ice, verdant forest, and smothering clouds. I started my journey at Loreto and paddled as far south as La Paz, exploring all of the offshore islands along the way, and then back again. Not long after leaving Loreto I experienced prolonged periods of solitude paddling along the deserted coastline that I hadn’t even experienced in Alaska before. It took a while to adapt to paddling in the constant glare of the scorching sun but at least the sea conditions were generally very calm although on a few occasions I was caught by the dreaded “La Coromuel”, a powerful offshore wind that sometimes commences abruptly shortly after dusk, transforming a millpond into a maelstrom in a matter of minutes. It was like being suddenly transported back to the inclement weather and sea conditions of Alaska, getting chilled and battling in the encroaching darkness to avoid being swept out to sea. But fortunately for the majority of the time I was either skimming across azure tranquillity in the day or gliding through a canopy of sparkling stars in the empty darkness of night, trailing the luminosity of phosphorescent algae in my wake like the tail of a comet. It was a fantastic trip with some memorable encounters and experiences that I will describe with the individual photos in the gallery.

When I went to Palawan in 2007, swimming with whale sharks was not on my agenda. It was just by chance that I found myself on a boat trip out of Puerto Princesa to swim with whale sharks in Honda Bay, a short distance to the north of the city, as someone staying at the same pension had arranged the trip. Swimming with the largest fish in the ocean is one of those iconic wildlife experiences that is high on the list of priorities for most people, and I certainly wasn’t disappointed and have become addicted to viewing and photographing those mesmerizingly beautiful creatures. Seeing your first whale shark underwater is tantamount to love at first sight. It has such a beautifully patterned and sculpted form, which dances and flickers with rays of light and sub-surface reflections as it undulates along so hypnotically. On that first trip I was able to capture a good photo of one of my companions swimming with a whale shark, and it was published on the front-page of the Sunday edition of the largest circulation English language newspaper in the Philippines, The Daily Enquirer, to accompany an article entitled “Palawan too is home to butanding”, butanding being the Tagalog name for whale sharks. They generally arrive in the waters around Puerto Princesa in May, usually coinciding with the week before and after the full moon. They return for subsequent full moons in June and July, and can sometimes be seen later in the year, particularly during September and October, but the sea conditions are not so favourable for observing and photographing them then. From May to July the underwater visibility is usually very good, and the sea generally calm. One of the most fascinating aspects of observing them is how they swim and feed in tandem with other fish, particularly tuna.

The festival at the beginning of March commemorates the founding anniversary of the City of Puerto Princesa, Palawan, highlighted by balayong tree-planting, street dancing and a colourful floral parade depicting the Palawan Cherry Blossoms from which the festival derives its name. The Palawan cherry is one of the most popular flowering trees in Palawan and known by the locals as the Balayong, a beautiful tree that when it is in full bloom resembles the cherry blossoms of Japan.

I decided to visit Myanmar this year for two reasons: Firstly I watched a 3 part BBC documentary series about “Wild Burma” showing that Myanmar has some of the most pristine forests with high biodiversity that still remain in SE Asia, but that they are under the encroaching threat of poaching: Secondly, last year I was contacted by an old Burmese friend who lived on my boat in Alaska in 1993, and I hadn’t seen or heard from him up until now. He has lived and worked in the USA since then, but was planning a trip to Myanmar this spring because he is interested in promoting tourism there, as the country is experiencing a sudden boom in visitors since the democratic reforms following decades of military rule and political isolation. My Burmese friend is particularly interested in exploring the possibilities of ecotourism, as I am, so the initial focus of my trip was to find out how accessible the wildest parts of Myanmar are. Because Myanmar has been isolated for so long, there is very little, if any information available about travelling outside the established tourist circuit that includes Yangon, Mandalay, Bagan and Inle Lake in particular. Apart from being restricted by an excessive series of intestinal infections after arriving there, I quickly realised that it may be some time before the wilder extremities of the country are accessible to travellers. Some of those wilder areas are still beset with ethnic conflict and closed to foreigners. Everything is evolving so quickly there since the political reforms, but it is quite apparent that the old established military powers are still firmly rooted there, and are pulling at least some of the strings behind the cover of democracy. When I was heading back to Yangon on the bus to fly back to the Philippines I sat next to a journalist from the popular National League for Democracy, led by Aung San Suu Kyi. He told me that he still had no editorial freedom and that everything he wrote had to be vetted by the authorities.

Myanmar, or Burma, is the most religious Buddhist country in terms of the proportion of monks in the population and proportion of money spent on religion. Theravada Buddhism is the predominant form of the religion, practiced by 89% of the population. The history of Buddhism in Burma probably extends more than two thousand years to the Buddha’s existence. There are myriads of monuments, temples and pagodas scattered across Burma, with the most famous concentration around the ancient city of Bagan, or Pagan as it was originally known, to the southwest of Mandalay. It was the capital of the Bamar culture of northern Burma where a powerful dynasty of Buddhist kings built countless Buddhist structures from the 11th to the end of the 13th centuries. Towards the end of the 13th century Buddhism declined due to the invasion of the Mongols but it was re-established in the 14th century by the Shans of central Burma and the Mons of lower Burma. Buddhist monks are very prominent in Burma and can be seen collecting alms around the community in the early morning. They are venerated throughout Burmese society and there are about 500,000 of them with an additional 75,000 nuns. There are many Buddhist related festivals throughout the year, with many falling on the most important full moon days, especially the Vesak and Kason in April and May, and most Pagoda festivals are celebrated around the full moon of Tabaung in Feb/March. The tradition of “Shinbyu”, a special rite of passage whereby a young boy over the age of 7 enters a monastery for a short times as a novice monk, is very conspicuous with it’s colourful processions with the boys in princely attire riding decorated horses before changing into the ascetic robes of a monk following the example of the Buddha. A typical home in Burma always has an alter on a shelf on which statues of the Buddha and offerings are placed. All Buddhists are required to keep the basic Five Precepts and novices the Ten Precepts.

When I was on my way to Myanmar I was visualising the rich biodiverse forests that I had seen in the “Wild Burma” documentaries, but the reality is that like most countries in SE Asia, the increasingly few wilderness areas that are left are confined to remote extremities and upland areas. The greater land area of Myanmar comprises a vast central flat plain mostly dedicated to agricultural production, particularly rice, which accounts for 60% of the country’s total cultivated area. I saw very little mechanisation, and oxen and water buffalo are still the main means of labour for cultivation, and transportation in rural areas. The primary method for rendering arable land is still slash-and-burn, which involves setting fire to areas of primary or secondary forest, then cultivating the land until the nutrients in the soil are exhausted, and then it’s abandoned and allowed to grow freely. There doesn’t seem to be any forests left of any size across most of the lowland areas that I travelled in, and in some of the hill regions that I trekked I witnessed the impact of this type of farming, particularly around Hsipaw, where much of the landscape looks like an empty parched desert with a few scorched tree stumps. This type of farming has been accused of destroying the forests of Burma, causing soil erosion and depletion of fertility. Recently some measures have been introduced to restrict the use of this farming method although some assert that it is better than more “permanent” farming systems because it’s part of a cycle of forestation that eventually allows a secondary forest to grow. But whatever method is used there is no avoiding the depressing impact of total deforestation resulting from an ever-increasing population, and the demand for land and food production across SE Asia. I was dismayed by how most of what I saw was quite devoid of any life, even birds and insects. In the two months that I was there the only wildlife that I managed to photograph was one lizard.

My original motive for visiting Myanmar was to gain access to some of the remaining wild regions, but as that was not possible on this trip I had plenty of time to become acquainted with the people, and how friendly and hospitable they are, even though very few can speak English. I overcame my disappointment of not being able to photograph the flora and fauna by immersing myself in the people and their Buddhist culture, and they proved to be the most willing and photogenic photographic subjects. Apart from in a few of the more remote hill villages I never felt uncomfortable trying to photograph the people, and the children were especially willing, and many of them have become familiar enough with cameras to want to hold the camera and take photos themselves! Everywhere I travelled people were happy to smile at me and exchange the common Burmese greeting of “mengalava.” The Burmese government identifies 8 major ethnic races including 135 distinct ethnic groups, which includes the predominant Bamar (68%), Shan (9%), Kayan (7%), Rakhine (4%), Mon (2%), Kayah, and Kachin. However the classification system is flawed, because it groups ethnic groups under ethnic races by geography, rather than by linguistic or genetic similarity. Unrecognised ethnic groups include Burmese Indians (2%) and Chinese (3%), and the remaining 5% of the population belong to small ethnic groups such as the remnants of the Anglo-Burmese and Anglo-Indian communities, as well as the Lisu, Rawang, Naga, Padaung, Moken, and many minorities across Shan State. Burmese is the official language spoken by 65% of the population but there are multiple languages including Shan (6.4%), Karan (5.2%) Kachin (1.8%), Chin (1.6%) and English is still spoken by the urban elite, and is the secondary language taught in schools. During my time in Myanmar there was the first official census since 1983 when the population was over 35 million. As of 2012 it is estimated to have increased to over 60 million.

My kayaking trip in the Inner Hebrides Islands off the West Coast of Scotland took me to the Islands of Mull, Lunga in the Treshnish Isles, Coll, and the Small Isles comprising Muck, Eigg, Rhum and Canna. In terms of kayaking it proved to be consistently more challenging than the sea conditions that I was familiar with in Southeast Alaska, because the West Coast of Scotland is so exposed to the powerful winds and ocean swells generated by the North Atlantic. I was even caught in the tail end of the infamous Hurricane Katrina, but fortunately I just managed to get to the Isle of Rhum in time, but my tent was unable to withstand the prolonged battering of the wind and rain, and I had to seek shelter in the village hall. I was told that it was the most rainfall that they had experienced in living memory, so I was glad to be there for such a memorable occasion! Although it’s part of the UK it felt just as wild as anywhere else that I’ve been to and provided some of the most dramatic, panoramic seascapes that I’ve ever seen. There is little or no forest cover on the islands so the hiking was particularly good over the rugged moorland and mountainous terrain, and provided amazing open views with a great sense of space and perspective, similar to what I had experienced in the Sea of Cortez, but the sea was much more animated in the Inner Hebrides. It may not have rivalled Alaska in terms of wildlife, apart from the seabirds, but I still had some memorable encounters including a very unexpected one with a sunfish, and without a doubt the highlight was being able to see basking sharks for the very first time. There were also seals everywhere, but unfortunately I didn’t get any good photos because I had a problem with my telephoto lens, which I didn’t know about at the time because this was my very last trip using film. It was the same with my previous long trip to Madagascar, and not being able to check the success rate of my photos until the end of the trip months later.

One thing that I was looking forward to in Myanmar was travelling by train, because it has been many years since I last experienced train travel in a developing country. Trains have always been my favourite mode of transportation. The epic train journeys during my first trip to India and Pakistan in 1973, with all of the chaotic hustle and bustle of life in the overcrowded trains and stations, are forever etched in my memory. Not long after returning from my overland journey to India I was employed by a private steam railway in the UK, working on track maintenance alongside people who were devotees of the world of trains past and present. Many years have passed since being submerged in a tangled mass of legs and bodies on those Indian trains, but train travel in Myanmar still retains a similar sense of total cultural immersion, when you are just as likely to be sharing a carriage with chickens and baskets of agricultural produce as people, and the schedule is often dictated by how long it takes to get the goats on board. Vendors of all description invade the carriages at every stop where the platforms also serve as makeshift markets for local produce. The trains are usually very slow and so bumpy that they often feel as if they are running on square wheels. I can never forget watching a vendor preparing a cup of coffee for me while he was anchored to the floor of the convulsing carriage, and with arms fully extended and a precision gimballed action he proceeded to pour the coffee from one cup to another without spilling a drop. Then when he passed it to me it suddenly became as animated as the train, and I grappled to tame it as I started bouncing up and down in my seat as if I was riding a bucking bronco. The trains run on narrow gauge tracks ascending into the hill districts, and the motion is much more from lateral than vertical, and their violent swinging motion makes you wonder how they can still remain on the tracks, and apparently derailments are fairly common.

I have always had a special rapport with children on my travels, and the children of Myanmar were particularly engaging and far from shy. Many of them wanted to practice their English with me, and sometimes I felt like I was being interviewed as they asked me what my name is, where I’m from, and told me who they were. As tourism is still relatively knew to the country after so many years of isolation, the children appear to be very excited to meet foreigners, without yet having been corrupted by any notion that they can get something from them; not one child asked me for anything, which was so refreshing. I noticed that there are a lot of children working in street canteens, and I was informed that there are many poor families who can’t afford the fees, uniforms and books, something that I’m very familiar with in the Philippines, and I’m sure is becoming more prevalent across SE Asia with any economic decline. There has been a revival of monastic schools in Myanmar since the 1990s and there is a growing demand for a free monastic education. On many occasions I witnessed the colourful Shinbyu symbolic processions where young boys dressed as little princes with make-up are taken to a monastery on horseback to experience the ascetic life of a novice monk for a few months. This is a compulsory rite of passage in Burmese Buddhist culture for a boy over the age of seven, and something that the parents take very seriously and lavish a lot of expense on if they can afford to do so. I have since been dismayed to learn that child soldiers play a major part in the Burmese Army and the rebel movements. It was reported in 2012 that children are being sold as conscripts into the Burmese military for as little as $40 and a bag of rice or a can of petrol. It was also reported that the military used child soldiers during the large offensive against the KIA in Dec 2012, and many of them were pulled off Yangon streets and given a minimum of training before being sent to the front line.

In 2005 I was refused entry into the USA after it was belatedly discovered that I had overstayed my visa on a few occasions in the past. It was a devastating blow as Alaska had been my inspiration and sanctuary for over 25 years. It was also very inconvenient at the time because I had started guiding kayaking trips for the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society, and there were clients waiting for me in Alaska. I had also just bought the kayak of my dreams and left it there along with all the other outdoor equipment that I had accumulated in Alaska. It came at a particularly difficult time in my life when I had to move out of the old family house where I had been based for many years, because it had been sold and was due for demolition. I desperately needed the solace of a kayaking trip so on my return to the UK I decided to do a kayaking trip on the west coast of Scotland. I had been there in 1990 on behalf of the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society, did some kayaking, and really loved it there. The first obstacle was that I didn’t have a kayak in the UK, but miraculously I found a Feathercraft folding kayak being auctioned on eBay. Feathercraft folding kayaks are made in Vancouver, Canada, and are probably the lightest and strongest folding kayaks in the world, and also the most expensive because of their high quality, and certainly very difficult to find second-hand. So I was overjoyed when I won the auction for the “Kahuna” model, which is a slightly smaller model than the one that I had left in Alaska. I took the scenic train journey to Oban and from there the ferry to Tobermory on the Isle of Mull. Through my connection with the Whale and Conservation Society I managed to link up with members of the local Hebridean Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society in Tobermory, who kindly assisted me with preparation for my kayaking trip, and in return I did some voluntary work for them, and presentations in some of the primary schools on the islands.

For my first few years in Alaska I had the luxury of our sailboat, Avalon, with my kayak on the deck and the company of my Alaskan partner, Anne. I could go exploring or kayak with the whales, but always had the shelter of the “mother ship” to return to. It had a little wood stove to dry my gear and cook meals on. But Anne and I separated after being together for six years, and as we also had a little old sailboat in England called Imogen, I kept that one and she kept Avalon. From then on it was back to basics, and I continued my solo exploration of Southeast Alaska and interaction with the wildlife by kayak alone, and camping out for months at a time. Actually it was the best way to progress because it was conducive to a more intimate relationship with the environment and interaction with the wildlife. It also inspired more resilience and resourcefulness through an atavistic absorption of the natural energy around me. Every year I was chomping at the bit to return to Southeast Alaska for another extended sojourn in the heart of the amazing Alaskan wilderness. I thrived on the detailed preparations for a trip; there was always so much to remember to prepare myself for being virtually self-sufficient for several months alone. Loading up all my gear and provisions in the limited space of my kayak was always challenging, and required a very methodical approach to fit everything in like pieces of a jigsaw. I knew what dried provisions to take that would take up the least amount of space in my kayak, and what fresh produce could be taken and preserved for long enough, usually by being hung up in the trees in mesh bags. I supplemented my provisions with a lot of wild food such as berries, fungi and various wild plants that I learnt to use. Once I left town my life became stripped down to the basics of daily survival: foraging for food, water and firewood; securing my campsites and ensuring that precautions against bears and other scavenging wildlife were always observed.

This was the incredible activity that held me transfixed for so many years, and kept me coming back for more. I paddled to the verge of physical exhaustion just so that I could experience this spectacular phenomenon again and again. When the humpback whales return to Southeast Alaska every summer from their breeding grounds in Hawaii, where there is insufficient food, they sustain their feeding activity around the clock to capitalise on the abundance of food in the nutrient-rich waters. They employ various techniques depending on the conditions and prey, and the necessity to optimise their efforts by working cooperatively. Sometimes they will skim the surface or lunge upwards through the prey if they are feeding individually, especially on the easier targets like krill. But for shoaling fish like herring that require a greater strategic effort, they will often work cooperatively in groups up to 20 whales using a bubble net to trap the prey. When a shoal of herring has been located the whales dive beneath them with one releasing a stream of bubbles whilst corralling the shoal in a spiral. This creates a curtain of bubbles, which panics and traps the fish. The whales then drive the fish to the surface and engulf them with gaping jaws. Another whale produces resonating vocalisations that further panics the fish into bunching up into a ball within the net. There are other animals that deploy bubbles to trap their prey, but the advanced techniques used by the humpback whales of Southeast Alaska are unique. Research has determined the socially complex nature of the cooperation involved. The precision and organisation of the strategy can clearly be seen on the surface, where the whales regularly surface in the same relative formation, but beneath the surface there is task specialisation with one specific individual blowing the bubble net and one creating the vocalisation to herd and panic the fish. Also the same individuals regroup every year but are not blood relatives.

Most of my Alaskan trips started and ended on one of the Alaskan state ferries, either when I was just arriving from England or setting off on a kayaking trip in Southeast Alaska, with my kayak, gear and supplies on the car deck. Alaska is over 650,000 square miles and much of that has no road access. The primary forms of transportation in areas without roads are by air or sea, so the Alaska Marine Highway is a big part of the 'highway system.' It is such a unique set of routes that is has been designated as a National Scenic Byway and an All American Road, the only marine route with this distinction. With its southernmost port in Bellingham, WA, the Alaska Marine Highway extends more than 3,500 miles to Dutch Harbor, with over 30 stops along the way. Taking a ferry is an excellent way to see a huge swath of Alaska's coastline while visiting unique communities along the way. Passengers can either travel conventionally in cabins or sleep out on deck in the fresh sea air on reclining chairs or even pitch tents to sleep in, which is what I often used to do. There can be few public means of transportation in the world that provide such an affordable cruise through such breathtaking scenery, with the possibility of viewing whales and other wildlife along the way. In the late 1980's I was fortunate enough to start providing photos for the AMH ferry schedules and other promotional purposes, which provided me with free travel passes for all of my trips. The ferries became a very familiar home away from home for me, especially at the end of a long kayaking trip and being alone in the wilderness for several weeks.

Southeast Alaska is one of the wettest places on earth receiving over 275 inches (6,980 mm) a year. The wet climate defines the distinct vegetation from the ancient temperate rain forest, to the wet meadows and muskegs. Muskeg is an Indian word meaning an area entirely devoid of ordinary mineral soil. The upper layers of the ground are composed mainly of living sphagnum moss and the lower layers are composed of a fibrous brown mass of partially decayed sphagnum called peat. They form in depressions, in flat areas, or on general slopes where drainage is poor. They may occur in the alpine, forest and shoreline zones. The water table is usually near the ground surface, but there is little standing water except for ponds that range in size from potholes to small lakes. The vegetation is variable with dense beds of sphagnum moss, sedges, rushes, low growing shrubs, and numerous small prostrate berry-bearing plants. In drier areas stunted trees draped with lichens and moss can be abundant. I have always been interested in botany, and if I wasn’t out in my kayak or beachcombing then I was always happy to immerse myself in photographing the lush pristine vegetation of Southeast Alaska, or forage for edible wild plants and berries. I loved the wide open, coastal meadows bristling with many species of rushes and sedges, and amidst the pervading greenery oases of brightly coloured flowers: the muskegs with their ornamental arrangement of jet-black ponds and stunted trees, and spongy mattresses of moss with a profusion of Lilliputian plants, flowers and berries, that always invited closer inspection down at their level. During the prolonged twilight of the northerly latitude the diversity of plant life takes on a more vivid presence, especially the animated twisted dwarf trees festooned with luminous moss that hangs in the dim light.

After doing my ‘A’ levels at grammar school I decided that I wanted to develop my artistic abilities so I did an art foundation course, and was subsequently accepted at the Cheltenham School of Fine Art to do a Dip. Ad. Course in Fine Art and Sculpture. But I had already caught the travel bug and my itchy feet prompted me to abandon that great opportunity, and I embarked on an epic overland trip to India and Nepal on my 20th birthday in 1970. Photography became my creative outlet during my travels, but I still retained a desire to use my other creative talents, which I did sporadically. It wasn’t until I started working in schools that my artistic urges were fully galvanised because of the children. I devised art workshops to do with them, and in particular making whale and dolphin mobiles. I discovered a penchant for using chalk pastels for sketching large pictures of whales and dolphins, which I did in front of the children and left with the schools for them to keep. I had also started making puppets in Alaska, combining natural and recycled materials with papier mache, and took that into the schools as well. I also discovered quite late in my life that I loved painting large marine murals, and was commissioned to paint some in schools. I particularly enjoy teaching art to children because it encourages me to use my artistic talents more than I would otherwise do. It has always been one of my objectives to eventually write and illustrate children’s books on the environment, and also combine illustrations with my photos in books about my travelling experiences, starting with a book about my twenty years kayaking with humpback whales in Southeast Alaska.

Once I started teaching in schools, and sharing my adventures and photos with children, I discovered that I had natural teaching skills that were fired up by my wild experiences in the natural world. It provided me with a great means of reconnecting with those amazing experiences and using the inspiration I had gained to inspire the children. It also provided me with a stage to utilise my artistic abilities that had been neglected for much of my life. The enthusiasm and great interest of the children really helped to galvanise my creativity again, and it has always been so rewarding for me to share my artwork with them, and to see their results that I have been able to elicit with my teaching abilities; many teachers have informed me that even children with serious learning difficulties have been able to complete an art project for the first time. One of my greatest rewards for being able to inspire and connect with school children so well has been all of the letters and drawings that they have done for me. I have so many that I have been unable to part with, and this is just a small sample that is representative of their comments and pictures. When I first started teaching in a large number of schools in the USA I became known as “the Whaleman” and sometimes the “the Whale-Dude”, and the Whaleman sobriquet continued on into the schools in England. It was always very rewarding to be recognised by children out of school and hear them say, “Hey, it’s the Whaleman”!

I always look forward to returning to the indigenous Batak village of Kalakwasan inside the recently declared Cleopatra's Needle Critical Habitat forest reserve, Palawan, and having sufficient time to wander around photographing their simple way of life. I first went there in 2010 and have been several times since so they are becoming quite used to seeing me with my camera now, although I still feel as if I'm intruding on their privacy to a degree. But hopefully they will all come to realise the importance of me documenting a precious sustainable way of life that is threatened around the world by rampant greed and consumerism. They are the most beautiful and photogenic people that I know of and I never tire of photographing them going about their normal daily routines and the children playing happily together with virtually no toys apart from ones they have made.