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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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  • I had already been marvelling from afar at the dramatic geological feature of An Sgurr on Eigg from the beginning of my Inner Hebrides journey. It’s sticks up so abruptly like an axehead that has sliced through the island. It was formed 58.72 ± 0.07 million years ago; the result of one of the last eruptions of a volcano, the core of which now forms the Isle of Rhum. Thick viscous pitchstone lava of rhyodacitic composition flowed out, filling a river valley. The lava cooled and formed column-like structures, similar to those at Giant's Causeway.<br />
The surrounding basalt was softer than the pitchstone, and hence the valley became inverted, with the pitchstone withstanding the erosion far better than the surrounding rock. An Sgùrr is thus an inselberg. The mountain appears most strikingly in the view of the eastern end, known as the Nose of Sgùrr.<br />
I couldn’t wait to hike up to the top to take in the breathtaking views that I anticipated. This is a view of a farm along the path, with An Sgurr rising abruptly in the distance like the dorsal fin of a gigantic whale. It was a wonderful hike and the views along the way and from the top certainly didn’t disappoint! Looking down the sheer precipitous wall overlooking the sea was particularly dizzying. It would have been the perfect geological feature for constructing the ultimate unassailable castle on top of had anyone been that ambitious.
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  • This is the pebbly beach and stack at the northern tip of the island near where I was camping. The steep escarpment that fringed the eastern half of the island can be seen in the background. I can imagine that the Inner Hebrides is a geologist’s paradise. I can only profess to having a keen layman’s interest in geology; physical geography was one of my favourite subjects at school, and I always find myself trying to remember and identify geomorphological features on my travels.
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  • Once I managed to drag myself away from the feeding basking sharks in Gunna Sound I headed SE to the southern end of Mull and then E to the small island of Lunga not too far off the mainland. The sea conditions were quite moderate and it was a very pleasant paddle highlighted by a most unexpected encounter. Shortly before arriving at Lunga I saw something on the surface with part of it sticking up above the surface and moving quickly. As I got closer I was able to identify the unmistakeable shape and unique means of propulsion of a sunfish. They can grow to a massive size but this was just a very small one. It was the first time that I’ve seen one, although they have been sighted quite frequently along the south coast of England, and even very close to the shore of one of my local beaches in Torbay. I had always associated them with tropical waters and never ever expected to see one that far north, but such is the changing nature of our climate and ocean currents that there will be a concomitant shift in the migratory patterns of many warm water creatures such as turtles. I managed to get close enough to get a good view of its unusual shape and the gyrating “sculling” action of its tail fin but then it disappeared, although it kept returning to the surface, so I could see how it gets its name of sunfish because they are surface baskers like the basking shark, although they are just doing it to feed.<br />
I had very good memories of visiting Lunga by boat during my first trip to the Inner Hebrides in 1990, especially seeing puffins up close for the first time. I was really looking forward to returning there and being able to camp on the island for a while. It is of volcanic origin and has been described as “a green jewel in a peacock sea” and once I was there again I could only echo that poetic description. It is one of the most beautiful places where I have ever camped and a place that I will always dream of returning to.
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  • Highland cattle near the track from Kinloch to Harris below Askival. The weather could be quickly changeable and bleak while I was on Rum, even though it was still late summer. The misty moorland conditions reminded me very much of being on my local moorland area of Dartmoor in Devon, but instead of shaggy highland cattle, Dartmoor has wild ponies and shaggy versions of other breeds of cattle, although there are a few highland cattle on Dartmoor too. I didn’t see that many highland cattle on Rum but a lot more red deer there. They have been the subject of research there for many years. It has been important in the development of socio-biology and behavioural ecology. In addition to its status as a nature reserve, Rum was designated a Biosphere Reserve from 1976 to 2002, a Site of Special Scientific Interest on 1987, and has 17 sites scheduled as nationally important ancient monuments. Rum is also noted for its bird life. Its population of 70,000 Manx shearwaters is one of the largest breeding colonies in the world. These migrating birds spend their winters in the South Atlantic off Brazil, and return to Rum every summer to breed in underground burrows high in the Cuillin Hills. White-tailed sea eagles were exterminated on the island by 1912 and later became extinct in Scotland. A programme of re-introduction began in 1975, and within ten years 82 young sea eagles from Norway had been released. There is now a successful breeding population in the wild. My most memorable wildlife encounter on Rum was being able to watch one of these magnificent birds soaring upwards through the steep precipitous valley on the seaward side of Askival and Ainshval.
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  • A closer view of Askival with Ainshval beyond. Although it’s nearly ten years since I did this hike I can still remember every step of the way. I can still vividly remember meeting the only other people on the hike at the top of Askival, and then my rapid descent down the other side before starting to ascend again towards Ainshval. I don’t know if it was the only way, but I traversed the very steep slope to the right of Ainshval in the distance whilst clinging onto the unstable scree to get to the top. It was quite unnerving at the time but well worth the effort to enjoy the marvellous trek along the ridge beyond.
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  • A patch of wild celery on the northwest side of Isle of Lunga looking northwards towards the offshore skerries.
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  • From Ariganour I paddled south along the east coast of Coll passing the big open Crossapol Bay with extensive sandy beaches, and stopped to camp near Calgary Point and the small island of Gunna in the strait that divides Coll from the adjacent Isle of Tiree. It was another really beautiful location, and kayaking around to the west coast allowed me to experience the ocean swells and the feeling of open exposure to the North Atlantic. The next morning shortly after heading out for the long crossing to the south end of Mull and then Lunga, I had the encounter that I had been hoping for – basking sharks !! In the distance I could see their tall tail fins sweeping from side to side, and as I got closer, their unmistakeably comical bulbous snout ploughing across the surface above their massively inflated jaws while feeding on plankton. I was so excited, and full of eager anticipation to get close enough to see them underwater. It was one of those magical moments akin to when I had my first whale encounters in a kayak. I couldn’t wait!!
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  • Another view at the southern end of the island. I used to love walking in this direction, down the tussocky slope, with that beautiful seascape before me, and the chain of offshore skerries drawing my eyes out to the distant horizon and beyond. Although I greatly regretted not being able to return to my beloved Southeast Alaska there was more than adequate compensation with views like that, and a reminder that I can find a lot of inspiration from the natural world a lot closer to home.
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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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  • Apart from ascending An Sgurr, the other essential thing that I had to do during my first time on the Isle of Eigg was to visit the infamous Massacre Cave. During the sixteenth century there was a lengthy feud between the Macleod and MacDonald clans. According to traditional accounts, in 1577 a party of MacLeods staying on the island became too amorous and caused trouble with the local girls. They were subsequently rounded up, bound and cast adrift in The Minch, but were rescued by some clansmen. A party of MacLeods subsequently landed on Eigg with revenge in mind. Their approach had been spotted by the islanders who had hidden in a secret cave called the Cave of Frances (Gaelic: Uamh Fhraing). The entrance to this cave was tiny and covered by moss, undergrowth and a small waterfall. After a thorough but fruitless search lasting for three to five days, the MacLeods set sail again but a MacDonald carelessly climbed onto a promontory to watch their departure and was spotted. The MacLeods returned and were able to follow his footprints back to the cave. They redirected the stream and lit a fire at the entrance so that the cave was filled with smoke thereby asphyxiating everyone inside. Three hundred and ninety five people died in the cave, the whole population of the island bar one old lady who had not sought refuge there. Human remains in the cave were reported to have been found, but by 1854 they had been removed and buried elsewhere.<br />
Massacre Cave sits in the back of a fault-like crevice under a steep rock face near where this photo was taken just around the point south of Galmisdale. It was one of the most eerie places that I have ever visited, and as I crawled along the very low claustrophobic passage into the cave my imagination was vividly reconstructing the horrific event from many centuries ago. I had to crawl for about 7 metres before it opened out into a larger chamber where it was impossible not to feel their presence, and to hear their choking and screams
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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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  • A sweeping panoramic view at the southern end of the island looking towards a chain of small skerries, that I paddled out to explore. I was camped on the other side of the rocks in the foreground on a grassy ledge overlooking a rocky cove. The cliffs on either side of the last fragment of the island were quite high and very precipitous. This is where I had my next dramatic viewing of basking sharks, because they were swimming very close to the base of the cliff so I was able to look directly down on them, and get a very good impression of their massive size. Once again it was one of those wildlife encounters that is so vividly etched in my memory forever. From my lofty viewpoint I could watch them swimming towards the island and then follow the base of the cliffs as they were feeding.
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  • The main range of hills on Rum are called the Cuillin in the south of the island. They are rocky peaks of basalt and gabbro that are part of a core of a deeply eroded volcano that was active in the Paleogene era 66 – 23 million years ago. This view is looking towards Askival, 812 metres, and Ainshval, 778 metres, from Hallival. Hallival and Askival are formed from layered igneous rocks that accumulated at the base of a magma chamber. The chamber eventually collapsed, forming a caldera (crater). There are near vertical intrusions of basalt on the northwest coast, created by basaltic magma forcing its way into fissures in the pre-exiting rock.<br />
I hiked from Kinloch and up along the Cuillin from Hallival to Ainshval, which included some very steep and challenging scrambling on all fours, and then along a long undulating ridge with a fantastic view out across the sea, before descending down towards Glen Harris to the far right of this photo. It was unquestionably one of my favourite hikes that I have ever done anywhere in the world, with absolutely stupendous views in all directions across the island and out across the sea. I was travelling light, and I knew that I only had a limited amount of time to complete the circuit back to Kinloch, so it became an exhilarating sprint across the challenging terrain that kept my adrenaline pumping all the way. It takes pride of place in my top ten hikes in the world that I would like to redo one day.
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  • From Eigg it was a relatively short paddle to the largest island in the Small Isles, the Isle of Rum. I left quite late as usual, and had to negotiate strong currents and big swells between the islands in the Sound of Rum in diminishing light. I paddled northwest until I reached Loch Scresort on the eastern side of Rum and made my camp along the coast before the main community of Kinloch at the head of the Loch. Rum has an area of 40.4 sq miles and a highest point, Askival, of 812 metres (2,664 ft). This photo was taken from Askival in the highlands in the southern half of the island, looking northwards towards Kinloch to the east, and the sheltered anchorage of Kilmory Bay at the northern end of the island, where there is a good beach and the remains of a village. For much of the 20th century the island became Rhum, a spelling invented by the former owner who did not relish the idea of having the title “Laird of Rum”. Rum has been inhabited since the 8th millennium BC providing some of the earliest known evidence of human occupation in Scotland. The population grew to over 400 by the late 18th century but was cleared of its indigenous population between 1826 and 1828. The island then became a sporting estate and the exotic Kinloch Castle was constructed by the Bulloughs in 1900. Rum was purchased by the Nature Conservancy Council in 1957, and is now an <br />
important study site for ecology research, especially of red deer at Kilmory, and is the site of a successful reintroduction programme for the white-tailed sea eagle. Its economy is entirely dependent on Scottish Natural Heritage, a public body that now manages the island. The 30 or so residents of Rum are all employees of Scottish National Heritage and their families, along with a few researchers and a school teacher, all who live in Kinloch, which has no church or pub, but does have a village hall, small primary school, and a shop and post office, which is manned by volunteers and only opens on an irregular basis
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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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  • 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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  • I was camped above a rocky cove at the southeast end of the island. Every day I walked around the small island as if I was the laird of my own little dominion. There was a small fairly well trodden trail that I had to be very vigilant on in places because of its proximity to precipitous drops. This photo was taken at the NW end of the island with a view of some of the offshore skerries. I became very familiar with every different aspect of the island, the birds and the plants. In the middle there was an open grass meadow leading up to a terraced outcrop of rock, which may be a volcanic plug as the islands are volcanic in origin. If I wasn’t sitting near a cliff watching the aerial display of the seabirds I was the king of my own little domain sitting on top of my throne surveying the distant ocean and islands.
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  • This beautiful view is along the cliffs at the southwest end of the island with the offshore skerries and Atlantic Ocean in the distance. I also watched basking sharks from that side of the island and saw some dolphins just offshore. It was one of my favourite palces to watch the fulmars demonstrating their aerial skills. This was the windward side of the island facing the turbulence and swells of the open ocean, and a magnificent location to look down at the waves crashing forcefully against the rocks below. There was the occasional boat that visited the island during the time that I stayed there but most of the time I had it to myself, and it gave me a wonderful feeling of coastal maritime solitude that I have rarely, if ever, experienced in the UK. I could have stayed there for at least another month but there were still other islands to visit and explore on this trip.
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  • This is a view along a jagged ridge that juts out into Glen Harris from the northern side of Ainshval. After reaching the top of Ainshval I continued along a less daunting ridge towards the southernmost point of the island to Sgurr nan Gillean before following the gradually descending ridge to the west down towards the shoreline of Glen Harris. From there I followed a moorland track that goes up to the lovely forested Kinloch Glen and then back to Kinloch. I had already visited Harris on the shoreline of Glen Harris, partly because I wanted to see where the Bulloughs are interred. Originally John Bullough was interred in a rock-cut mausoleum under an octagonal stone tower, but this was later demolished, and his sarcophagus moved into an elaborate but incongruous mausoleum modelled as a Greek temple overlooking the sea at Harris. <br />
The extravagance of his son, Sir George, and Lady Bullough, could not be sustained indefinitely, and their finances gradually declined in the 1920s, and their interest in, and visits to Rum decreased, but when he died in France in 1939 he too was interred in the family mausoleum on Rum. His widow continued to visit Rum as late as 1954, and died in London in 1967, aged 98, and was buried next to her husband. Right up until her last visits to the island she would drive along the bumpy track to get down to the isolated mausoleum to visit her deceased husband and father-in-law. I couldn’t imagine a more bleak and isolated place to be interred, which is so exposed to the wildest elements of the Scottish coastline. It’s a hauntingly beautiful but lonely location for the mortal remains of three people interred beneath their marble effigies to command such a dramatic view out across the wild Scottish sea.
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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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  • I was awestruck when I was close enough to watch one cruise past me just beneath the surface. My first impression was that I was looking at a very prehistoric creature that could have been swimming alongside aquatic dinosaurs. It was astonishing to watch how the appearance of their head changed so quickly and dramatically as soon as they opened their jaws to commence feeding on the plankton soup; I can best describe it as a large umbrella popping open. I wasn’t in a position to climb out of my kayak to swim with them so I had to attempt to photograph them from the surface. I had brought a Canon G5 compact camera with a wide-angle extension lens, inside an Ikelite housing to take underwater photos. I had to try to position myself directly in front of them but not obstructing their passage, but that was difficult to do because when they are feeding they don’t just swim in a straight line but more in circles. I had to be very patient to get some reasonably good shots, and of course I was only holding the camera and housing over the side so I had to anticipate and estimate when they were in the frame. It took quite a lot of trial and error before I was successful. The visibility was very low because the water was so thick with plankton, which attracted 3 or 3 sharks as far as I can remember. I was so transfixed by these amazing but strange looking creatures that I had to drag myself away from them because I still had a long paddle ahead of me to get to Mull and Lunga, but I was quite sure that it wasn’t my last encounter with basking sharks on the trip, and fortunately I was right about that. It has recently been confirmed by data collected by the Wildlife Trusts that the place where I had my first encounter with basking sharks, Gunna Sound, between Coll and Tiree is a hotspot for them with numbers up to 4 times higher than recorded elsewhere in the UK.
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  • In 1888 the island was acquired by Sir George’s father, John Bullough, a cotton machinery manufacturer and self-made millionaire from Lancashire, England. Rum was used by the family as a hunting estate and when John Bullough died in 1891 he was interred on the west of the island, at Harris Bay, in a rock cut mausoleum. <br />
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Legend has it, that a guest of the Bulloughs remarked that the rock cut mausoleum (having mosaic tiling to the interior) was “redolent of a public lavatory in Waterloo Station”.  Sir George, who had been knighted in 1901 and who had set about a programme of improvements on the island which included the building of Kinloch Castle, commissioned a new Grecian inspired family mausoleum (also at Harris Bay).  Upon its completion the original rock cut mausoleum was demolished and the remains of George’s late father were reinterred within the new monument.<br />
The body of John Bullough was joined by his son, Sir George Bullough who died in France in 1939 and that of his wife, Lady Monica who died in 1967 at the age of 98.  Though Sir George and Lady Monica’s daughter, Hermione, is not interred therein her name was inscribed on the side of her mother’s tomb during recent conservation works (completed 2006).<br />
Though the island and castle are now owned by Scottish Natural Heritage the mausoleum remains in hands of the Bullough Trustees.
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  • Populated until the 19th century the island still bears the remains of black houses. To the northeast of the island lie the remains of the ruined village, which was abandoned in 1857.
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  • I was now camping near Kinloch Castle built by Sir George Bullough in 1900. His father, John Bullough, was a millionaire from Lancashire, who like many entrepreneurs at the time, especially in the north of England, made his fortune from the Industrial Revolution; In his case as a manufacturer of cotton machinery. After buying the island in 1888 he continued to use it as a sporting estate until his death in 1891, but when his son took over the island he used the fortune he inherited from his father to take it to the next level of upper class extravagance. To build the castle he had to import all of the raw materials to the island. The sandstone used for its construction was quarried in Dumfries and Galloway. At the time there were about 100 people employed on the estate who were paid extra to wear kilts to work on the extensive grounds that included a nine-hole golf-course, tennis and squash courts, heated turtle and alligator ponds, and an aviary including birds of paradise and humming birds. Soil for the grounds was imported from Ayrshire, and figs, peaches, grapes and nectarines were grown in greenhouses. The interior boasted an amazing “orchestrian” device that could simulate the sounds of brass, drum and woodwind, an air- conditioned billiards room, and also a Jacuzzi.<br />
I was fascinated by the place and took advantage of a guided tour. I also ate in the small café at the back of the castle as well as taking a shower in one of the original bathrooms fitted with an innovative plumbing system. Sir George Bullough also used his wealth to travel around the world, and throughout the castle there are interesting artefacts that he collected on his travels, including his large collection of photographs, as he was also a keen photographer. The ballroom, that had a concealed balcony for an orchestra, was particularly atmospheric, and I could visualise the lavish parties that were held there for all of his high society guests from the upper class elite of the UK.
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  • The west coast of Scotland is one of the best places in the world, along with my home region of the SW of England, for seeing basking sharks, the second largest fish in the world. They can grow up to 10m (33ft) long. They are an open water shark, but move closer to shore in summer to feed on the plankton bloom. They are usually solitary, but occasionally gather in aggregations of 100 or more where there are large concentrations of plankton, usually where there are tidal fronts where different water masses meet. They are filter feeders, and in 1 hour they can filter 1.5 million litres (330,000 gallons) of water through their gills. They are highly migratory, but long-distance tracking of individuals only began recently, and it is still unknown whether they migrate between lower and higher latitudes, or between deep and shallow water. Their livers contain a large proportion of oil typical of deepwater sharks, which may indicate that they spend some time in deep water. Very little is known about their breeding. They probably mature late and reproduce slowly, making them particularly vulnerable to overfishing, especially as fisheries catch more females than males. They were once fished commercially on a small scale around Scotland for their huge livers, which contain oils formerly used in various industries, with a peak recorded catch of 250 sharks in 1947. But in response to dwindling numbers the basking shark has been fully protected since 1998. <br />
Because they swim at the surface, these magnificent sharks are easily harmed, either deliberately or accidentally. Currently, potential threats include bycatch in fishing nets, and disturbance or impact by jet-skis, speedboats and other vessels. Globally its conservation status is currently listed as vulnerable.
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  • Scottish highland cattle. I come from an agricultural county in the UK, Devon, that even has its own particular breed of cows, South Devons, with a reddish brown colour that almost matches the colour of the soil, not dissimilar to the colour of this distinctive Scottish breed, but that is where the similarity ends because they have been bred for climates at opposite ends of the UK weather spectrum. Whereas Devon enjoys the balmiest weather in the country, the Scottish Highlands and Western Isles, where highland cattle were developed, have the shortest summers and most extreme weather conditions in the UK. Highland cattle are known as a hardy breed due to the rugged nature of their native Scottish Highlands, with high rainfall and very strong winds. Breeding stock has been exported to the rest of the world, especially Australia and North America, since the early 20th Century. They have been successfully established in many temperate, and even in countries where winters are substantially colder than Scotland’s such as in central Europe and Canada. Their long hair gives protection during the cold winters, and their ability to find and graze on plants in steep mountain areas, or on plants, which many other cattle avoid helps them to survive. They have become established as one of the most distinctive trademarks of the wildest parts of Scotland, and one of Scotland’s most successful exports.
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  • A view along the western side of the island looking northwards towards a sea stack called Harp Rock. It is separated from the island by a narrow channel, and there are many seabirds nesting on the stack and the precipitous cliff facing it. It was a spectacular, if not unnerving place to view the activity of all the different species of seabirds nesting there.
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  • This is a view towards the Isle of Rum, from the northern side of An Sgurr across the central moorland plateau, with a series of lochs along the way. The Bay of Laig and the northernmost point of the island where I was camping can be seen to the right of Rum. This was a fantastic hike with breathtaking views all the way. For much of my younger days I had Dartmoor to enjoy as my regular local camping and hiking destination so I was well used to hiking across moorland terrain with ocean views to the north and south of Devon, but not as close as this on the islands of the Inner Hebrides. It was truly magical to be hiking across this ancient rugged terrain, with the sea and other islands always enhancing the view, and adding greatly to the sense of isolation and perspective. I seem to remember that my feet were quite sore by the time that I got back to my camp at the northern tip of the island in the fading light. It was one of my classic “race against the fading light” hikes, especially with a precarious coastal footpath to negotiate at the end.
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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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  • I had plenty of good weather to enjoy this beautiful, isolated location. I didn’t see anybody while I was there and very few boats passed by. Most of the marine vegetation was the same as what I was used to in my home of South Devon, with species such as thrift and white campion. But the summer peaks at an earlier date than South Devon so a lot of the plants had already finished blooming. After about a week I was ready to continue my journey towards my next island destination, Lunga in the Treshnish Isles to the south of the Isle of Mull. I first had to paddle along the east coast of Coll to reach the main settlement on the island, Arinagour, located at the head of Loch Eathara. On the way I stopped for a break and came across a very small dilapidated house on the beach with an old fisherman living in it. He was very welcoming and gave me an insight into an isolated and traditional subsistence lifestyle that seems so far removed from the majority of the UK now. Unfortunately before I could reach Arinagour I encountered my first really bad weather on the trip and I really had to fight to get there safely. It was a good test for the stability of my new kayak, as well as my nerves, because the sea conditions were so horrendously chaotic with waves coming at me from all directions. I can clearly remember being so relieved after entering the stormy loch to see the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry approaching, because up until that point I didn’t see any other boats if a rescue had been necessary. I camped near the shore there and the next day I enjoyed exploring the quaint settlement of houses and shops scattered around the loch before heading off towards Lunga. What a different life they have to most places on the UK mainland. I was used to living in, and visiting isolated island communities in Southeast Alaska, but the communities that I encountered on this trip seemed more removed from the influences of modern amenities – street lights for example.
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  • It was a beautiful place to camp and I spent several days clambering over the offshore rocks and inshore san dunes. There were a lot of shy grey seals that hauled out on the rocks that I tried to get close enough to photograph without disturbing them. Not surprisingly the sea was very cold for swimming but I had brought a wetsuit with me for snorkelling. There was plenty of driftwood to collect on the beaches so I had some spectacular fires on the beach at night to cook my dinner under the glittering canopy of stars.
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  • From Lunga I had to return to Mull and get more provisions in Tobermory before continuing on to the Small Isles – Muck, Eigg, Rum and Canna via Ardnemurchan, the westernmost point on mainland UK. This is a view back towards the mainland and Mull from Fladda, one of the other islands in the Treshnish Isles on the way back to Mull. The other islands and skerries at the south end of the archipelago are Cairn Na Burgh Mor and Cairn na Burgh Beag. I paddled above a lot of seaweed to the south of Lunga and the current was very strong. It was evidently another good area for basking sharks to feed because I encountered two more, but wasn’t able to remain with them for very long. The swells were getting bigger and by the time I reached Treshnish Point on Mull and entered the bay on the other side I knew that it was going to be really hard work, and that I had to really stay focussed to stay in control because the combination of the strong south-westerly wind, strong currents and confused waves was swinging me every which way. The conditions were very similar and just as challenging as when I had to fight to get to Arinagour on Coll. I was very relieved to reach the other side and round Callach Point to find calmer sea conditions. From there it was a much easier paddle to gat back to my campsite in Ardmore Bay at the northern point of Mull.
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