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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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  • Ardnamurchan is undoubtedly one of the dramatic and stunning parts of the Scottish coast. It is very wild and unspoilt, and its remoteness is accentuated by the main access route being just a single-track road for much of the length of the 50-square-mile (130 km2) peninsula. This is a view across the rocks of Eilean Chaluim Cille Bay towards the 36 metre (118 ft) tall lighthouse on the point. The peninsula has great geological and historical interest. The whole northwestern corner of Ardnamurchan contains a complex of underground volcanic structures that originate from a 55 million-year-old volcanic complex. Small areas of lava that that were ejected onto the surface are found in some parts of the peninsula. At least seven other similar complexes of the same tectonic episode are dotted up the west coast of Britain. The sub-concentric rings of the volcanic complex can easily be seen in satellite photographs and topographic maps, though they are less obvious on the ground.<br />
In 2011, a Viking ship burial, probably from the 10th century, was unearthed at Port an Eilean Mhoir on Ardnamurchan. Grave goods buried alongside a Viking warrior found in the boat suggest he was a high-ranking warrior. He was found buried with an axe, a sword with a decorated hilt, a spaer, a shield boss and a bronze ring pin. Other finds in the 5 metre long (16ft) grave included a knife, what could be the bronze tip of a drinking horn, a whetstone from Norway, a ring pin from Ireland and Viking Age pottery. Another Viking ship burial was also discovered in Cul na Croise on the peninsula
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • I was discovering how relentless the prevailing south-westerly winds are from the Atlantic Ocean and how completely exposed the west coast of Scotland is. Although I still experienced plenty of beautiful sunny days during my trip the sea very rarely, if at all, calmed down. The wind blew strongly for the next few days and I had little chance to make the relatively short crossing to the Isle of Muck, so I had plenty of time to visit the lighthouse and explore the peninsula on foot. It was another beautiful place to camp but every day I could feel the might of the Atlantic Ocean on my doorstep, and as much as I enjoyed camping at that dramatic location I was getting increasingly frustrated that I couldn’t continue my journey onwards to Muck. <br />
I’ve always used folding kayaks for travelling, and they are generally wider than rigid kayaks, making them slower but more stable. My kayaks have always had fairly big open cockpits, because I prefer the comfort for extended periods of paddling, and I also have extra equipment to accommodate as a fully equipped photographer, and often need it close at hand. I’ve never particularly liked using spray-decks or spray-skirts, so consequently, in addition to the extra beam, doing an Eskimo roll has never been an option, if I had ever been unfortunate enough to capsize. I’ve never really had to develop so many technical skills as anyone who just uses rigid kayaks, apart from being able to do high and low braces, which I had to do a lot on this trip. Although the wider hull of folding kayaks, relative to their length, affects the tracking, and usually necessitates the use of a rudder, there are always conditions when I also have to use technical skills to assist with steering.
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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • Sculpted shoreline rocks in the fog near Point Hayes, Chichagof Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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This is not far from my regular campsite at Point Hayes. There was always so much to explore along that stretch of rocky coast, and I spent a lot of time beach combing and photographing the intertidal life.
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  • 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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  • For the majority of over 30 years of sea kayaking I have paddled solo, because I prefer to do so, but that has put me at much greater risk, in addition to the safety limitations of folding kayaks as opposed to a technically advanced paddler in a rigid kayak. I suppose that I must have thrived on the additional adrenaline rush of being completely alone and totally dependent on myself for personal survival, although I have been through some horrendous and frightening survival situations that I could have done without!! Anyway, I always have to factor in the original risks when deciding whether or not to set off on a journey, especially if it’s a crossing over open and exposed water, as I was facing here at Ardnamurchan.
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • After stocking up with fresh provisions in Tobermory and spending a few more days in Ardmore Bay I set off for the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. I passed a lot of grey seals hauled out on the rocks on the way. Unfortunately I left later than planned and by the time I reached the lighthouse at Ardnamurchan Point, the most westerly point on the British mainland it was already dark, but at least I had the light of the lighthouse to guide me. Once again the sea conditions were very agitated, and it was that much more challenging because I was paddling in the dark. It was both exciting and unnerving as I paddled around the sheer rock face at the point with the blinking lighthouse lighting up the heaving swells and waves around me. I have always had a bad habit of setting off too late in the day and have frequently paid the price with some challenging survival experiences. But on this occasion it was more exhilarating than worrying although once again I was relieved to reach a relatively sheltered beach on the other side of the point.
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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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  • 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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  • Every day I walked across the rocks around the peninsula watching the angry confrontation between rocks and stormy sea. I had experienced similar frustrating situations before in Alaska, when I was trapped onshore by bad sea conditions, often when I was running out of food. This was yet another test of my patience and common sense. I could clearly see the Isles of Lunga and Eigg on the seemingly not too distant horizon. The sky was mostly clear, benign and warm in temperament in contrast to the cold fury in the sea below. I kept on assessing the wind and sea conditions, getting ever hopeful whenever there seemed to be a hint of respite, but most of the time I was just trying to persuade myself that the windy weather was relenting. I was in a relatively sheltered bay, and I say relatively because the sea was still very agitated, and I only had the distant whitecaps to give me any idea of what the sea conditions might be like farther out. Anyway, I finally threw caution to the wind, so to speak, and when there seemed to be a slight respite I decided to go for it, but my heart was very much in my mouth.
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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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  • Early morning fog clearing at Point Gardiner, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
Point Gardiner at the southern end of Admiralty Island was one of my favourite places to camp because of the commanding view across Stephen’s Passage and down Chatham Strait to the snow-capped mountains of Baranof Island. There are strong currents there with extensive kelp beds, and not far offshore a small island called Yasha Island, that was regularly used by Steller sea lions as a seasonal haul out, and my favourite place to observe them. Landing or launching my kayak anywhere around Point Gardiner was never easy because there are very wide wave-cut platforms and the coastline is generally very rocky.
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  • Wave-cut platform at Cape Fanshawe, on the mainland, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
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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  • 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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  • 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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  • 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 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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  • 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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  • I met fishermen who came down to the beach with their families to cast their simple fishing lines out into the surf and kept them refreshed with cups of tea and roasted peanuts. I had become a local attraction; a regular watering hole and social venue for the local people that promenaded the beach. It was very exposed and windy there, and much colder than I had anticipated; It made me wish that I had taken a sleeping bag on the trip.
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  • I met fishermen who came down to the beach with their families to cast their simple fishing lines out into the surf and kept them refreshed with cups of tea and roasted peanuts. I had become a local attraction; a regular watering hole and social venue for the local people that promenaded the beach. It was very exposed and windy there, and much colder than I had anticipated; It made me wish that I had taken a sleeping bag on the trip.
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  • After leaving Antanambe I faced a 15 mile paddle across a stretch of unprotected ocean, with the biggest ocean swells that I had encountered. The waves generated by the steadily increasing wind were really daunting, especially as sometimes they seemed to be coming from two different directions. My kayak is very stable, but the deck was leaking quite a lot, so I had to keep stopping to pump the water out, and at the same time stop the kayak from being swung around broadside to the oncoming waves, which would have risked getting swamped and capsizing. Unfortunately the prevailing wind was from the SE, and because of my required course to get to the islands the waves were approaching too close to my beam.<br />
To counter this I had to keep tacking and trying to head to the east of the outer island to compensate for any drift. I also had to avoid running directly with the waves because they were so big that they would have washed over my stern or slewed me broadside to the wave, and an inevitable capsize! I had to maintain my concentration to keep the waves on the quarter. As I got closer to the islands I could see the massive breakers smashing onto the rocks; it was one of the most unnerving situations that I have ever been in. I was level with the closest island in the group and rather than trying to run with the waves I decided to go in reverse. The safest angle for any boat to handle big seas is to head into the swells and ride up over them; you offer the least resistance and can maintain the best possible control of your craft. I was allowing the oncoming waves to drive me backwards to where I wanted to go. My heart raced every time a monster wave bore down on me and I rode up and over it. It took a long time but I had no choice. When I was close enough, I could see a break in the coral reef protecting the islands, and I turned my stern into the waves, and surfed towards safety whilst glancing over my shoulder to brace my kayak with my paddle for each surging wave.
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  • After leaving Antanambe I faced a 15 mile paddle across a stretch of unprotected ocean, with the biggest ocean swells that I had encountered. The waves generated by the steadily increasing wind were really daunting, especially as sometimes they seemed to be coming from two different directions. My kayak is very stable, but the deck was leaking quite a lot, so I had to keep stopping to pump the water out, and at the same time stop the kayak from being swung around broadside to the oncoming waves, which would have risked getting swamped and capsizing. Unfortunately the prevailing wind was from the SE, and because of my required course to get to the islands the waves were approaching too close to my beam.<br />
To counter this I had to keep tacking and trying to head to the east of the outer island to compensate for any drift. I also had to avoid running directly with the waves because they were so big that they would have washed over my stern or slewed me broadside to the wave, and an inevitable capsize! I had to maintain my concentration to keep the waves on the quarter. As I got closer to the islands I could see the massive breakers smashing onto the rocks; it was one of the most unnerving situations that I have ever been in. I was level with the closest island in the group and rather than trying to run with the waves I decided to go in reverse. The safest angle for any boat to handle big seas is to head into the swells and ride up over them; you offer the least resistance and can maintain the best possible control of your craft. I was allowing the oncoming waves to drive me backwards to where I wanted to go. My heart raced every time a monster wave bore down on me and I rode up and over it. It took a long time but I had no choice. When I was close enough, I could see a break in the coral reef protecting the islands, and I turned my stern into the waves, and surfed towards safety whilst glancing over my shoulder to brace my kayak with my paddle for each surging wave.
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  • I tried to re-launch my kayak with the help of my local friends but every time I jumped into the kayak and tried to paddle out through the surf my kayak was swung around and I capsized, with my head getting rubbed into the sand. We eventually gave up and I made plans to be collected by a taxi and driven north to somewhere with more protection. My fully loaded, heavy kayak just wasn’t suitable for getting out through heavy surf and that was going to be a major limiting factor for the rest of my journey.
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  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
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  • I gave up on trying to find my paddle, and tried to find a quiet stretch of beach to make camp; I wasn’t really in the mood for attracting a big audience that evening. But as I was racing through the surf towards the beach I saw some people pouring out of the trees and racing towards me, and they eagerly helped to drag my kayak away from the surf. Looking along the beach I could see a line of huts set back from the beach, and there were more people swarming towards me! Greetings ensued and then I started collecting firewood. I assembled a big pile of wood to be fed to the fire gradually whilst cooking my dinner and when I turned around I was horrified to see that they had set the whole pile ablaze; it was party time and the occasion called for a blazing bonfire to celebrate my arrival. It was time to chill out, so I relinquished any prospect of dinner and a quiet evening, and joined the party. I made tea and tried to find as many drinking containers as possible. Darkness settled and the crackling fire illuminated the circus of animated laughing faces around me. My phrasebook once again became the centre of attention and everyone wanted to have a go at trying to speak some English. The trials and tribulations of the day were soon forgotten amidst the laughter.<br />
I camped near the village for a couple of days, doing more repairs and trying to heal my sores. I continued to be the centre of attention of the village, and many people stopped by to observe the strange piece of flotsam that had washed up on their beach. The apparent village leader milked me as frequently as possible for new English phrases. His big opportunity came when it was time for me to leave, and he put his newly learnt expressions into practice by giving a running commentary on my departure - “Duncan Murrell is leaving today and the sun is shining, it is not cloudy, he had a good time here” – all perfectly enunciated like David Attenborough describing the actions of a wild animal.
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  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
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  • What an auspicious start to my trip! I had already made one false start leaving too late in the day and having to head back to the relative shelter of Tamatave. The next day I paddled 20 miles along the completely featureless coastline, and all I saw was a continuous, steep beach, with the big swells of the Indian Ocean crashing down onto it. I couldn’t see any ideal places for making a safe landing so I had to just go for it, come what may. I monitored the sequence of waves and made a dash for it at what seemed the safest point. I managed to get through the surf but as soon as I hit the beach and jumped out of the kayak the next wave broke into the cockpit and the powerful undertow started to drag my heavy flooded kayak back out to sea. The alarm bells were already clanging away inside my head, along with the thought, “Here’s another fine mess I’ve got myself into!”<br />
I instinctively started grabbing bags out of the kayak and hurling them up onto the beach while either my feet or knees were desperately anchoring into the abrasive shingle, but I was still being dragged around mercilessly by my unruly kayak. I looked down along the endless beach and saw two diminutive figures so I started hollering for help. As they got nearer my heart sank because I could see that it was a young girl with a child. They could only grab my things that were floating away in the relentless surf but then miraculously a strong young man appeared on the scene, and jumped into the sea to help me wrestle with my half-submerged kayak. The kayak was a dead weight in the water so I decided to start dismantling the cockpit coaming so that some of the water could be drained from the cockpit. It worked, and after much heaving we managed to drag it up the beach away from the surf; we both collapsed on the shore, utterly exhausted and chilled by the cold water. I was eternally grateful for the providential arrival of that young man on that deserted stretch of coastline.
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  • My next destination was to attempt to get out to Nosy Atafana, a small group of three islands surrounded by a coral reef just to the north of Antanambe, that constitutes one of only four protected marine parks in Madagascar. I was able to buy some fresh supplies at Antanambe for the trip. It was the first time that I had actually seen any of the fish species that were on sale in the market. Most of the marine habitats that I had observed along the way so far were very sparsely populated with fish.
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  • Inside the protective barrier of the islands and coral reefs there was a beautiful tranquil lagoon. Beyond the tranquillity the Indian Ocean was still hurling waves and creating explosions of spray. I wanted to investigate the biggest breaks on a huge outcrop of bare rock on the outer side of the islands. I clambered up on to the rock and watched the massive swells that had travelled thousands of miles across some of the most tempestuous seas on the planet colliding with a boulder the size of a house. It was an awesome spectacle of the power of the ocean. I took some dramatic photographs but wanted to capture the perfectly timed moment of maximum impact. I dashed out onto the rock to a position that I thought was out of reach of the waves and quickly retreated to avoid the spray. They seemed to be consistently hitting a maximum height but all of a sudden a monster wave crept in unnoticed from a slightly different angle and hit me from the side. I spun around to face it and was engulfed in a surging mass of energised water; it felt like being hit by a car! I was swept off my feet and desperately tried to arrest my slide towards the foaming cauldron below, and to protect my camera. I just managed to save myself from what could have been a desperate plight if I had been swept into the sea. I felt pain, and the first thing that I noticed was that my arm was badly scraped; then I could see that I was standing in a pool of blood. I lifted my foot up and winced at the sight of a huge gash; it was very painful and I couldn’t stand on it. The infected sores on my shins and feet were still causing me some discomfort, especially at night. I wasn’t looking forward to going to bed that night because I wasn’t expecting to be able to find any comfortable positions. When I hobbled back to camp I cleaned and dried my camera and lens, but that camera body and my essential wide-angle zoom lens were now out of commission.
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  • It was lovely paddling around the protected shallow lagoon between the three small islets of Nosy Atafana Marine Park but the currents were very strong. I observed a lot of fish in the sea in and around the islets.
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  • I gave up on trying to find my paddle, and tried to find a quiet stretch of beach to make camp; I wasn’t really in the mood for attracting a big audience that evening. But as I was racing through the surf towards the beach I saw some people pouring out of the trees and racing towards me, and they eagerly helped to drag my kayak away from the surf. Looking along the beach I could see a line of huts set back from the beach, and there were more people swarming towards me! Greetings ensued and then I started collecting firewood. I assembled a big pile of wood to be fed to the fire gradually whilst cooking my dinner and when I turned around I was horrified to see that they had set the whole pile ablaze; it was party time and the occasion called for a blazing bonfire to celebrate my arrival. It was time to chill out, so I relinquished any prospect of dinner and a quiet evening, and joined the party. I made tea and tried to find as many drinking containers as possible. Darkness settled and the crackling fire illuminated the circus of animated laughing faces around me. My phrasebook once again became the centre of attention and everyone wanted to have a go at trying to speak some English. The trials and tribulations of the day were soon forgotten amidst the laughter.<br />
I camped near the village for a couple of days, doing more repairs and trying to heal my sores. I continued to be the centre of attention of the village, and many people stopped by to observe the strange piece of flotsam that had washed up on their beach. The apparent village leader milked me as frequently as possible for new English phrases. His big opportunity came when it was time for me to leave, and he put his newly learnt expressions into practice by giving a running commentary on my departure - “Duncan Murrell is leaving today and the sun is shining, it is not cloudy, he had a good time here” – all perfectly enunciated like David Attenborough describing the actions of a wild animal.
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  • This was the first little town that I had arrived at for some distance. Antanambe is a gateway town to Mananara Nord National Park. The people there were very inquisitive and friendly, particularly in this little shop where I enjoyed a refreshing cup of tea from a thermos with some snacks. I remember startling a small boy on the beach when I first arrived. He was playing with a football in the shallows and when he saw me he was so startled that he ran away and left his ball behind: it was if he had seen a ghost or an alien.
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  • I stayed in this nice little cabana on a dock, where I could moor my kayak, on the outskirts of Foulpointe. It was good to have a modicum of comfort for a night or two. I made friends with the poor family living in a very basic hut nearby, which was very dark inside. They were very hospitable to me, and seemed to be genuinely honoured that a foreigner was so interested in them. They made me fully appreciate how poor most Malagasy people are, but still maintain their dignity and good spirits.
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  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
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  • When I was camping on one of the Los Candeleros islets, I was sharing it with three ravens. They were rolling and tumbling acrobatically in the updraughts that were whipping up the precipitous face of the island. I have developed a special affinity with that most ubiquitous, intelligent and successful of all birds over many years in Alaska, where their amazing repertoire of calls is an integral feature of the ancient forests. I have even learnt how to mimic some of their calls and capture their attention. After a few days cutting the ice with my fellow residents one of them started flying out to my kayak to seemingly greet me whenever I returned to the island; it would circle overhead whilst calling out and then escort me back to shore.<br />
After a couple of weeks of familiarisation my glossy black friend vanished. A few days later I landed on a nearby beach at Ensenada Blanca to visit an American living in the local fishing village. As I stepped ashore I noticed a raven flying demonstrably towards me. I replied to its raven calls and it flew overhead and did a few rolls as if it was showing off. The acknowledgement was plain to see, rather like a dog wagging its tail. Then it flew ahead of me and proceeded to harass and dislodge the turkey vultures that were perched in the trees. After each successful assault it called out and then proceeded to dislodge another vulture in the next tree; within seconds the sky was full of screeching, disgruntled vultures! It seemed as if the raven was clearly intoxicated with its own sense of bravado, and maybe it was even trying to impress me. When I arrived at the American’s house at the end of the beach I told him about the hilarious encounter with my shiny black friend and when he looked out of the doorway to see if the raven was still out there he looked at me, laughed, and informed me that it was waiting outside for me, and sure enough it was perched on a cactus just a few metres from the door!
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  • Point Gardiner was one of my favourite places to camp, explore and kayak around. The shore was great for beach-combing because Point Gardiner is in such an exposed location at the southern tip of Admiralty Island where Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait converge, and faces towards the opening to the Pacific Ocean at the southern end of Chatham Strait. Many of the beaches are littered with logs from logging.
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  • Point Gardiner was one of my favourite places to camp, explore and kayak around. The shore was great for beach-combing because Point Gardiner is in such an exposed location at the southern tip of Admiralty Island where Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait converge, and faces towards the opening to the Pacific Ocean at the southern end of Chatham Strait. Many of the beaches are littered with logs from logging.
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  • Ravens love to fly and appear to revel in it more than any other birds that I have observed. There was a steep cliff on the seaward side of the islet where I was camping and the thermal updraughts from the ocean blasted vertically up its face. The ravens loved to play there, getting carried abruptly aloft, and then tumbling and rolling back down before taking the elevator back up again.
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  • My next destination was to attempt to get out to Nosy Atafana, a small group of three islands surrounded by a coral reef just to the north of Antanambe, that constitutes one of only four protected marine parks in Madagascar. I was able to buy some fresh supplies at Antanambe for the trip. It was the first time that I had actually seen any of the fish species that were on sale in the market. Most of the marine habitats that I had observed along the way so far were very sparsely populated with fish.
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  • At the end of the bay I camped on an island within the boundaries of another marine park.  I had heard that the snorkelling there was the best in the bay - I wasn’t disappointed. I couldn’t believe how many species that I saw in a short space of time;  I lost count at about 20. Being in the water brought some relief from the pain of my swollen ankle and foot, and also from the swarms of mosquitoes, by far the worst that I had encountered so far. Up until that point I had been pleasantly surprised at how few of the jungle nasties, like mosquitoes and leeches, I’d encountered. Although I was supposedly camped within a protected marine park I witnessed several fishermen searching for lobsters in the area. It wasn’t so much that they were just catching lobsters but the very destructive manner in which they were doing it; they were using a long pole to probe the rocks with some considerable force, which would undoubtedly damage the coral.<br />
<br />
 I continued northwards through waters protected by offshore coral reefs and camped near Cap Masoala. I received a visit from two park rangers in a very impressive looking kayak. They were very interested in my trip and examined my swollen foot. They had no idea what it could be but one of them pointed to a hard black spot on my toe, one of a few I’d noticed, and informed me that a parasitic flea had laid its eggs in there, and that they had to be scraped out. I had suspected that they were more than just calluses. He had obviously had plenty of experience with them so I handed my knife to him and invited him to scrape them away; sure enough, once he had removed the black “crust” it revealed a small cavity packed with tiny eggs. He told me that it was very important to remove every last one to prevent my foot being turned into a flea hatchery. I was renowned for hosting uninvited guests on my travels but this was beginning to look like the definitive, open door trip to add to my ever-growing collection of body invaders.
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