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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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  • It was fascinating to be able to view the geomorphology of the landscape so clearly on the Baja Peninsula, and in many places the past was revealed by the presence of fossilised shells indicating the changing sea levels. The geological strata were clearly visible along the coastline of Isla Partida.
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  • I had stopped for a rest along this stretch of coastline and came across this mummified carcase of a dead minke whale. I removed a small section of its baleen plates, which I was later able to use in my school presentations to show the children exactly what baleen plates look like and how they work. I also found a lot of nautilus shells washed up on that stretch of coastline and miraculously managed to transport the incredibly fragile wafer-thin shells back to England. They are some of the most exquisitely beautiful objects that I have ever collected.
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  • It was fascinating to be able to view the geomorphology of the landscape so clearly on the Baja Peninsula, and in many places the past was revealed by the presence of fossilised shells indicating the changing sea levels. The geological strata were clearly visible along the coastline of Isla Partida.
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  • The effort to climb to the highest vantage points on the islands was well worth it for the stupendous views along the stark, dramatic coastline of the Baja Peninsula, although I quickly discovered how much caution was necessary to avoid being impaled or lacerated by the prickly vegetation. As a keen amateur botanists I was fascinated by the succulent and scrubby vegetation, so perfectly adapted to such an extreme environment with so little rainfall and almost constant desiccating saline sea breezes. There is a organ pipe cactus in the foreground and the amber flaking bark of a torote Colorado tree { F. Burseracea - Bursera microphylla ) can also be seen.
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  • With such sparse vegetation and the exposed geology, the sense of perspective, space and geological time is greatly enhanced. In the foreground is an elephant tree, one of the many plants perfectly adapted to surviving the extremely arid conditions prevalent in Baja. Standing water was virtually non-existent when I was there but the eroded streambeds created by the brief seasonal flash flooding were clearly evident.
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  • Kayaker paddling through a natural sea arch, Isla Partida, near La Paz, Sea of Cortez and the Baja Peninsula, Mexico.<br />
We came across this beautiful natural sea arch on the way from Isla Partida to La Paz.
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  • Sparce vegetation on the coast of the Sierra de la Giganta in the Bahia de Loreto National Park, the Baja Peninsula and the Sea of Cortez, Mexico.
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  • With such sparse vegetation and the exposed geology, the sense of perspective, space and geological time is greatly enhanced. In the foreground is an elephant tree, one of the many plants perfectly adapted to surviving the extremely arid conditions prevalent in Baja. Standing water was virtually non-existent when I was there but the eroded streambeds created by the brief seasonal flash flooding were clearly evident.
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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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  • On the journey back from La Paz I had an exhilarating encounter with a large pod of Bryde’s whales lunge-feeding on a shoal of fish in this channel between the Baja Peninsula and Isla San Jose; Bryde’s whales are medium-sized baleen whales, specifically rorqual whales belonging to the same group as blue whales, humpback whales and others. They closely resemble their close relative, the sei whale, are found in tropical waters and are easily identified by the distinctive, three longitudinal ridges on their rostrum ( the extended dorsal surface of a whale’s head ). After many years of having hair-raising close encounters with feeding humpback whales in Alaska I was taken aback by how much faster the Bryde’s whales were; they can accelerate up to 15 mph compared to their usual cruising speed of 1-4 mph. I was just thinking that I would have to shift into a higher gear of alertness when a dorsal fin suddenly burst into view right in front of me, and it slid beneath my kayak with barely a whisker between us ! A few days later I had my first ever encounter with a grey whale. I had already seen a breaching humpback whale between La Paz and Isla San Jose but I was still yet to see the big one – a blue whale.
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  • The town of Loreto is a regular staging post for commercial kayaking tour groups. I enjoyed mixing with some of them but farther down the coast I was I was shocked by the territorialism of some of the kayaking tour leaders. I encountered a dispute between two “rival” American tour groups that each laid claim to a nearby beach to camp on. The beautiful “unclaimed” beach that I gratefully accepted to camp on was evidently less desirable. The next day I stopped at an empty beach to stretch my legs when one of the groups that was involved in the dispute came into view and their leader paddled towards me. I greeted him politely as always and he promptly retorted by just asking me where I was heading. I told him that I was just heading south, to which he curtly replied, ‘I just wanted to let you know that we’ll be camping at the next beach, OK.” I didn’t take it as an invitation to join them for a campfire dinner or to share kayaking stories; I had no desire to detract from their wilderness experience or pollute their airspace with smoke from my campfire. The commercial kayaking groups don’t venture very far south of Loreto so it wasn’t long before I had left that bewildering attitude behind me and could embrace the infinite solitude that Baja had to offer.
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • This natural spring was the first water that I had encountered since I left La Paz. There was a small trickle of water from above this pool and I had one of the most heavenly showers ever in that most welcome oasis. It felt strange to see so much lush greenery and living creatures after so many miles of dry arid coastline. I have always been a dog lover and throughout my travels I have befriended dogs, usually by feeding them and showing them some unfamiliar kindness. I teamed up with a dog from the ranch and he accompanied me on a hike up the rocky canyon, where I had to traverse one large boulder after another and often have to help my canine friend along the way. He stayed with me and slept at my camp with me right up until when I left. It had been nice to have a loyal companion for a few days but sad to watch him wandering along the shoreline rather disconsolately as I paddled away.
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  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
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  • If the magnificent frigate birds enchanted and hypnotised me then the brown pelicans amused and entertained me with their comical appearance and behaviour, although like the frigate birds they were also very impressive at times. This ubiquitous seabird inhabits the entire coastline of Baja California and the Sea of Cortez, and is often seen flying in long elegant formations, with their wingtips just touching the cresting waves. One of the most impressive sights on the entire trip was being in the water when they were plummeting from the sky to catch fish. It is the only pelican species to dive from the air into the water to catch prey with its specialised beaked pouch; other pelicans use an on-the-water group strategy to trap fish when feeding.
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  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey8.jpg
  • I hired another car to take me and my kayak, and gear, from Foulpointe to Soaniarana-Ivongo, to avoid the last of the exposed stretch of coastline, from where I caught the passenger ferry to Isle Sainte Marie. I was now conducting my “circumnavigation” within the limitations of my kayak, which was just to big and heavy, and vulnerable to flooding, to break out through the constant surf. I discovered that the ferryboat had exactly the same problem, and we got momentarily stuck on a sand bar near the mouth of the river there, where the ferryman had to navigate a difficult passage through the sandbars and surf. Waves started to break over the bow, hitting the passengers, and there was some degree of panic amongst them as the ferryman struggled to free the fragile boat and prevent it from jackknifing into a capsizing situation; it probably didn’t help the confidence of the passengers that there had been a tragic sinking of a ferryboat on the crossing not that long before, with quite a few passengers drowned.
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  • Early morning fog clearing at Point Gardiner, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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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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  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
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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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  • The McBride tidewater Glacier, Glacier Bay national Park and Preserve, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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The Glacier Bay Basin is a myriad combination of tidewater glaciers, snow-capped mountain ranges, ocean coastlines, deep fjords, and freshwater rivers and lakes that provide widely varying land and seascapes, and hosts a mosaic of plant communities, and a great variety of marine and terrestrial wildlife. It has many branches, inlets, lagoons, islands, and channels that hold prospects for scientific exploration and a visual treat for the visitor.<br />
Glacier Bay, the body of water, covers an area 1.375 square miles (3,560 km2) of glaciers and accounts for 27% of the park area. It was a large single glacier of solid ice until early 18th century. It started retreating and evolved over the centuries into the largest protected water area park in the world. It was formerly known as the Grand Pacific Glacier about 4,000 feet (1200 m) thick and about 20 miles (32 km) in width, which has since then, over the last more than 200 years retreated by 65 miles (105 kms) to the head of the bay at Tarr Inlet, and in this process left separate 20 other glaciers, including this one, in its trail.<br />
Glaciers are very dynamic entities and there are seven “active” tidewater glaciers in Glacier bay, which are advancing into the sea and thus calve off large chunks of ice that fall into the sea with a thunderous noise, raising large waves.
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  • The Glacier Bay Basin is a myriad combination of tidewater glaciers, snow-capped mountain ranges, ocean coastlines, deep fjords, and freshwater rivers and lakes that provide widely varying land and seascapes, and hosts a mosaic of plant communities, and a great variety of marine and terrestrial wildlife. It has many branches, inlets, lagoons, islands, and channels that hold prospects for scientific exploration and a visual treat for the visitor.<br />
Glacier Bay, the body of water, covers an area 1.375 square miles (3,560 km2) of glaciers and accounts for 27% of the park area. It was a large single glacier of solid ice until early 18th century. It started retreating and evolved over the centuries into the largest protected water area park in the world. It was formerly known as the Grand Pacific Glacier about 4,000 feet (1200 m) thick and about 20 miles (32 km) in width, which has since then, over the last more than 200 years retreated by 65 miles (105 kms) to the head of the bay at Tarr Inlet, and in this process left separate 20 other glaciers, including this one, in its trail.<br />
Glaciers are very dynamic entities and there are seven “active” tidewater glaciers in Glacier bay, which are advancing into the sea and thus calve off large chunks of ice that fall into the sea with a thunderous noise, raising large waves.
    Southeast-Alaska-glaciation1.jpg