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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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  • Kayaking-Bacuit-Archipelago3.tif
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  • The cave racer (Elaphe taeniura) is the only snake which is adapted to spend its whole life in a cave, feeding exclusively on bats and swiftlets.­ It is non-venomous.­
    Borneo-Gunung-Mulu-reptile1.tif
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  • Humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) sounding near the entrance to Pleasant Bay, Admiralty Island, Seymour Canal, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
The weather conditions were frequently overcast and gloomy for days on end, but if the sunlight ever pierced through the all pervading gloom, the whales seemed to attract it; their graceful motion, water shed from their flukes and diaphanous breath became brilliantly highlighted by a spotlight in their murky world.
    Alaska-humpback-whale-sounding15.jpg
  • 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
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland49.jpg
  • This was taken just off the entrance to Pleasant Harbour where I either used to anchor my boat or camp on the little islet at the entrance that is on the right of this photo. This was my regular base in my early years with the whales in Southeast Alaska. It was always a thrill to emerge from the beautiful cosy little safe anchorage in the morning and be greeted by volleys of whale blows illuminated by the rising sun against the shaded Glass Peninsula.
    Alaska-humpback-whale-sounding13.jpg
  • Humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) sounding near the entrance to Pleasant Bay, Admiralty Island, Seymour Canal, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
The weather conditions were frequently overcast and gloomy for days on end, but if the sunlight ever pierced through the all pervading gloom, the whales seemed to attract it; their graceful motion, water shed from their flukes and diaphanous breath became brilliantly highlighted by a spotlight in their murky world.
    Alaska-humpback-whale-sounding17.jpg
  • This is the entrance on the West side that faced Admiralty Island. To the right of the photo you can see the distinctive outline of the hills that creates "the Sleeping Giant", as everybody called it. Later on when I was just kayaking, I still liked to stop here to camp because there was a very good place to camp near where I took this photo from. In the opposite direction behind this beach was a small island that was used as a haul-out by Steller sea lions. Whenever they were there you could constantly hear their rumbling groaning and roaring. There is also a lot of seal and seabird activity around the island, and particularly around the kelp beds. One of the regular seabirds there are pigeon guillemots (Cepphus columba), with their distinctive high-piched squeaking. Humpback whales also frequently feed in the nutrient-rich waters around the island, as a result of the strong upwelling created by strong currents colliding. I had my first close encounter with humpback whales lunge-feeding right next to the rocky shoreline of one of the islands.
    Southeast-Alaska-Avalon19.jpg
  • The harbor seal (Phoca vitulina), a widespread species in both the north Atlantic and Pacific oceans, is found in Alaska along the coast extending from Dixon Entrance north to Kuskokwim Bay and west throughout the Aleutian Islands. Harbor seals, and other phocid (true) seals, also are called “hair” seals, which helps distinguish true seals from fur seals. Harbor seals haul out of the water periodically to rest, give birth, and nurse their pups. In winter seals spend up to 80% of their time in the water. In spring and summer they spend more time hauled out during pupping and moult season. Reefs, sand and gravel beaches, sand and mud bars, and glacial, pan ice, and sea ice are commonly used for haul-out sites. The moulting lines on these seals are clearly visible.
    Alaska-harbour-seal1.jpg
  • Up the next river I found a variety of stick insects and was able to watch a frog chirping at very close range. The frog chorus started in unison at about the same time very day, each species with its own distinctive call. I saw an incredible bird called a helmet vanga with the most ostentatious bright blue beak and paradise flycatchers trailing long ribbons of feathers behind them; this was the tropical paradise that I had been dreaming about. I was glad that my foot had healed sufficiently well enough to give me almost full mobility again. The next river that I paddled up was much larger than the others and there was a fishing village at the entrance and several dwellings along the lower reaches. I paddled as far as I could to find the greatest sense of solitude. I was well provisioned and I planned on camping there for a few days so that I could explore the surrounding forest. Just past my camp I found a beautiful tributary with a series of small waterfalls. When I hiked up the stream in the evening I entered frog heaven. I found six species, many of them very small and cryptic. The largest one was perched on a small branch and was not disturbed by my presence. I was able to photograph it from every conceivable angle.
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  • Cape Fanshawe was always one of my first anchorages after leaving Petersburg, either in one of my boats, Avalon and subsequently Selena, or in my kayak. It’s on the mainland and at the entrance to my favourite place for vegetation in Southeast Alaska, Port Houghton. Although there are some safe anchorages in amongst the small islands there, and there used to be a fur farm situated there, the actual cape is very exposed to the full power of the elements as can be seen by the way these rocks on the shore have been sculpted; they have been sculpted like waves and are extremely slippery to walk on.<br />
I always remember being trapped there in my kayak late in the summer because the sea conditions were so rough. I was trying to get back to Petersburg at the end of a trip, and when the weather eventually cleared for a while, I had to make a dash for town and paddled continuously for 14 hours to make it back there. I had nearly been out of food, and to add to my torment my tent was being constantly bombarded with cones by a very petulant and territorial squirrel: it developed into squirrel wars!
    Southeast-Alaska-coast12.jpg
  • 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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  • The Brothers was one of my favourite and safest anchorages, with an entrance on either side, and a good beach near the anchorage for landing the dinghy or kayak. The intertidal life was amazing, and there was a special bonus of a rhubarb patch on one of the islands where there used to be a home.
    Southeast-Alaska-Avalon11.jpg
  • I paddled onto the town of Mananara, whilst nursing my painful foot injury and infected sores. I had to make a long detour around the next point to avoid the minefield of fringing coral reefs and faced the prospect of trying to find a way through the maze of threatening coral in the fading light of the day, and was relieved when I eventually found a clear passage through to the shore. I received treatment for my injuries, in Mananara, and then shared a ride to Maroantsetra, the gateway town to the Masoala Peninsula, in the back of a pickup truck with other foreigners. I was glad that I was able to experience that road journey through the beautiful, biodiverse vegetation of Mananara National Park. I then explored the amazing island of Nosey Mangabe in Antongil Bay, where I had my first encounter with an incredible leaf-tailed gecko, which was love at first sight.<br />
I then paddled from Maroantsetra to the Masoala Peninsula. The sea was flat calm when I passed Nosy Mangabe but just after midday the wind started to pick up as it often did at that time of day. It was coming in from the entrance to the bay, which opens out onto the Indian Ocean, and in a very short time I found myself battling into winds gusting over 30 mph. Once again I had to keep stopping to pump out water whilst trying to hold my position facing into the oncoming waves. Progress was painfully slow and with every laboured stroke I felt as if my shoulders were dislocating. I was getting drenched with spray every time I ploughed into a wave and the salt was building up on my skin. As my body gyrated with each paddle stroke my back was getting rubbed raw by my backrest and the salt aggravated the sores. My throat was parched and I didn’t have enough water to quench my thirst; I was beginning to feel like a galley slave! My arms and shoulders screamed with the exertion, the salt was burning my flesh, and I had to overcome exhaustion; by the time I eventually reached my destination I was completely drained.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey33.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland35.jpg