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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 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey42.jpg
  • I was usually greeted with the chorus of “Vazaha” - foreigner, wherever I went, and was spotted by children, even if I was just passing by on a taxi-brousse.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey49.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey43.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey44.jpg
  • This was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. It was a beautiful day that started well when I encountered a group of playful sea lions. They were inquisitive as always and hung around for quite a while. Most of them eventually swam away but one very inquisitive big bull remained with me for a while. It circled me and dived down beneath my kayak so that it could look up at me: then suddenly it erupted out of the sea right in front of the bow of my kayak, and there was the sudden jolt of eye-contact with his big bulging wild eyes that penetrated deep within my primal being. He then swam away and I continued paddling out to the middle of Seymour Canal. Then suddenly I heard a commotion in the distance, and when my eyes homed in on the source I saw the tell-tale dorsal fins of orcas, and then to my dismay I saw my friend on the surface near them: he was being attacked! I frantically paddled out towards the developing melee and wondered what I should do, and even contemplated trying to rescue him. But of course nature had to run its course, and I had to be grateful that I had a ringside seat for such a dramatic wild spectacle, as the orcas continued to ram the sea lion at high speed: I could see an orca cutting a confused furrow of water before colliding with its quarry in a big explosion of spray. The sea lion then reappeared at the surface gasping for breath, which tugged at my heart strings so much that I wanted to intervene, but there was a hungry family of predators that had to eat. Eventually it failed to resurface and it was all over...... but it wasn't because a pod of humpbacks happened to stumble onto the killing stage and they too were attacked by the orcas. I paddled right alongside the conflict and observed the whales rolling onto their sides and flailing their flippers to try to thwart their attackers. The orcas eventually gave up and disappeared along with the whales leaving me all alone highly charged and shaking with adrenaline.
    Southeast-Alaska- orca3.jpg
  • Encountering orcas was a much rarer event than being with the humpback whales in Southeast Alaska so I always viewed it a special treat and a bonus for the summer. I always felt like I had to shift up into a much higher gear with the faster swimming orcas, and I usually knew that something out of the ordinary was going to happen. Most of pods of orcas I encountered were small transient pods specializing in hunting for marine mammals. On this occasion I was able to paddle many miles with a very large pod of at least 30 individuals that spanned the width of Chatham Strait. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the sea was calm without a puff of wind, which always makes it a bit easier to keep up with them. They appeared to be hunting for salmon by corralling them judging from the way their speed and direction changed periodically. It’s fascinating listening to the extensive chatter of orcas; they are much more vocal than the humpbacks and can produce a great range of sounds from clicks, squeals and whistles to what sounds like someone knocking on a door. The most memorable thing that happened on this day involved some young calves, which like the humpback calves were very inquisitive about me. I had just stopped for a rest and was observing the behavior of some of the orcas swimming past. Suddenly two calves popped their shiny black heads out of the water right next to the cockpit of my kayak! They were chattering away at me with their squealing and whistling, and after greeting them with a very surprised “hello’, my next instinct was to pat them on the head like puppies, but they disappeared before I had the chance to do that. <br />
I never ever felt threatened by orcas, even when the big bulls would sometimes swim straight towards me, and they would twist sharply at the last minute just before their tall dorsal fins could slice into me. I’m quite sure that they were only ever inquisitive about me.
    Southeast-Alaska- orca4.jpg
  • Pod of orcas (Orcinus orca) cruising in Chatham Strait, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
Encountering orcas was a much rarer event than being with the whales in Southeast Alaska so I always viewed it a special treat and a bonus for the summer. I always felt like I had to shift up into a much higher gear with the faster swimming orcas, and I usually knew that something out of the ordinary was going to happen. Most of pods of orcas I encountered were small transient pods specializing in hunting for marine mammals. On this occasion I was able to paddle many miles with a very large pod of at least 30 individuals that spanned the width of Chatham Strait. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the sea was calm without a puff of wind, which always makes it a bit easier to keep up with them. They appeared to be hunting for salmon by corralling them judging from the way their speed and direction changed periodically. It’s fascinating listening to the extensive chatter of orcas; they are much more vocal than the humpbacks and can produce a great range of sounds from clicks, squeals and whistles to what sounds like someone knocking on a door. The most memorable thing that happened on this day involved some young calves, which like the humpback calves were very inquisitive about me. I had just stopped for a rest and was observing the behavior of some of the orcas swimming past. Suddenly two calves popped their shiny black heads out of the water right next to the cockpit of my kayak! They were chattering away at me with their squealing and whistling, and after greeting them with a very surprised “hello’, my next instinct was to pat them on the head like puppies, but they disappeared before I had the chance to do that. <br />
I never ever felt threatened by orcas, even when the big bulls would sometimes swim straight towards me, and they would twist sharply at the last minute just before their tall dorsal fins could slice into me. I’m quite sure that they were only ever inquisitive about me.
    Humpback whales-12.tif
  • The Steller sea lions of Alaska have entertained me many times and provided company during bad weather when there were no other animals around. They were always inquisitive, if not a bit wary of me, and would often swim beneath my kayak and look up at me with their big bulging eyes. Sometimes they would even engage me in a race to show off their speed on the surface where they can leap like dolphins.<br />
Among pinnipeds, it is only inferior in size to the walrus and elephant seals. The males are bigger than the females and grow to a length of about 2.82-3.25 metres long, with an average of 3m. The males have much wider chests, necks and general body structure and weigh 450-1.120 kg with an average of 544 kg. Males are further distinguished from females by broader, higher foreheads, flatter snouts, and darker, slightly tuftier hair around their large necks, giving them a maned appearance. Indeed, their Latin name translates roughly as “maned one with the broad forehead”.<br />
The range of the Steller sea lion extends from the Kuril Islands and the Sea of Okhotsk in Russia to the Gulf of Alaska in the north, and south to Ano Nuevo Island off central California. The global Steller sea lion population has traditionally been divided into an eastern and western stock roughly through the Gulf of Alaska. They have attracted considerable attention in recent decades due to significant, unexplained declines in their numbers over a large portion of their range in Alaska. While the population of the eastern and Asian stocks appear stable, the population of the western stock, particularly along the Aleutian Islands, was estimated to have fallen by 70-80% since the 1970s. One suspected cause of their precipitous decline is overfishing of Alaska Pollock, herring and other fish stocks in the Gulf of Alaska. In 1997 the western stock was listed as threatened but in 2013 they were removed from the U.S Endangered Species List after a major population recovery.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion7.jpg
  • Three brown bear (Ursos arctos) siblings at a dump, Angoon, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
I often caught the Alaska Marine Highway local ferry to the native town of Angoon on Admiralty Island before paddling across to my camp at Point Hayes on Chichagof Island. I had to walk past the city dump to get to the town to buy provisions, and there were usually brown bears foraging there, and particularly three young siblings who had apparently lost their mother. They became quite familiar with me and recognized me as someone who didn’t provide them with any food; most people who drove to the dump were providing them with reject salmon. <br />
But one of the three young siblings was more aggressive than the other two and on one occasion it kept advancing towards me expecting me to provide it with something to eat. I decided to teach it a lesson, that people are dangerous, as indeed they are, particularly to dump bears because once they lose their fear of humans they are easy targets for hunters. I was carrying a red pepper bear deterrent spray but when I tried to fire it at the bear I discovered that there was no pressure left in the canister and the contents just trickled down my arm; it was out of pressure when I was under pressure! So I threw the useless canister towards the bear so that it would stop to investigate it and then I climbed on top of an old car. Bears are inquisitive like dogs and I usually carried a few stones in my pocket to distract any bears that might try to be too friendly.
    wildlife-7.tif
  • I was on my way to explore two offshore islands just to the south of Isla Carmen, Isla Monserrat and Isla Catalina in thecBahia de Loreto National Park, when I encountered a pod of short-finned pilot whales; this was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. This was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. They are very impressive cetaceans, with a prominent melon (acoustic swelling), like big black shiny torpedoes. They were very inquisitive about me and were frequently spyhopping to get a better view of me. Spyhopping is when cetaceans elevate themselves vertically out of the water to be able to get a better view of something.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California70.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey21.jpg
  • I had my first sighting of a humpback whale as we approached Nosy Boraha in the ferry. Isle Sainte Marie is a popular tourist destination with a few expensive resorts. I reassembled my kayak at the main port, Ambodifotra, and headed south along the sheltered inside coast to visit a whale researcher based at the island’s most well known resort, the Princess Bora lodge. It was wonderful to be paddling in calm sea conditions for the first time on the trip, and being able to land anywhere without having to contend with large breakers. I paddled close to the coral reefs and was dismayed to see how degraded and barren they have become; there were very few fish and most of the coral was bleached and dead. Many of the local people that I passed were coming down to the water’s edge to investigate the mysterious voyager in a bright red kayak; they are only used to seeing the traditional wooden dugout pirogues. I passed these two boys on their small homemade raft, who were very inquisitive about me, but understandably very shy.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey14.jpg
  • I often caught the Alaska Marine Highway local ferry to the native town of Angoon on Admiralty Island before paddling across to my camp at Point Hayes on Chichagof Island. I had to walk past the city dump to get to the town to buy provisions, and there were usually brown bears foraging there, and particularly three young siblings who had apparently lost their mother. They became quite familiar with me and recognized me as someone who didn’t provide them with any food; most people who drove to the dump were providing them with reject salmon. <br />
But one of the three young siblings was more aggressive than the other two and on one occasion it kept advancing towards me expecting me to provide it with something to eat. I decided to teach it a lesson, that people are dangerous, as indeed they are, particularly to dump bears because once they lose their fear of humans they are easy targets for hunters. I was carrying a red pepper bear deterrent spray but when I tried to fire it at the bear I discovered that there was no pressure left in the canister and the contents just trickled down my arm; it was out of pressure when I was under pressure! So I threw the useless canister towards the bear so that it would stop to investigate it and then I climbed on top of an old car. Bears are inquisitive like dogs and I usually carried a few stones in my pocket to distract any bears that might try to be too friendly.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • I often used to creep up close to the sea lions hauled out on Yasha Island, just off Point Gardiner at the southern end of Admiralty Island. I could see this young sea lion laying down on its belly, and that it had something around its neck, but nothing could have prepared me for the gut-wrenching sight when it reared up and I could see the full extent of the damage and suffering that this poor creature must have endured. The net had become deeply embedded in its throat as it had continued to grow after first getting entangled with it when it was probably playing with it. One strand of the net passed through its mouth like a horse's bit, and had pulled its mouth back into a horrific frozen grimace. I felt so sickened by the daily torture that this poor animal must have been subjected to, but it also seemed like it had somehow adapted to it demonstrating the incredible resilience of wild animals. Apart from its horrific embedded necklace it looked just as well fed and healthy as the other sea lions. I felt compelled to try to capture it without really knowing how I could hang onto the sea lion to remove the net, but I wasn't able to get close enough without disturbing all of the sea lions. When I returned to Petersburg I reported it to the Dept of Fish and Game, and was glad to hear that they were going there to do a survey, but unfortunately I later heard that they were unable to find the poor animal. I don't know how much longer that it would have been able to survive like this if it was still growing.<br />
This kind of entanglement in fishing nets is a major problem for all marine life, but it must be particularly so for sea lions because they are so inquisitive and playful. A few years later I was working on a whale research boat in Sri Lanka, and we came across two turtles entangled in a big clump of fishing net, but fortunately we were able to free them.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion10.jpg
  • I was on my way to explore two offshore islands just to the south of Isla Danzante, Isla Monserrat and Isla Santa Catalina in the Bahia de Loreto National Park, when I encountered a pod of short-finned pilot whales; this was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. They are very impressive cetaceans, with a prominent melon (acoustic swelling), like big black shiny torpedoes. They were very inquisitive about me and were frequently spyhopping to get a better view of me. Spyhopping is when cetaceans elevate themselves vertically out of the water to be able to get a better view of something.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California71.jpg
  • The Steller sea lions of Alaska have entertained me many times and provided company during bad weather when there were no other animals around. They were always inquisitive, if not a bit wary of me, and would often swim beneath my kayak and look up at me with their big bulging eyes. Sometimes they would even engage me in a race to show off their speed on the surface where they can leap like dolphins.<br />
Among pinnipeds, it is only inferior in size to the walrus and elephant seals. The males are bigger than the females and grow to a length of about 2.82-3.25 metres long, with an average of 3m. The males have much wider chests, necks and general body structure and weigh 450-1.120 kg with an average of 544 kg. Males are further distinguished from females by broader, higher foreheads, flatter snouts, and darker, slightly tuftier hair around their large necks, giving them a maned appearance. Indeed, their Latin name translates roughly as “maned one with the broad forehead”.<br />
The range of the Steller sea lion extends from the Kuril Islands and the Sea of Okhotsk in Russia to the Gulf of Alaska in the north, and south to Ano Nuevo Island off central California. The global Steller sea lion population has traditionally been divided into an eastern and western stock roughly through the Gulf of Alaska. They have attracted considerable attention in recent decades due to significant, unexplained declines in their numbers over a large portion of their range in Alaska. While the population of the eastern and Asian stocks appear stable, the population of the western stock, particularly along the Aleutian Islands, was estimated to have fallen by 70-80% since the 1970s. One suspected cause of their precipitous decline is overfishing of Alaska Pollock, herring and other fish stocks in the Gulf of Alaska. In 1997 the western stock was listed as threatened but in 2013 they were removed from the U.S Endangered Species List after a major population recovery.
    wildlife.tif
  • I was on my way to explore two offshore islands just to the south of Isla Carmen, Isla Monserrat and Isla Catalina in the Bahia de Loreto National Park, when I encountered a pod of short-finned pilot whales (Globicephala macrorhynchus); this was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. They are very impressive cetaceans, with a prominent melon (acoustic swelling), like big black shiny torpedoes. They were very inquisitive about me and were frequently spyhopping to get a better view of me. Spyhopping is when cetaceans elevate themselves vertically out of the water to be able to get a better view of something.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California73.jpg
  • Yasha Island was my regular place for observing, photographing and simply being entertained by sea lions. I had to land my kayak on the opposite side of the islet, creep stealthily through the rocks and trees, and then low down on my belly to get right in amongst them. There is usually so much noise and commotion at a haul-out that it's surprisingly easy to get in amongst them. Their vision is evidently quite poor out of water, so as long as I moved very slowly and didn't stand up and become boldly silhouetted, I could "bluff" my way into their close company. Sometimes one of them would stare at me inquisitively but as long as I kept completely motionless, it then continued participating in the general pandemonium that frequently pervades the haul-outs. But sometimes a degree of calm is restored as this photo illustrates, but it takes just one incident to flair up, perhaps when one of them is rudely awakened by the clumsiness of another one trying to get past it, and then the pandemonium sweeps across the haul-out like a wild fire with their extended heads swaying in the air belching out disgruntled roars and groans.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion5.jpg