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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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  • After a lot of walking through the forest streams I noticed a small uncomfortable lesion on the back of my ankle. It became very tender and inflamed when I wore my hiking boots and the collar rubbed up against it. Over the next few days it became more and more swollen, and then my entire foot swelled up to a grotesque size. With the massive swelling came excruciating pain; I couldn’t stand up for more than ten minutes at a time without having to lay on my back and then count to ten while the pain slowly subsided. When I was standing up I could feel the pressure building up and then the searing pain charging down my blood vessels like an express train. Ironically, I had just been able to place my other foot that had been cut so badly, flat on the ground again without any discomfort ; now I would be hobbling on the other foot for the next few weeks. I was very disappointed that my exploratory forays into the forest had to be dramatically curtailed until I could walk properly again. I found a sturdy staff to help me stand upright for long as long as possible and it became a valued companion over the next two weeks or so. It was now a case of having to do things in short bursts until the pain became too unbearable. I couldn’t have chosen a more isolated location to contract such a worrying condition. I couldn’t believe the size of my foot; it was so heavy and full of fluid, and looked more like a rubber glove that had been filled to bursting point with water. The skin on the back of my ankle had turned purple and split open because of the extreme swelling. It was looking very serious and I was compelled to start the long arduous journey to the next sizeable town, Antalaha, at least 100 miles to the north. It was going to be a daunting journey anyway because of the combination of heavy surf and coral reefs on the outer coast, but now with this latest problem my resilience would be tested to the limit.
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  • Along with the pelicans, frigate birds and cormorants the blue-footed booby was one of the commonest seabirds that I encountered on my journey.
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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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  • 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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  • On my return journey from Isla Catalina to Isla Monserrat I had a very unexpected encounter. I was making great headway with a good following wind when suddenly a very tall tail fin appeared alongside me; my first thought was that it was the dorsal fin of a swordfish. I looked down into the water beneath me and its identity was immediately confirmed when I saw what looked like a giant checkerboard beneath me. Only one large sea creature has markings like that: it was a whale shark that had apparently come to the surface to investigate me. It wasn’t the right season for whale sharks so it was completely unexpected. As it was my first ever encounter with the largest fish in the ocean I implored it to swim with me for a while but it promptly dived out of view.
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  • 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.
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  • The road journey southwards from Antanarivo to Ranomafana National Park at the start of the rainy season was unbelievable. The road had been turned into a series of deep mud holes, that slowed the traffic down so much that it became congested into one very long, continuous convoy crawling along – like a snail through mud. Everybody had to work together to ensure that the convoy continued moving very slowly. As soon as one vehicle was dragged through, wheels spinning and mud flying, that vehicle would assist the next one with cables or chains. There were mud holes so deep that elephants and hippos could have wallowed in them. I was amazed at how organized and patient everybody was, but that was obviously borne out of an annually recurring necessity. It was almost impossible trying to avoid getting caked in mud, either from underfoot or from the mud flying from the spinning wheels.
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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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  • 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 was one of the most amazing things that I witnessed on the trip. I was on a beach where large numbers of squid were beaching themselves after mating. Once they were stranded they started flushing red rapidly back and forth along their bodies, presumably as a sign of agitation. Then I saw several large moray eels wriggling through the shallow water following them right up to the water’s edge and then to my amazement I watched them engulf and swallow the squid whole in the blinking of the eye. I could see why the moray eel has such a large head with wrinkled skin to allow it to swallow large prey whole rather like a snake.
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  • It was amazing to get in the water with the sea lions and witness their graceful speed and agility. They were curious about me as soon as I appeared. This is a popular destination for swimming with sea lions so that are very habituated to the presence of people in the water with them. It was mostly younger juveniles that I could see, with the occasional large bull, which although large seemed quite small in comparison with the Steller sea lions in Alaska.
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  • One of my primary objectives for the trip and for paddling as far south as La Paz was to dive with California sea lions at a well publicised haul out at a small island called Los Islotes, near Isla Partida, just to the north of La Paz. California sea lions are smaller than the enormous Steller sea lions that I was so fondly familiar with in Alaska. I have had so many close, entertaining and interactive encounters with those clowns of the sea and now at long last I had the opportunity to experience their antics underwater, where they are transformed from being lumbering mounds of blubber to agile, graceful underwater dancers. Los Islotes is a pink crest of rock sticking abruptly out of the sea with numerous ledges around its base as if it had been purpose-built for sea lions to sunbathe and loll around on.
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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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  • Rocks in Tompolo Marine Park, Masoala National Park, the Masoala Peninsula, eastern Madagascar.<br />
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My next camp was at Tompolo, which is within one of two Marine Parks in Antongil Bay. From there on the shoreline was dotted with the most unusual looking outcrops of large rocks; each one looked like it had a set of broken teeth embedded in the top of it. The point at Tompolo was protected by a cluster of these strange looking rocks and in between them was the first significant aggregation of living coral that I had seen on the entire trip to date. The crystalline water was alive with brightly coloured fish, crabs and shrimp. I could clearly see the benefits of the area’s protected status, and at last I was getting a glimpse of Madagascar’s disappearing marine biodiversity.
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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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  • 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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  • The Jesuit missionary Ciamente Guillen founded Mission Dolores in 1721 on the coast of the Baja Peninsula about midway between Loreto and La Paz. There was a small ranch near the beach with these burros. The people were very friendly and helpful, allowing me to replenish my water supply from their well and there was an unexpected bonus; I arrived just when the mangos on their mango tree were ripe so for a small price I was able to stock up on a rare treat of fresh succulent fruit; truly manna from heaven in that barren place.
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  • Dead puffer fish washed up on beaches are a very painful hazard to avoid. They are like little mines that cause an explosion of pain if you are unfortunate enough to step on one.
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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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  • The biggest challenge for the trip was being able to carry sufficient water and ration it because after I left Loreto there were only two places between Loreto and La Paz that I was aware of where I could replenish my water supply, and this small fishing village called Puerto Agua Verde that I’m setting off from was one of them. The photo was taken by a British couple that I met there who were also kayaking to La Paz. I was using my large French Nautiraid folding double kayak, which has a large open cockpit and ample storage space for an extended trip like that. When I started the trip I was only able to buy a limited selection of fresh fruit and vegetables and it was also a major challenge preserving them in the constant heat and ensuring that I had sufficient nutrition to get me all the way to La Paz. There were many contrasting benefits of kayaking in the Sea of Cortez compared with Alaska. Firstly, there is minima tidal range in the Sea of Cortez compared to Alaska, meaning that I didn’t have to drag the kayak up and down the flat sandy beaches and secondly there were so many places that were suitable for landing, whereas in Alaska there are very few accessible beaches and most of those are steep and rocky. This stop was the last human habitation until the ranch near the ruins of Mission Dolores.
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  • This was an unforgettable wild encounter! The sea was very cold so I had to haul myself back into my kayak to warm up, with my legs dangling over the side and my flippers slapping the surface like a stranded fish. Moments later I was surprised to see another kayaker paddling towards me; It was an American called Corrie who told me that he had just made the long sea crossing from Isla San Jose. It was great to be joined by another kayaker and even greater when I discovered that he had a wetsuit! There was no holding back now so I returned to the underwater circus. I discovered that there was one juvenile sea lion that was bolder than the others. At first it was trying to bite my mask and then it was nipping my chest as if it was trying to suckle from me; I think that the black neoprene wetsuit had transformed me into a marine mammal! This apparent attempt at bonding with me was taken to the next level of hilarity when all of a sudden I was aware of its flippers being wrapped around my body from behind and then feeling the little clown clinging tightly to my back! I reached behind me to feel it and it was very smooth, soft and spongy, making it conform to the shape of my back like an orthopaedic back-support. I continued swimming along with this unexpected diving accessory still firmly clamped to my back like an air cylinder. It eventually released me and disappeared momentarily; then Corrie exclaimed, “look at your kayak!” and to my amazement I watched it hauling itself onto the back of my kayak! It promptly settled down for a snooze on the most comfortable and exclusive bed available. Corrie climbed into the cockpit of my kayak to take some photos of me with my new friend, or should I say foster child, as photographic evidence was surely required. Corrie tried to evict the stowaway with my paddle, but the little rascal nipped at it and promptly slid down inside the cockpit to confirm its status as a stowaway but it was eventually evicted after much protest.
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  • I would say that apart from the sea birds crabs were the most ubiquitous creatures that I encountered on the trip.
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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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  • 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.
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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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  • Pair of magnificent frigate birds (Fregata magnificens) soaring in the thermals, Sea of Cortez and the Baja Peninsula, Mexico.<br />
I fell in love with the frigate birds and watched them endlessly soaring above me. They are true masters of effortless flight like the albatross. I was fortunate enough to examine one at close quarters, or I should say unfortunate enough because one of its wings was broken, meaning that it had no chance of survival. I was amazed at how slight and fragile their wings are, and in fact their entire body, hence how easily broken they are; presumably when they are engaged in an aerial dogfight with other marauding birds. They never swim because their long wings, adapted for gliding, and tiny feet render them unable to take off from water; all their food is snatched from the surface or stolen from other birds. The male is all black with a red throat pouch, which is inflated like a balloon for display. The female has a white breast and dark head. They have a scissor-like tail that is often folded in a point.
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  • I would often lay on my back to gaze upwards, hypnotised by the languid flight and graceful form of the frigate birds flying overhead.
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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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  • These colourful Sally lightfoot crabs (Grapsus grapsus) were the species that I observed the most, usually scurrying around the rocks just above the water.
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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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  • One of my first amazing encounters on the trip was this large pod of long-beaked common dolphins. I was paddling quite close to the precipitous rocky shoreline and was just skirting a small bay when I could suddenly hear what sounded like a white water river rushing towards me. I looked around me to locate the source of the noise and saw that the flat calm sea was erupting with a myriad of splashes and leaping dolphins ploughing towards me. Within seconds the water around me was energised by hundreds of dolphins dashing in different directions. Everything was happening so quickly that I didn’t know where to aim my camera next so I had to deploy the shoot from the hip mode. They were evidently herding fish around the bay, so I just sat in the middle of the vortex of feeding dolphins and soaked up the visual energy and excitement.
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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 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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  • 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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  • Transport just about anywhere in Madagascar is very difficult because of the lack of good roads and the seasonal heavy rains, but to travel along the east coast is particularly difficult because there are many rivers to cross, and very few bridges that can actually survive the seasonally bad weather. There are rafts that are either moved manually with poles or powered by motorized boats, or people are ferried in the traditional dugout “pirogues”. I was amazed at how stable they make them look, even when they are standing up or perched high up on the stern, because when I tried to paddle one, there was only going to be one place that I would end up, and that was in the water.
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  • Transport just about anywhere in Madagascar is very difficult because of the lack of good roads and the seasonal heavy rains, but to travel along the east coast is particularly difficult because there are many rivers to cross, and very few bridges that can actually survive the seasonally bad weather. There are rafts that are either moved manually with poles or powered by motorized boats, or people are ferried in the traditional dugout “pirogues”. I was amazed at how stable they make them look, even when they are standing up or perched high up on the stern, because when I tried to paddle one, there was only going to be one place that I would end up, and that was in the water.
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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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  • I had a cold restless night on that windy beach, nursing the deep wounds inflicted on my feet and legs when I was wrestling with my kayak. I was stuck on a beach in the middle of nowhere wondering how I was going to progress. The next morning I was discovered by some local people from a nearby village who brought me water every day. I would make a fire and we would drink tea and have a lot of fun trying to learn each other’s language; one of them was a schoolteacher and knew some English. The first Malagasy expression that I learnt was “Tsara Be”, which means very good, and it became a mantra after every sip of tea, and would be greeted with fits of laughter followed by another chorus of “Tsara Be”.  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. <br />
My new local friends tried in vain to help me get out through the surf, and after the second capsize I knew that it was hopeless and was resigned to trying to find a car to drive me to the next town, Foulpointe, beyond which there looked the possibility of better protection from the big ocean swells. One man watched my gear whilst another one escorted me via Taxi-Brousse to Foulpointe where I was able to secure a car to come and collect me the next day.
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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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  • Masoala National Park, in northeast Madagascar, is the largest of the island’s protected areas. Created in 1997, the park protects 2,300 square kilometres of rainforest and 100 square kilometres of marine parks. The Masoala peninsula is exceptionally diverse due to its huge size, and variety of habitats, including rainforest, coastal forest, flooded forest, marsh, and mangrove. There are over 600 plant species on the peninsula including a staggering 99 species of palms, one of the most diverse groups in the world. Three marine parks protect coral reefs and a dazzling array of marine life; currently over 3,000 species of fish and 41 types of coral have been recorded. There are ten lemur species, of which 4 are listed on the IUCN red list of endangered species, including the flamboyant Red Ruffed Lemur, which is endemic to the peninsula. Other endemic species include the Madagascar red owl and the extremely rare serpent eagle. 102 species of birds have been recorded, of which 60% are endemic.<br />
Unfortunately during the political during a period of political unrest in 2009 and 2010, the national park was invaded by thousands of illegal loggers searching for valuable rosewood.<br />
During 2009 and 2010, the national park was invaded by thousands of illegal loggers searching for rosewood, who would have also been involved in widespread poaching of many rare species, including the Red Ruffed Lemurs that are found nowhere else in the world.
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  • It was such a relief to set foot on my first beach along the Masoala Peninsula and what a beautiful beach it was. There was a small river flowing out from the dense forest and I couldn’t wait to explore it. But I was physically drained and the next day was a day of recovery and quiet, relaxed contemplation of my verdant surroundings. When I finally paddled up the river and walked as far as I could I was mesmerised by the vegetation. There was such a wonderful variety of different trees, tree ferns and palms, many of them undoubtedly endemic to Madagascar or even to the Masoala Peninsula. This is what I had been dreaming of when I first made plans for this trip; to be alone in a remote part of Madagascar with the means to explore rivers and penetrate one of the most scientifically valuable rainforests on <br />
the planet. I continued along the peninsula looking for more rivers to explore.
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  • These colourful Sally lightfoot crabs (Grapsus grapsus) were the species that I observed the most, usually scurrying around the rocks just above the water.
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  • 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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