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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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  • Giant oceanic manta ray, Manta birostris, feeding near the surface, Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines, Sulu Sea Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1824.jpg
  • Giant oceanic manta ray, Manta birostris, feeding near the surface, Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines, Sulu Sea Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1823.jpg
  • Giant oceanic manta ray, Manta birostris, feeding near the surface, Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines, Sulu Sea Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1821.jpg
  • Giant oceanic manta ray, Manta birostris, feeding near the surface, Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines, Sulu Sea Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1822.jpg
  • Giant oceanic manta ray, Manta birostris, feeding near the surface, Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines, Sulu Sea Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1829.jpg
  • Giant oceanic manta ray, Manta birostris, feeding near the surface, Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines, Sulu Sea Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1828.jpg
  • Giant oceanic manta ray, Manta birostris, feeding near the surface, Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines, Sulu Sea Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    _MG_1834.jpg
  • Giant oceanic manta ray, Manta birostris, feeding near the surface, Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines, Sulu Sea Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    _MG_1813.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Snorkeller swimming with an oceanic manta ray (manta birostris)
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  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Snorkeller swimming with an oceanic manta ray (manta birostris)
    _MG_2984.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Snorkeller swimming with an oceanic manta ray (manta birostris)
    _MG_2981.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1827.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1826.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines Oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding. Honda Bay, Palawan
    _MG_1825.jpg
  • Leucistic oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding on tropical krill in Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    whale-shark-Puerto-Princesa39.tif
  • Leucistic oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding on tropical krill in Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    whale-shark-Puerto-Princesa40.tif
  • Leucistic oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding on tropical krill in Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    whale-shark-Puerto-Princesa38.tif
  • Leucistic oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding on tropical krill in Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    whale-shark-Puerto-Princesa41.tif
  • Leucistic oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris) barrel roll feeding on tropical krill in Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    whale-shark-Puerto-Princesa42.tif
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    _MG_2997.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    _MG_2996.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    _MG_3003.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    _MG_1812.jpg
  • Oceanic manta ray ( Manta birostris ), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
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  • Inside the protective barrier of the islands and coral reefs there was a beautiful tranquil lagoon. Beyond the tranquillity the Indian Ocean was still hurling waves and creating explosions of spray. I wanted to investigate the biggest breaks on a huge outcrop of bare rock on the outer side of the islands. I clambered up on to the rock and watched the massive swells that had travelled thousands of miles across some of the most tempestuous seas on the planet colliding with a boulder the size of a house. It was an awesome spectacle of the power of the ocean. I took some dramatic photographs but wanted to capture the perfectly timed moment of maximum impact. I dashed out onto the rock to a position that I thought was out of reach of the waves and quickly retreated to avoid the spray. They seemed to be consistently hitting a maximum height but all of a sudden a monster wave crept in unnoticed from a slightly different angle and hit me from the side. I spun around to face it and was engulfed in a surging mass of energised water; it felt like being hit by a car! I was swept off my feet and desperately tried to arrest my slide towards the foaming cauldron below, and to protect my camera. I just managed to save myself from what could have been a desperate plight if I had been swept into the sea. I felt pain, and the first thing that I noticed was that my arm was badly scraped; then I could see that I was standing in a pool of blood. I lifted my foot up and winced at the sight of a huge gash; it was very painful and I couldn’t stand on it. The infected sores on my shins and feet were still causing me some discomfort, especially at night. I wasn’t looking forward to going to bed that night because I wasn’t expecting to be able to find any comfortable positions. When I hobbled back to camp I cleaned and dried my camera and lens, but that camera body and my essential wide-angle zoom lens were now out of commission.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey28.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey24.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey25.jpg
  • This beautiful view is along the cliffs at the southwest end of the island with the offshore skerries and Atlantic Ocean in the distance. I also watched basking sharks from that side of the island and saw some dolphins just offshore. It was one of my favourite palces to watch the fulmars demonstrating their aerial skills. This was the windward side of the island facing the turbulence and swells of the open ocean, and a magnificent location to look down at the waves crashing forcefully against the rocks below. There was the occasional boat that visited the island during the time that I stayed there but most of the time I had it to myself, and it gave me a wonderful feeling of coastal maritime solitude that I have rarely, if ever, experienced in the UK. I could have stayed there for at least another month but there were still other islands to visit and explore on this trip.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland24.jpg
  • Kayaking-Madagascar-journey27.jpg
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  • Kayaking-Madagascar-journey29.jpg
  • Another view at the southern end of the island. I used to love walking in this direction, down the tussocky slope, with that beautiful seascape before me, and the chain of offshore skerries drawing my eyes out to the distant horizon and beyond. Although I greatly regretted not being able to return to my beloved Southeast Alaska there was more than adequate compensation with views like that, and a reminder that I can find a lot of inspiration from the natural world a lot closer to home.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland23.jpg
  • A sweeping panoramic view at the southern end of the island looking towards a chain of small skerries, that I paddled out to explore. I was camped on the other side of the rocks in the foreground on a grassy ledge overlooking a rocky cove. The cliffs on either side of the last fragment of the island were quite high and very precipitous. This is where I had my next dramatic viewing of basking sharks, because they were swimming very close to the base of the cliff so I was able to look directly down on them, and get a very good impression of their massive size. Once again it was one of those wildlife encounters that is so vividly etched in my memory forever. From my lofty viewpoint I could watch them swimming towards the island and then follow the base of the cliffs as they were feeding.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland22.jpg
  • Palawan-assorted8.jpg
  • A view along the western side of the island looking northwards towards a sea stack called Harp Rock. It is separated from the island by a narrow channel, and there are many seabirds nesting on the stack and the precipitous cliff facing it. It was a spectacular, if not unnerving place to view the activity of all the different species of seabirds nesting there.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland20.jpg
  • It was lovely paddling around the protected shallow lagoon between the three small islets of Nosy Atafana Marine Park but the currents were very strong. I observed a lot of fish in the sea in and around the islets.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey31.jpg
  • whale-shark-Puerto-Princesa43.jpg
  • Kayaking-Madagascar-journey32.jpg
  • Kayaking-Madagascar-journey26.jpg
  • whale-shark-Puerto-Princesa44.jpg
  • Palawan-assorted9.tif
  • Guide from the whale shark tour banca boat diving with a leucistic oceanic manta ray (Manta birostris), Honda Bay, Palawan, the Philippines
    _MG_8462.jpg
  • I paddled around Eilean Thuilm at the northern tip of the island and found this beautiful place to camp with a clear view of the Isle of Rum. I spent a lot of time beachcombing or sitting on the grassy slope in the foreground gazing out across the beautiful sea view towards the Isle of Rum. To get to Cleadale and then Galmisdale there was a scenic footpath to get to the long sandy beach in the Bay of Laig, and then on to the single road leading to Galmisdale. It was a fascinating walk through a mixture of rugged coastal terrain, along a nice beach and then arable land with some dilapidated old farm buildings. I particularly remember an old atmospheric abandoned house with a lot of the original contents scattered around. The only thing that wasn’t good to see was the vast amounts of plastic flotsam and jetsom that had accumulated at the top of the beach. The Bay of Laig seems to have become the unfortunate receptacle and receiving end for so much garbage borne by the Atlantic Ocean from distant places, and more likely jettisoned by ships. There were many layers of it fringing the top of the long beach, more than I’ve seen anywhere else in the UK. It’s something that I had become very familiar with in Southeast Alaska, where a beautiful pristine coastal wilderness is exposed to an open ocean, and whatever unwanted trash it is carrying.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland43.jpg
  • I was discovering how relentless the prevailing south-westerly winds are from the Atlantic Ocean and how completely exposed the west coast of Scotland is. Although I still experienced plenty of beautiful sunny days during my trip the sea very rarely, if at all, calmed down. The wind blew strongly for the next few days and I had little chance to make the relatively short crossing to the Isle of Muck, so I had plenty of time to visit the lighthouse and explore the peninsula on foot. It was another beautiful place to camp but every day I could feel the might of the Atlantic Ocean on my doorstep, and as much as I enjoyed camping at that dramatic location I was getting increasingly frustrated that I couldn’t continue my journey onwards to Muck. <br />
I’ve always used folding kayaks for travelling, and they are generally wider than rigid kayaks, making them slower but more stable. My kayaks have always had fairly big open cockpits, because I prefer the comfort for extended periods of paddling, and I also have extra equipment to accommodate as a fully equipped photographer, and often need it close at hand. I’ve never particularly liked using spray-decks or spray-skirts, so consequently, in addition to the extra beam, doing an Eskimo roll has never been an option, if I had ever been unfortunate enough to capsize. I’ve never really had to develop so many technical skills as anyone who just uses rigid kayaks, apart from being able to do high and low braces, which I had to do a lot on this trip. Although the wider hull of folding kayaks, relative to their length, affects the tracking, and usually necessitates the use of a rudder, there are always conditions when I also have to use technical skills to assist with steering.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland30.jpg
  • Periophthalmus gracilis is a species of mudskippers native to marine and brackish waters of the eastern Indian Ocean and the western Pacific Ocean where it is an inhabitant of the intertidal zone, capable of spending time out of water. This species can reach a length of 4.5 centimetres
    Palawan-underground-river20.tif
  • 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
  • The crossing to the Isle of Coll was good, but I was already experiencing the difficult sea conditions and ocean swells resulting from strong currents and variable wind patterns. I landed at the northern end of the island, and camped on a nice sandy beach between the extensive sand dunes and offshore rocks that create a labyrinth of pools and channels. There is an unmanned lighthouse on one of the offshore rocks. Coll is about 13 miles (20.9 km) long by 3 (4.8 km) miles wide with a population of around 220. Coll has no street lights and little other light pollution, and has been recognised as only the second location in Scotland with dark skies, enabling spectacular views of the heavens, including the Milky Way, when the sky is clear, something that I have also been able to enjoy whilst camping in Alaska and Baja.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland3.jpg
  • Point Gardiner was one of my favourite places to camp, explore and kayak around. The shore was great for beach-combing because Point Gardiner is in such an exposed location at the southern tip of Admiralty Island where Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait converge, and faces towards the opening to the Pacific Ocean at the southern end of Chatham Strait. Many of the beaches are littered with logs from logging.
    Southeast-Alaska-coast7.jpg
  • This was my main camp for many years when I was photographing the bubble net feeding humpback whales. It was a perfect lookout point enabling me to look up and down Chatham Strait, which is the longest navigable channel in the USA. It’s also the point where the Peril Straits enters Chatham Strait from the Pacific Ocean to the west. It was a perfect camp site in many ways apart from being near one of the whales’ favourite feeding sites, the Morris Reef. It had two protected beaches for ease of launching and landing, facing either north or south, depending on which way the wind was blowing from. It was close to streams for fresh water and there was always plenty of firewood washed up on the shore. Perhaps my favourite reason was that in the forest nearby was the biggest patch of huckleberry bushes that I knew of, and huckleberries were my favourite berries to have on my stack of pancakes every morning, to fuel me up for another long hard day paddling with the whales.<br />
It was also a beautiful spot to eat my dinner in the evening. I cooked very elaborate dinners because that was evening’s entertainment every night. Every night I would slide back into my reclining camp seat and watch the dying embers of the fire flicker beneath the stars, and the moon cross Chatham Strait from Admiralty Island to Baranof Island. The stillness of the night was periodically punctuated by a gentle volley of whale breath, which perfectly complemented the sounds of contentment rumbling inside my full belly.
    Alaska-camping-kayaking14.jpg
  • Dramatic declines in harbor seal numbers have been documented in Alaska, including a decline from approximately 11,000 seals to 1,000 seals during 1976-1988 on Tugidak Island near Kodiak – a site previously considered to host one of the largest concentrations of harbor seals in the world. That decline resulted in the listing of Alaskan harbor seals as a species of special concern by the Marine Mammal Commission. A 63% decline in harbor seal numbers also occurred in Prince William Sound during 1984-1997. Although seal numbers in the Kodiak area have been steadily increasing since the early 1990s and seal numbers in PWS began to stabilize and show signs of increase in 2002, both populations remain severely depressed compared to pre-decline population levels. Similarly, a greater than 65% decline in seal numbers has been documented in Glacier Bay since the early 1990s. Seals in Glacier Bay continue to decline at a precipitous rate despite conservation measures in place to control vessel traffic, commercial fishing, and subsistence harvest. The declines and lack of substantial recovery of some harbor seal populations in Alaska contrasts sharply with other parts of the world, where the species has proven to be resilient and capable of fairly rapid recovery from perturbations. There is no evidence that movements of seals between areas can explain these declines; the cause is unknown, but multiple factors are likely involved. Harbor seals appear to have responded severely to changes in carrying capacity and therefore may be particularly sensitive indicators of future change, such as ocean warming.
    Alaska-harbour-seal5.jpg
  • This is a view towards the Isle of Rum, from the northern side of An Sgurr across the central moorland plateau, with a series of lochs along the way. The Bay of Laig and the northernmost point of the island where I was camping can be seen to the right of Rum. This was a fantastic hike with breathtaking views all the way. For much of my younger days I had Dartmoor to enjoy as my regular local camping and hiking destination so I was well used to hiking across moorland terrain with ocean views to the north and south of Devon, but not as close as this on the islands of the Inner Hebrides. It was truly magical to be hiking across this ancient rugged terrain, with the sea and other islands always enhancing the view, and adding greatly to the sense of isolation and perspective. I seem to remember that my feet were quite sore by the time that I got back to my camp at the northern tip of the island in the fading light. It was one of my classic “race against the fading light” hikes, especially with a precarious coastal footpath to negotiate at the end.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland48.jpg
  • It felt better to arrive safely at yet another beautiful campsite than I could have ever imagined! I had a wonderful time there before in 1990, especially photographing the colony of breeding seabirds on the cliffs at the northern end of Lunga. It is the smallest of the four main islands in the Small Isles, measuring roughly 2.5 miles (4.0 km east to west) and has a population of around 30, mostly living near the harbour at Port Mor. The other settlement on the island is the farm at Gallanach, and during this visit I was fortunate enough to get to know the family living there, and to have a glimpse of their isolated traditional subsistence lifestyle. The only road on the island, about 1.6 miles long (2.5 km) connects the farm to the port. I camped just behind a really nice sandy beach, where there were often some white horses grazing or walking on the beach. There were plenty of grey seals bobbing their heads above the water and seaweed around the bay. There is a characterful old house there, which is available for holiday rental, and I got to know, and dined with a lovely family staying there. Although it’s such a small community I had a very sociable time while I was there and met some very interesting people. There was a very nice café and shop at Port Mor, that I enjoyed snacking in and meeting some of the locals and visitors. Apart from observing and photographing the breeding seabirds as before I also climbed the main hill on the island, Beinn Airein, 137 metres (449 ft) high. The view out across the choppy ocean dotted with islands was tremendous, and gave me such a feeling of expansive space. I could visually embrace the relentless passage of the strong wind from the distant horizon, whipping up the sea into ranks of advancing whitecaps, before flying up to nip my face with its invigorating salty chill. I was glad that I had braved the adverse sea conditions for another special visit to the Isle of Muck and hope that it won’t be so long before my next visit.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland33.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey2.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey1.jpg
  • Point Gardiner was one of my favourite places to camp, explore and kayak around. The shore was great for beach-combing because Point Gardiner is in such an exposed location at the southern tip of Admiralty Island where Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait converge, and faces towards the opening to the Pacific Ocean at the southern end of Chatham Strait. Many of the beaches are littered with logs from logging.
    Southeast-Alaska-coast8.jpg
  • This was one of my favourite campsites. It is directly opposite the native town of Angoon, where I often used to catch the ferry to from Petersburg to start my kayaking trips in the summer. I then usually had a relatively easy crossing to get here. To the right and south of the photo is Peril Strait, which is a narrow passage that leads to Sitka and the Pacific Ocean. Offshore is the submerged Morris Reef, which was one of the regular feeding places for bubble net feeding humpback whales, which were usually the ones that I dubbed "the Famous Five". The converging currents there create strong upwellings and choppy water that made the conditions difficult at times. It was a great campsite because it has a beaches facing north and south with a small causeway leading to a small islet that was cut-off at high tide. It made it easier for me to land  depending on which way the wind was blowing. The islet looks odd in this photo because half of the trees burnt down one summer. I was paddling across Chatham Strait and could see smoke belching from the islet that was such a special lookout point for me. As soon as I landed I found a big empty plastic oil drum on the beach and used it to go back and forth with water to make a fire break to save half the islet. But it was still upsetting for me when I was sitting next to my campfire in the evening watching one tree after another crashing down on the other side, sending up fireworks of glowing embers in the night sky. It was a really dry summer that year and small islands without any groundwater are particularly vulnerable to slow burning fires smouldering in the tinder-dry forest litter. In the foreground is a rudimentary totem and circle of log seats that some Tlingit native people from Angoon must have carved. I had been coming to this campsite for a few years, and was pleasantly surprised to find these here one summer, and they added more unique character to this campsite, as well as the islet with half its trees gone.
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  • Once I managed to drag myself away from the feeding basking sharks in Gunna Sound I headed SE to the southern end of Mull and then E to the small island of Lunga not too far off the mainland. The sea conditions were quite moderate and it was a very pleasant paddle highlighted by a most unexpected encounter. Shortly before arriving at Lunga I saw something on the surface with part of it sticking up above the surface and moving quickly. As I got closer I was able to identify the unmistakeable shape and unique means of propulsion of a sunfish. They can grow to a massive size but this was just a very small one. It was the first time that I’ve seen one, although they have been sighted quite frequently along the south coast of England, and even very close to the shore of one of my local beaches in Torbay. I had always associated them with tropical waters and never ever expected to see one that far north, but such is the changing nature of our climate and ocean currents that there will be a concomitant shift in the migratory patterns of many warm water creatures such as turtles. I managed to get close enough to get a good view of its unusual shape and the gyrating “sculling” action of its tail fin but then it disappeared, although it kept returning to the surface, so I could see how it gets its name of sunfish because they are surface baskers like the basking shark, although they are just doing it to feed.<br />
I had very good memories of visiting Lunga by boat during my first trip to the Inner Hebrides in 1990, especially seeing puffins up close for the first time. I was really looking forward to returning there and being able to camp on the island for a while. It is of volcanic origin and has been described as “a green jewel in a peacock sea” and once I was there again I could only echo that poetic description. It is one of the most beautiful places where I have ever camped and a place that I will always dream of returning to.
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  • From Ariganour I paddled south along the east coast of Coll passing the big open Crossapol Bay with extensive sandy beaches, and stopped to camp near Calgary Point and the small island of Gunna in the strait that divides Coll from the adjacent Isle of Tiree. It was another really beautiful location, and kayaking around to the west coast allowed me to experience the ocean swells and the feeling of open exposure to the North Atlantic. The next morning shortly after heading out for the long crossing to the south end of Mull and then Lunga, I had the encounter that I had been hoping for – basking sharks !! In the distance I could see their tall tail fins sweeping from side to side, and as I got closer, their unmistakeably comical bulbous snout ploughing across the surface above their massively inflated jaws while feeding on plankton. I was so excited, and full of eager anticipation to get close enough to see them underwater. It was one of those magical moments akin to when I had my first whale encounters in a kayak. I couldn’t wait!!
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  • Duncan Murrell eating his breakfast of huckleberry pancakes at Point Hayes, Chichagoff Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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This was my main camp for many years when I was photographing the bubble net feeding humpback whales. It was a perfect lookout point enabling me to look up and down Chatham Strait, which is the longest navigable channel in the USA. It’s also the point where the Peril Straits enters Chatham Strait from the Pacific Ocean to the west. It was a perfect camp site in many ways apart from being near one of the whales’ favourite feeding sites, the Morris Reef. It had two protected beaches for ease of launching and landing, facing either north or south, depending on which way the wind was blowing from. It was close to streams for fresh water and there was always plenty of firewood washed up on the shore. Perhaps my favourite reason was that in the forest nearby was the biggest patch of huckleberry bushes that I knew of, and huckleberries were my favourite berries to have on my stack of pancakes every morning, to fuel me up for another long hard day paddling with the whales.<br />
It was also a beautiful spot to eat my dinner in the evening. I cooked very elaborate dinners because that was evening’s entertainment every night. Every night I would slide back into my reclining camp seat and watch the dying embers of the fire flicker beneath the stars, and the moon cross Chatham Strait from Admiralty Island to Baranof Island. The stillness of the night was periodically punctuated by a gentle volley of whale breath, which perfectly complemented the sounds of contentment rumbling inside my full belly.
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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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  • Ravens love to fly and appear to revel in it more than any other birds that I have observed. There was a steep cliff on the seaward side of the islet where I was camping and the thermal updraughts from the ocean blasted vertically up its face. The ravens loved to play there, getting carried abruptly aloft, and then tumbling and rolling back down before taking the elevator back up again.
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  • I was discovering how unpredictable the weather is along the coast of Madagascar and got caught in a few bad squalls including one on the afternoon of my 50th birthday. I paddled back to the mainland from Nosy Boraha and camped on the long spit that extends out into the channel. Shortly after setting off the next day I had the next mishap; the wooden rudder yoke of my kayak broke, making it virtually impossible to steer my kayak in the big ocean swells and get ashore without capsizing in the surf. I had heard the usual surfeit of shark attack stories involving tiger sharks along the east coast so I decided to err on the side of caution and not enter the water to attempt a repair so I had to try to do it by crawling along the back deck of the kayak and reaching out with extended arms. As I was doing it the kayak was drifting ever near the breaking surf on the steep beach, and waves were swamping the cockpit, so I had to keep crawling back into the cockpit to pump out the water. Eventually, with my arms fully extended and frequent duckings of my head underwater, I was able to make a splint for the broken yoke using some wooden cooking utensils all held together with tape, straps and cable ties. It wasn’t a moment too soon as my kayak was just about to be swept ashore into the pounding surf! But that wasn’t the end of the day’s mishaps because when I got back into the kayak I realized that I had omitted to secure my paddle and it had been swept away by the waves! Fortunately I always carry a spare paddle and I spent the rest of the day paddling around the area trying to find the lost paddle but to no avail. Everything just kept going from bad to worse, and I was less than a month into my trip.
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  • This was definitely one of my favourite camps in Southeast Alaska because Point Gardiner is such a spectacular location with tremendous views across Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait down to the Pacific Ocean, and Baranof Island with its spine of lofty mountains and glaciers. It wasn't the easiest camp to get to after arriving because of the extensive wave-cut platform at Point Gardiner, and if i was exhausted, which I usually was because the crossing from Kupreanof Island to the south was the longest of the crossings I had to do, having to carry all of my gear to the camp in the dark used up the very last of my energy reserves. There was always so much wildlife off the point. The strong currents of Chatham Strait and Frederick Sound converge there creating upwellings and challenging sea conditions, which attracts a lot of life there, from seabirds to whales. There are extensive kelp beds around the point as well. Just offshore from the point is Yasha Island, which was my favourite sea lion haulout for observing Steller's sea lions at close quarters.
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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 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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  • It was so beautiful to be out on Frederick Sound where it meets Stephens Passage to the North. It is surrounded by the mountains of the mainland to the East and the North, Kupreanof Island to the South, and Baranof and Admiralty Island to the West.  There are passages to get out to the Pacific Ocean, but it seems contained like a massive lake. It can be tranquil like a millpond like this photo, but very quickly transformed into a maelstrom by powerful South-easterly winds, and strong currents.
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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
  • I was camped above a rocky cove at the southeast end of the island. Every day I walked around the small island as if I was the laird of my own little dominion. There was a small fairly well trodden trail that I had to be very vigilant on in places because of its proximity to precipitous drops. This photo was taken at the NW end of the island with a view of some of the offshore skerries. I became very familiar with every different aspect of the island, the birds and the plants. In the middle there was an open grass meadow leading up to a terraced outcrop of rock, which may be a volcanic plug as the islands are volcanic in origin. If I wasn’t sitting near a cliff watching the aerial display of the seabirds I was the king of my own little domain sitting on top of my throne surveying the distant ocean and islands.
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  • 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.
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  • The common sunstar is a species of sea star belonging to the family Solasteridae. It is found in the northern parts of both the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans. The intertidal life in Southeast Alaska is very rich because of the nutrient-rich water that is pumped around by the prevailing strong currents and upwellings.
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