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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 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
  • Two subspecies of wolves are currently recognized in Alaska; wolves in Southeast Alaska tend to be darker and somewhat smaller than those in northern parts of the state. Wolves are social animals and usually live in packs that include parents and pups of the year. The average pack size is six or seven animals, and pack members often include some yearlings and other adults. Packs of 20 to 30 wolves sometimes occur, and these larger packs may have two or three litters of pups from more than one female.<br />
The social order in the pack is characterized by a separate dominance hierarchy among females and males. In most areas wolf packs tend to remain within a territory used almost exclusively by pack members, with only occasional overlap in the ranges of neighboring packs.<br />
This was my first close encounter with a pack of wolves in Southeast Alaska. They are generally hard to see because most of their range is densely forested but the landscape is much more open in Glacier Bay. I was paddling around this island in the middle of winter when I heard some wolves howling. Around the next bend I encountered a pair of cow moose out in the water protecting themselves from a frustrated pack of wolves howling on the shore. I just sat motionless in my kayak and eventually one of the wolves trotted down the frozen beach and stood right in front of me for a few seconds before returning to the rest of the pack. It was a thrilling experience to look a wolf in the eyes at such close quarters.
    Alaska-wildlife-wolf3.jpg
  • A pack of wolves (Canis lupis) on an island in Adam’s Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
Two subspecies of wolves are currently recognized in Alaska; wolves in Southeast Alaska tend to be darker and somewhat smaller than those in northern parts of the state. Wolves are social animals and usually live in packs that include parents and pups of the year. The average pack size is six or seven animals, and pack members often include some yearlings and other adults. Packs of 20 to 30 wolves sometimes occur, and these larger packs may have two or three litters of pups from more than one female.<br />
The social order in the pack is characterized by a separate dominance hierarchy among females and males. In most areas wolf packs tend to remain within a territory used almost exclusively by pack members, with only occasional overlap in the ranges of neighboring packs.<br />
This was my first close encounter with a pack of wolves in Southeast Alaska. They are generally hard to see because most of their range is densely forested but the landscape is much more open in Glacier Bay. I was paddling around this island in the middle of winter when I heard some wolves howling. Around the next bend I encountered a pair of cow moose out in the water protecting themselves from a frustrated pack of wolves howling on the shore. I just sat motionless in my kayak and eventually one of the wolves trotted down the frozen beach and stood right in front of me for a few seconds before returning to the rest of the pack. It was a thrilling experience to look a wolf in the eyes at such close quarters.
    wildlife-9.tif
  • 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
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey38.jpg
  • As well as the enthralling discoveries I made one very grim one. As I hiked farther up the tributary I could smell the obvious stench of decay. Eventually I came across the rotting carcase of a lemur. Not far away, I could see that there was a snare that had been set on a large fallen tree spanning the river. It was evidently a regular crossing point for animals and the obvious place to set a snare. I dismantled the snare with a mixture of anger at the death of the lemur, sympathy for the poacher who was probably just trying to feed his family, and admiration for the ingenuity of its construction from material gleaned from the forest. I had already seen how people have a significant foothold around the perimeter of the forest and up some of the larger rivers. Poaching is going to be inevitable with such a large protected area lacking in sufficient personnel to actually patrol and protect it.
    Kayak-Madagascar- mammal-birdMadagas...jpg
  • 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
  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey43.jpg
  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey42.jpg
  • This was a breaching whale that left an unforgettable visual imprint in my memory for all time. I was camped in Icy Strait where there are usually many humpback whales, and the scenery is incredible, with a fantastic backdrop of the massive Fairweather Mountain Range bordering Glacier Bay. It was a beautiful, flat-calm, sunny morning and one whale had got off to a flying start. It was breaching repeatedly and I got off to an early start to try to catch up with it on the other side of Icy Strait. <br />
Unfortunately by the time I got there it had stopped breaching, as always seemed to happen. I continued to paddle my kayak on that beautiful peaceful morning, gliding across the mirror-calm sea with the sound of the water dripping from my paddles amplified by the stillness. Then suddenly without any warning I could “feel” something erupting out of the water nearby so I spun around trying to locate the source of the disturbance. Glancing over my shoulder my view of the rising sun was eclipsed by the massive silhouette of the whale leaping out of the water, just a few metres behind my kayak; it had an auro of the sun’s rays around it like a religious icon. My jaw dropped with astonishment, and my heart must have skipped a few beats; and before I could react to protect myself or my camera there was a massive thud when the whale struck the water and I was drenched by a whale-sized, icy cold shower: I suddenly felt very small and vulnerable in my kayak. I had experienced the whales so many times at close quarters, but it’s not until you can actually view one in its entirety hovering above you that you can really appreciate the scale of a whale!
    Alaska-humpback-whale-breach5.jpg
  • Rocks in Tompolo Marine Park, Masoala National Park, the Masoala Peninsula, eastern Madagascar.<br />
<br />
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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey35.tif
  • There is a greater density of brown bears on Admiralty Island in Southeast Alaska than anywhere else in North America. Brown and grizzly bears are classified as the same species even though there are notable differences between them. ‘Brown bears” typically live along the southern coast of Alaska where they have access to seasonally abundant spawning salmon. The coastal areas also provide a rich array of vegetation they can use as food as well as a milder climate. This allows them to grow larger and live in higher densities than their “grizzly” cousins in the northern and interior parts of the state. Brown bears are also larger than black bears, have a more prominent shoulder hump, less prominent ears, and longer, straighter claws. Long claws are useful in digging for roots or excavating small mammals, but are not efficient for climbing trees.<br />
I used to visit this area frequently because there was a well-known man called Stan Price who lived in harmony with the bears in nearby Pack Creek for many years; I enjoyed listening to his bear stories. On this particular occasion I received a wake-up call not to approach the bears too closely. This bear was chasing salmon in the shallow streams and I wandered too close while my eyes were confined to the viewfinder of my camera. It suddenly turned its attention from catching salmon to me and started to walk towards me. When the walk became a canter I realized that I was in trouble so I stopped taking photos and lowered my camera. I froze to the spot and as the pace of the bear increased my first instinct was to point at and shout in a very loud, commanding voice “ Go back!” My voice echoed around the steep walls of the valley and fortunately for me the bear obeyed my order; it slammed on the brakes, snarled at me one last time and then ran away through the tall grass.<br />
Like many other animals, particularly immature males, bears will often make a bluff charge to protect their territory but I wasn’t sure of that at the time!
    wildlife-4.tif
  • The left eye of the whale in the foreground is clearly visible and shut. The whales are lunging at such close proximity that they usually close their eyes to protect them from any damage, particularly from the flippers that are usually heavily encrusted with barnacles. Whales that are regular members of these teams of bubble net feeders are very distinctive because of all of the scratches inflicted on their bodies by barnacles.
    Alaska-humpbackwhale-bubblenet16.jpg
  • There is a greater density of brown bears on Admiralty Island in Southeast Alaska than anywhere else in North America. Brown and grizzly bears are classified as the same species even though there are notable differences between them. ‘Brown bears” typically live along the southern coast of Alaska where they have access to seasonally abundant spawning salmon. The coastal areas also provide a rich array of vegetation they can use as food as well as a milder climate. This allows them to grow larger and live in higher densities than their “grizzly” cousins in the northern and interior parts of the state. Brown bears are also larger than black bears, have a more prominent shoulder hump, less prominent ears, and longer, straighter claws. Long claws are useful in digging for roots or excavating small mammals, but are not efficient for climbing trees.<br />
I used to visit this area frequently because there was a well-known man called Stan Price who lived in harmony with the bears in nearby Pack Creek for many years; I enjoyed listening to his bear stories. On this particular occasion I received a wake-up call not to approach the bears too closely. This bear was chasing salmon in the shallow streams and I wandered too close while my eyes were confined to the viewfinder of my camera. It suddenly turned its attention from catching salmon to me and started to walk towards me. When the walk became a canter I realized that I was in trouble so I stopped taking photos and lowered my camera. I froze to the spot and as the pace of the bear increased my first instinct was to point at and shout in a very loud, commanding voice “ Go back!” My voice echoed around the steep walls of the valley and fortunately for me the bear obeyed my order; it slammed on the brakes, snarled at me one last time and then ran away through the tall grass.<br />
Like many other animals, particularly immature males, bears will often make a bluff charge to protect their territory but I wasn’t sure of that at the time!
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • At the end of the bay I camped on an island within the boundaries of another marine park.  I had heard that the snorkelling there was the best in the bay - I wasn’t disappointed. I couldn’t believe how many species that I saw in a short space of time;  I lost count at about 20. Being in the water brought some relief from the pain of my swollen ankle and foot, and also from the swarms of mosquitoes, by far the worst that I had encountered so far. Up until that point I had been pleasantly surprised at how few of the jungle nasties, like mosquitoes and leeches, I’d encountered. Although I was supposedly camped within a protected marine park I witnessed several fishermen searching for lobsters in the area. It wasn’t so much that they were just catching lobsters but the very destructive manner in which they were doing it; they were using a long pole to probe the rocks with some considerable force, which would undoubtedly damage the coral.<br />
<br />
 I continued northwards through waters protected by offshore coral reefs and camped near Cap Masoala. I received a visit from two park rangers in a very impressive looking kayak. They were very interested in my trip and examined my swollen foot. They had no idea what it could be but one of them pointed to a hard black spot on my toe, one of a few I’d noticed, and informed me that a parasitic flea had laid its eggs in there, and that they had to be scraped out. I had suspected that they were more than just calluses. He had obviously had plenty of experience with them so I handed my knife to him and invited him to scrape them away; sure enough, once he had removed the black “crust” it revealed a small cavity packed with tiny eggs. He told me that it was very important to remove every last one to prevent my foot being turned into a flea hatchery. I was renowned for hosting uninvited guests on my travels but this was beginning to look like the definitive, open door trip to add to my ever-growing collection of body invaders.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey40.tif
  • This was a breaching whale that left an unforgettable visual imprint in my memory for all time. I was camped in Icy Strait where there are usually many humpback whales, and the scenery is incredible, with a fantastic backdrop of the massive Fairweather Mountain Range bordering Glacier Bay. It was a beautiful, flat-calm, sunny morning and one whale had got off to a flying start. It was breaching repeatedly and I got off to an early start to try to catch up with it on the other side of Icy Strait. <br />
Unfortunately by the time I got there it had stopped breaching, as always seemed to happen. I continued to paddle my kayak on that beautiful peaceful morning, gliding across the mirror-calm sea with the sound of the water dripping from my paddles amplified by the stillness. Then suddenly without any warning I could “feel” something erupting out of the water nearby so I spun around trying to locate the source of the disturbance. Glancing over my shoulder my view of the rising sun was eclipsed by the massive silhouette of the whale leaping out of the water, just a few metres behind my kayak; it had an auro of the sun’s rays around it like a religious icon. My jaw dropped with astonishment, and my heart must have skipped a few beats; and before I could react to protect myself or my camera there was a massive thud when the whale struck the water and I was drenched by a whale-sized, icy cold shower.<br />
I suddenly felt very small and vulnerable in my kayak. I had experienced the whales so many times at close quarters, but it’s not until you can actually view one in its entirety hovering above you that you can really appreciate the scale of a whale!
    Alaska-humpback-whale-breach4.jpg
  • Observing sea lions at close quarters at their haul-outs was like going to a circus, because there always so much going on to entertain and amuse. They are such noisy and smelly places, and sometimes I had to crawl through the foul, stagnant rockpools to get amongst them, but it was always worth it. There was often sparring going on between the big bulls, which involved a lot of heaving and wheezing, and roaring. If they weren't sparring then they would be posturing in  a high and mighty fashion with their heads thrown back and their chests puffed out. Younger bulls appeared to congregate in gangs like delinquents hell-bent on mischief, usually directed at the less mobile larger bulls. One of the funniest incidents I have ever seen in the animal kingdom was when there was a big bull teetering on a narrow ledge on a rock-face about 2 metres above the sea. Beneath him there were some mischievous juveniles that were leaping up at him out of the water to nip him on his exposed posterior that he was unable to protect because of his precarious situation. He was getting understandably very irritated, and eventually fell off the narrow ledge into the sea making a big splash: it was hilarious! I also enjoyed watching the juveniles playing in the tidal surges that swept them back and forth along channels between the rocks. Sometimes when I was paddling in big swells with waves crashing onto the rocks I marvelled at how the sea lions revelled in the opportunity to play close to the rocks in sea conditions that were threatening to me.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion3.jpg
  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey44.jpg
  • I camped on one of the three Los Candeleros islets just to the south of Isla Danzante in the Bahia de Loreto National Park for three weeks on the way back to Loreto. From the top I had a clear view of the southern end of the channel between Isla Carmen and Isla Danzante, a passage frequently travelled by whales and dolphins. I was hoping for my first view of blue whales. I had only seen the second largest whales, fin whales, up to that point. When I wasn’t scanning the horizon for whales I was being hypnotised by the graceful magnificent frigate birds circling overhead in the thermals. They are the ultimate gliders among birds, able to hang in the for hours with harly a movement of their long, thin, angular wings. The shallow water around the islets was excellent for snorkelling although the water was much colder than I expected. It was wonderful to camping under the clear skies, with the stars so vivid because of the absence of light pollution from people. The temperature at night was perfect without any need for a sleeping bag or any protection from insects.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California55.jpg
  • Amber Mountain National Park, a prominent volcanic massif in the north of the country, is the oldest protected area in Madagascar, and is known for its waterfalls and crater lakes, and is one of the most biologically diverse places in all of Madagascar with 75 species of birds, 25 of mammals, 59 species of reptiles, and ???? species of frogs.<br />
Although it is so accessible and supposedly Madagascar’s most visited natural attraction I was fortunate enough to be there when it was almost empty. The prominent view sites for the park’s waterfalls are really breathtaking. The night walks were very rewarding, especially for an abundance of frog species. The icing on the cake of a very rewarding trip there was discovering a beautiful leaf-tailed gecko on the tree that my hammock was attached to. I discovered it in the middle of the night when I got up to relieve myself. I had trekked far and wide in the hope of finding more of those amazing, elusive creatures and one blessed me with a personal visit in the dead of night.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey48.jpg
  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey7.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
  • This photo was taken near the Tlingit village of Kake on Kupreanof Island and illustrates the problems of the practice of clear-cut logging that persisted during the 1980s and 90s when I was based in Southeast Alaska. The extent of clear-cutting was much worse around native communities because the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971 (ANCSA) awarded approximately 148,500,000 acres (601,000 km2) of Federal land in Alaska to private native corporations which were created under ANCSA. Transference of public National Forest land to a privately owned corporation removes it from protection by Federal law and allows the owners to use the land in whatever way they see fit without regard to the effects of the use on surrounding lands and ecosystems. This fact has caused much controversy involving the business interests of Native Regional Corporations and the personal interests of local Natives and non-Native residents of Southeastern Alaska, such as subsistence hunting and tourism.
    Alaska-humpbackwhale-bubblenet6.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
  • They originated in Asia and crossed into North America shortly before the Bering Land Bridge between Asia and America flooded about 11,000 years ago, and then dispersed throughout Beringia ( prehistoric Interior Alaska and northwest Canada). About 10,000 years ago an ice-free corridor opened up between the huge continental glaciers that covered Canada, allowing animals like moose, grizzly bears and bison to move south from Berangia to the Pacific Northwest into the continental United States.<br />
Moose subsequently evolved into four North American subspecies (and other sub-species found in Scandinavia and Russia). Alaska is home to the world’s largest, Alces alces gigas, as well as a smaller sub-species, Alces alces andersoni. Gigas, also known as Alaska moose or tundra moose, is found in Alaska, the Yukon and northwest British Columbia; andersoni, or anderson’s moose, is found in Southeast Alaska, the eastern Yukon, and central B.C east to Michigan.<br />
Impeded by mountain ranges, icefields and glaciers, moose did not colonize Southeast Alaska until the 20th century. They are far more recent arrivals than Sitka black-tailed deer and wolves, which moved up the coast from the south about 8,000 years ago as the glaciers melted and land was exposed. Moose from British Columbia accressed Southeast via the river corridors and arrived in the Taku River valley south of Juneau and the Stikine River basin near Petersburg about 1910.<br />
I had a memorable encounter with a large herd of moose in Adam’s Inlet in Glacier Bay in the middle of winter. I was standing on the mudflats at low tide and set up my tripod to photograph the moose on the shore. Gradually they started to walk towards me until eventually I was surrounded by at least 20 moose who were more curious about me than afraid; apparently their protected status in the National Park had made them fearless of humans.
    Alaska-wildlife-moose1.jpg
  • Scottish highland cattle. I come from an agricultural county in the UK, Devon, that even has its own particular breed of cows, South Devons, with a reddish brown colour that almost matches the colour of the soil, not dissimilar to the colour of this distinctive Scottish breed, but that is where the similarity ends because they have been bred for climates at opposite ends of the UK weather spectrum. Whereas Devon enjoys the balmiest weather in the country, the Scottish Highlands and Western Isles, where highland cattle were developed, have the shortest summers and most extreme weather conditions in the UK. Highland cattle are known as a hardy breed due to the rugged nature of their native Scottish Highlands, with high rainfall and very strong winds. Breeding stock has been exported to the rest of the world, especially Australia and North America, since the early 20th Century. They have been successfully established in many temperate, and even in countries where winters are substantially colder than Scotland’s such as in central Europe and Canada. Their long hair gives protection during the cold winters, and their ability to find and graze on plants in steep mountain areas, or on plants, which many other cattle avoid helps them to survive. They have become established as one of the most distinctive trademarks of the wildest parts of Scotland, and one of Scotland’s most successful exports.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland45.jpg
  • Bull moose (Alces alces andersoni), Adam’s Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
They originated in Asia and crossed into North America shortly before the Bering Land Bridge between Asia and America flooded about 11,000 years ago, and then dispersed throughout Beringia ( prehistoric Interior Alaska and northwest Canada). About 10,000 years ago an ice-free corridor opened up between the huge continental glaciers that covered Canada, allowing animals like moose, grizzly bears and bison to move south from Berangia to the Pacific Northwest into the continental United States.<br />
Moose subsequently evolved into four North American subspecies (and other sub-species found in Scandinavia and Russia). Alaska is home to the world’s largest, Alces alces gigas, as well as a smaller sub-species, Alces alces andersoni. Gigas, also known as Alaska moose or tundra moose, is found in Alaska, the Yukon and northwest British Columbia; andersoni, or anderson’s moose, is found in Southeast Alaska, the eastern Yukon, and central B.C east to Michigan.<br />
Impeded by mountain ranges, icefields and glaciers, moose did not colonize Southeast Alaska until the 20th century. They are far more recent arrivals than Sitka black-tailed deer and wolves, which moved up the coast from the south about 8,000 years ago as the glaciers melted and land was exposed. Moose from British Columbia accressed Southeast via the river corridors and arrived in the Taku River valley south of Juneau and the Stikine River basin near Petersburg about 1910.<br />
I had a memorable encounter with a large herd of moose in Adam’s Inlet in Glacier Bay in the middle of winter. I was standing on the mudflats at low tide and set up my tripod to photograph the moose on the shore. Gradually they started to walk towards me until eventually I was surrounded by at least 20 moose who were more curious about me than afraid; apparently their protected status in the National Park had made them not fear humans.
    wildlife-12.tif
  • Lunga is the largest island in an archipelago of small islands and skerries that stretches roughly 7 kilometres (4.3 m) called the Treshnish Isles. Lunga is designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest because of its abundant plant life. Many rare and endangered plants are native to the island. Plants include primrose, birdsfoot trefoil, orchids, sea campion, sea thrift, sea pinks, yellow flags, tormentil and the oyster plant. The Treshnish Isles are also designated as a Special Protection Area due to their importance for breeding seabirds such as storm-petrels, kittiwakes, Manx Shearwaters, guillemots, puffins and fulmars. They are also a marine Special Area of Conservation and grey seals can be found there along with basking sharks, as I was pleased to discover. I particularly enjoyed watching the seabirds nesting on the precipitous cliffs, and a dramatic sea stack called the Harp Rock separated from the island by a narrow passage. It was hypnotic to watch the real masters of flight like the kittiwakes and fulmars launching from their precarious nests and soaring in graceful arcs in front of the cliffs and above the rocks and meadows.<br />
Lunga was populated up until the 19th century, and to the NE of the island, and just around the rocks to the right of this photo can be found the ruins of the village, which was abandoned in 1857. I often used to sit in amongst the ruins looking out across the sea dotted with vegetated skerries towards Mull and the mainland wondering what it must have been like to live there. I camped there for a week, and it was a wonderful place to live during the good weather of the short Scottish summer, but I can imagine how challenging it must have been to eke out a subsistence life there in the past.
    New-Scotland17-Edit.jpg
  • My next destination was to attempt to get out to Nosy Atafana, a small group of three islands surrounded by a coral reef just to the north of Antanambe, that constitutes one of only four protected marine parks in Madagascar. I was able to buy some fresh supplies at Antanambe for the trip. It was the first time that I had actually seen any of the fish species that were on sale in the market. Most of the marine habitats that I had observed along the way so far were very sparsely populated with fish.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey22.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey5.jpg
  • Pybus Bay was one of my favourite beautiful places in Southeast Alaska.<br />
Admiralty Island is an island in the Alexander Archipelago in Southeast Alaska. It is 145 km (90 mi) long and 56 km (35 mi) wide with an area of 4,264.1 km² (1,646.4 sq mi), making it the seventh largest island in the United States. It is one of the ABC islands of Alaska: Admiralty, Baranof and Chichagof. The island is nearly cut in two by Seymour Canal; to its east is the long, narrow Glass Peninsula. Most of Admiralty Island — more than 955,000 acres (3,860 km²) is occupied by the Admiralty Island National Monument - a federally protected wilderness area administered by the Tongass National Forest. The Kootznoowoo Wilderness encompasses vast stands of old growth temperate rainforest. These forests provide some of the best habitat available to species such as brown bears, bald eagles, and Sitka black-tailed deer.
    Southeast-Alaska-Avalon16.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
  • The McBride tidewater Glacier, Glacier Bay national Park and Preserve, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
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.
    ice-5.tif
  • Duncan Murrell eating his breakfast of huckleberry pancakes at Point Hayes, Chichagoff Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
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.
    Whaleman-12.tif
  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey8.jpg
  • Scottish highland cattle. I come from an agricultural county in the UK, Devon, that even has its own particular breed of cows, South Devons, with a reddish brown colour that almost matches the colour of the soil, not dissimilar to the colour of this distinctive Scottish breed, but that is where the similarity ends because they have been bred for climates at opposite ends of the UK weather spectrum. Whereas Devon enjoys the balmiest weather in the country, the Scottish Highlands and Western Isles, where highland cattle were developed, have the shortest summers and most extreme weather conditions in the UK. Highland cattle are known as a hardy breed due to the rugged nature of their native Scottish Highlands, with high rainfall and very strong winds. Breeding stock has been exported to the rest of the world, especially Australia and North America, since the early 20th Century. They have been successfully established in many temperate, and even in countries where winters are substantially colder than Scotland’s such as in central Europe and Canada. Their long hair gives protection during the cold winters, and their ability to find and graze on plants in steep mountain areas, or on plants, which many other cattle avoid helps them to survive. They have become established as one of the most distinctive trademarks of the wildest parts of Scotland, and one of Scotland’s most successful exports.
    New-Scotland69-Edit.jpg
  • My next destination was to attempt to get out to Nosy Atafana, a small group of three islands surrounded by a coral reef just to the north of Antanambe, that constitutes one of only four protected marine parks in Madagascar. I was able to buy some fresh supplies at Antanambe for the trip. It was the first time that I had actually seen any of the fish species that were on sale in the market. Most of the marine habitats that I had observed along the way so far were very sparsely populated with fish.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey23.jpg
  • The most controversial logging in the Tongass has involved the roadless areas. Southeast Alaska is an extensive landscape, with communities scattered across the archipelago on different islands, isolated from each other and the mainland road system. The road system that exists in the region is in place because of the resource extraction history in the region, primarily established by the Forest Service to enable timber harvest. Once in place, these roads serve to connect local communities and visitors to recreation, hunting, fishing, and subsistence opportunities long into the future. However, installing roads in the vast wilderness areas of the Tongass is also a point of controversy for many in the American public, as reflected in the roadless area conservation movement, which has opposed further road construction on the grounds that it would promote habitat fragmentation, diminish wildlife populations and damage salmon spawning streams; they argue that existing roads are sufficient. <br />
Native Corporation Lands were designated by the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971 (ANCSA). This Act conveyed approximately 44,000,000 acres (180,000 km2) of Federal land in Alaska to private native corporations which were created under the ANCSA. 632,000 acres (2,560 km2) of those lands were hand-picked old growth areas of the Tongass and are still surrounded by public National Forest land. These lands are now private and under the management of Sealaska, one of the native regional corporations created under the ANCSA. <br />
Transference of public National Forest land to a privately owned corporation removes it from protection by Federal law and allows the owners to use the land in whatever way they see fit without regard to the effects of the use on surrounding lands and ecosystems. This fact has caused much controversy involving the business interests of Native Regional Corporations and the personal interests of local Native and non-Native residents of Southeastern Alaska.
    Alaska-Tongass-National-Forest2.jpg
  • The most common predator of harbor seals is the killer whale. Other predators include sharks, sea lions, and land predators such as wolves, bears and coyotes. Since implementation of the Marine Mammal Protection Act in 1972, hunting has been restricted to Alaska Natives. Harbor seals play a crucial role in the culture and diet of Alaska Natives; the annual subsistence harvest of harbor seals in Alaska is about1,800 to 2,900 animals, with fewer seals harvested in recent years. The harbor seal's ability to damage or remove salmon from gillnets has caused conflicts between seals and commercial fishers in Alaska. This behavior creates economic losses for fishers and often fosters an antagonistic attitude toward seals. The Copper River Delta, the mouths of the Stikine and Taku rivers, and portions of Bristol Bay are areas with notable harbor seal-fishery conflicts. Sometimes seals are caught and killed or injured in fishing gear, primarily in gillnets and occasionally in crab pots.
    Alaska-harbour-seal4.jpg
  • 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
  • The west coast of Scotland is one of the best places in the world, along with my home region of the SW of England, for seeing basking sharks, the second largest fish in the world. They can grow up to 10m (33ft) long. They are an open water shark, but move closer to shore in summer to feed on the plankton bloom. They are usually solitary, but occasionally gather in aggregations of 100 or more where there are large concentrations of plankton, usually where there are tidal fronts where different water masses meet. They are filter feeders, and in 1 hour they can filter 1.5 million litres (330,000 gallons) of water through their gills. They are highly migratory, but long-distance tracking of individuals only began recently, and it is still unknown whether they migrate between lower and higher latitudes, or between deep and shallow water. Their livers contain a large proportion of oil typical of deepwater sharks, which may indicate that they spend some time in deep water. Very little is known about their breeding. They probably mature late and reproduce slowly, making them particularly vulnerable to overfishing, especially as fisheries catch more females than males. They were once fished commercially on a small scale around Scotland for their huge livers, which contain oils formerly used in various industries, with a peak recorded catch of 250 sharks in 1947. But in response to dwindling numbers the basking shark has been fully protected since 1998. <br />
Because they swim at the surface, these magnificent sharks are easily harmed, either deliberately or accidentally. Currently, potential threats include bycatch in fishing nets, and disturbance or impact by jet-skis, speedboats and other vessels. Globally its conservation status is currently listed as vulnerable.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland13.jpg
  • Ankarana was a really special experience for me. I loved the marriage between the sculpted limestone rocks and the lush vegetation. The tsingy limestone formations are amazing but quite hazardous to walk around on because the rock has been eroded into vertical jagged blades. I discovered that some of the local crowned lemurs have become semi-habituated to visitors, and associate them with snacks, which is not usually a good thing, but unfortunately it is often inevitable, especially if the guides encourage it too. I was able to camp overnight in the forest on the way back to the park headquarters, and had a memorable soak in a cooling stream to listen to the nocturnal sounds of the forest – and to avoid the worst mosquitoes on the trip so far. <br />
I was really impressed with Ankarana, so it was with the usual mixture of wonderment and sadness that I looked back at the very finite perimeter of another protected area when I was driving away in the taxi-brousse. The abrupt transition from incredibly rich biodiversity to barren scrubland was painfully depressing and becoming too familiar in Madagascar.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey46.tif
  • Humpback whales (Megaptera novaeanglia) cooperative feeding using a bubble net, near Kupreanof Island, Stephen’s Passage, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
This photo was taken near the Tlingit town of Kake on Kupreanof Island and illustrates the problems of the practice of clear-cut logging that persisted during the 1980s and 90s when I was based in Southeast Alaska. The extent of clear-cutting was much worse around native communities because the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971 (ANCSA) awarded approximately 148,500,000 acres (601,000 km2) of Federal land in Alaska to private native corporations which were created under ANCSA. Transference of public National Forest land to a privately owned corporation removes it from protection by Federal law and allows the owners to use the land in whatever way they see fit without regard to the effects of the use on surrounding lands and ecosystems. This fact has caused much controversy involving the business interests of Native Regional Corporations and the personal interests of local Natives and non-Native residents of Southeastern Alaska, such as subsistence hunting and tourism.
    Humpback whales-6-2.tif
  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey6.jpg