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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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  • One of my primary objectives for the trip and for paddling as far south as La Paz was to dive with California sea lions at a well publicised haul out at a small island called Los Islotes, near Isla Partida, just to the north of La Paz. California sea lions are smaller than the enormous Steller sea lions that I was so fondly familiar with in Alaska. I have had so many close, entertaining and interactive encounters with those clowns of the sea and now at long last I had the opportunity to experience their antics underwater, where they are transformed from being lumbering mounds of blubber to agile, graceful underwater dancers. Los Islotes is a pink crest of rock sticking abruptly out of the sea with numerous ledges around its base as if it had been purpose-built for sea lions to sunbathe and loll around on.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California34.jpg
  • The Steller sea lions of Alaska have entertained me many times and provided company during bad weather when there were no other animals around. They were always inquisitive, if not a bit wary of me, and would often swim beneath my kayak and look up at me with their big bulging eyes. Sometimes they would even engage me in a race to show off their speed on the surface where they can leap like dolphins.<br />
Among pinnipeds, it is only inferior in size to the walrus and elephant seals. The males are bigger than the females and grow to a length of about 2.82-3.25 metres long, with an average of 3m. The males have much wider chests, necks and general body structure and weigh 450-1.120 kg with an average of 544 kg. Males are further distinguished from females by broader, higher foreheads, flatter snouts, and darker, slightly tuftier hair around their large necks, giving them a maned appearance. Indeed, their Latin name translates roughly as “maned one with the broad forehead”.<br />
The range of the Steller sea lion extends from the Kuril Islands and the Sea of Okhotsk in Russia to the Gulf of Alaska in the north, and south to Ano Nuevo Island off central California. The global Steller sea lion population has traditionally been divided into an eastern and western stock roughly through the Gulf of Alaska. They have attracted considerable attention in recent decades due to significant, unexplained declines in their numbers over a large portion of their range in Alaska. While the population of the eastern and Asian stocks appear stable, the population of the western stock, particularly along the Aleutian Islands, was estimated to have fallen by 70-80% since the 1970s. One suspected cause of their precipitous decline is overfishing of Alaska Pollock, herring and other fish stocks in the Gulf of Alaska. In 1997 the western stock was listed as threatened but in 2013 they were removed from the U.S Endangered Species List after a major population recovery.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion7.jpg
  • I often used to creep up close to the sea lions hauled out on Yasha Island, just off Point Gardiner at the southern end of Admiralty Island. I could see this young sea lion laying down on its belly, and that it had something around its neck, but nothing could have prepared me for the gut-wrenching sight when it reared up and I could see the full extent of the damage and suffering that this poor creature must have endured. The net had become deeply embedded in its throat as it had continued to grow after first getting entangled with it when it was probably playing with it. One strand of the net passed through its mouth like a horse's bit, and had pulled its mouth back into a horrific frozen grimace. I felt so sickened by the daily torture that this poor animal must have been subjected to, but it also seemed like it had somehow adapted to it demonstrating the incredible resilience of wild animals. Apart from its horrific embedded necklace it looked just as well fed and healthy as the other sea lions. I felt compelled to try to capture it without really knowing how I could hang onto the sea lion to remove the net, but I wasn't able to get close enough without disturbing all of the sea lions. When I returned to Petersburg I reported it to the Dept of Fish and Game, and was glad to hear that they were going there to do a survey, but unfortunately I later heard that they were unable to find the poor animal. I don't know how much longer that it would have been able to survive like this if it was still growing.<br />
This kind of entanglement in fishing nets is a major problem for all marine life, but it must be particularly so for sea lions because they are so inquisitive and playful. A few years later I was working on a whale research boat in Sri Lanka, and we came across two turtles entangled in a big clump of fishing net, but fortunately we were able to free them.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion10.jpg
  • It was amazing to get in the water with the sea lions and witness their graceful speed and agility. They were curious about me as soon as I appeared. This is a popular destination for swimming with sea lions so that are very habituated to the presence of people in the water with them. It was mostly younger juveniles that I could see, with the occasional large bull, which although large seemed quite small in comparison with the Steller sea lions in Alaska.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California35.jpg
  • Steller sea lions forage near shore and pelagic waters.They are also capable of traveling long distances in a season and can dive to approximately 1300 feet (400 m) in depth. They use land habitat as haul-out sites for periods of rest, molting, and as rookeries for mating and pupping during the breeding season. At sea, they are seen alone or in small groups, but may gather in large "rafts" at the surface near rookeries and haul outs. They are capable of powerful vocalizations that are accompanied by a vertical head bobbing motion by males.<br />
Steller sea lions are opportunistic predators, foraging and feeding primarily at night on a wide variety of fishes (e.g., capelin, cod, herring, mackerel, pollock, rockfish, salmon, sand lance, etc.), bivalves, cephalopods (e.g., squid and octopus) and gastropods. Their diet may vary seasonally depending on the abundance and distribution of prey. They may disperse and range far distances to find prey, but are not known to migrate.<br />
Steller sea lions are colonial breeders. Adult males, also known as bulls, establish and defend territories on rookeries to mate with females. Bulls become sexually mature between 3 and 8 years of age, but typically are not large enough to hold territory successfully until 9 or 10 years old. Mature males may go without eating for 1-2 months while they are aggressively defending their territory. Males may live up to 20 years and females to 30 years. Females start breeding at 3-7 years and spend the next two decades either pregnant or lactating. Females are bred in June, but the fertilized egg does not implant until October. Single pups are born the following June, with birthdates at southern rookeries earlier than births at northern rookeries. Twins are rare. Pups suckle from 1 to 3 years, with most apparently weaning after their first winter.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion4.jpg
  • Reproductively mature male sea lions aggregate on traditional rookeries in May, usually on beaches on isolated islands. A week or so later, adult females arrive, accompanied occasionally by sexually immature offspring, and form fluid aggregations throughout the rookery. Steller sea lions are polygamous but they do not coerce individual females into harems but control spatial territories among which females freely move about. Pregnant females give birth soon after arriving on a rookery, and copulation generally occurs one to two weeks after giving birth, but the fertilized egg does not become implanted in the uterus until the autumn. After about a week of nursing, females start taking increasingly longer foraging trips, leaving the pups behind until in late summer when they both leave the rookery. Males fast until August, often without returning to the water, after which time the rookeries break up and most animals leave for the open seas and disperse throughout their range.<br />
Steller sea lions are predated upon by orcas and I actually witnessed the death of one bull that had become quite attached to me. It had been showing so much interest in me and it even raised its head out of the water right in front of me to have a good look with its bulging eyes. A short while later I heard a commotion in the distance and saw that a pod of transient orcas had arrived on the scene and were systematically charging the sea lion and thrashing it with their flukes. It was a difficult event to witness, especially whenever the big bull re-appeared on the surface gasping for breath. It took the orcas about 15 minutes to finally kill it and not long after that they were attacking some humpback whales that had strayed onto the scene. It was an exhilarating experience to be paddling my kayak so close to a pod of orcas engaged in a hunt, but they showed no interest in me. It was one of those occasions when I wished that I’d had someone else with me to witness such an amazing spectacle.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion1.jpg
  • Reproductively mature male sea lions aggregate on traditional rookeries in May, usually on beaches on isolated islands. A week or so later, adult females arrive, accompanied occasionally by sexually immature offspring, and form fluid aggregations throughout the rookery. Steller sea lions are polygamous but they do not coerce individual females into harems but control spatial territories among which females freely move about. Pregnant females give birth soon after arriving on a rookery, and copulation generally occurs one to two weeks after giving birth, but the fertilized egg does not become implanted in the uterus until the autumn. After about a week of nursing, females start taking increasingly longer foraging trips, leaving the pups behind until in late summer when they both leave the rookery. Males fast until August, often without returning to the water, after which time the rookeries break up and most animals leave for the open seas and disperse throughout their range.<br />
Steller sea lions are predated upon by orcas and I actually witnessed the death of one bull that had become quite attached to me. It had been showing so much interest in me and it even raised its head out of the water right in front of me to have a good look with its bulging eyes. A short while later I heard a commotion in the distance and saw that a pod of transient orcas had arrived on the scene and were systematically charging the sea lion and thrashing it with their flukes. It was a difficult event to witness, especially whenever the big bull re-appeared on the surface gasping for breath. It took the orcas about 15 minutes to finally kill it and not long after that they were attacking some humpback whales that had strayed onto the scene. It was an exhilarating experience to be paddling my kayak so close to a pod of orcas engaged in a hunt, but they showed no interest in me. It was one of those occasions when I wished that I’d had someone else with me to witness such an amazing spectacle.
    wildlife-3.tif
  • Steller sea lions are very vocal and a sea lion haulout is one of the most cacophonous “resting’ places you will encounter in the animal kingdom. They alternate between relative calm to absolute pandemonium if one sea lion decides to climb over its neighbour; the protest rapidly activates the entire mass of beached blubber. I often took advantage of the chaos by sneaking unnoticed amongst them and then remaining motionless to enjoy the entertainment at close quarters. I usually had to crawl through pools of stagnant water but I became accustomed to the sensory delights of an assembly of sea lions that assails just about every sense.<br />
Adult males establish territories and aggressively defend them. Steller sea lions gather on haulouts or rookeries, and regularly travel great distances (up to 250 miles) to find food. They can travel much further and juvenile sea lions have been known to travel over 1,000 miles. They are opportunistic feeders and eat a wide range of fish including herring, Pollock, salmon, cod and rockfish as well as squid and shrimp. I have even observed them catching seagulls on the surface. When males are defending their territories on the rookery, they may go without eating for over a month. On this individual you can clearly see the long, stiff whiskers that are used to navigate underwater and to assist in the location of their prey; Also the external ear flap, which points downward to prevent the entry of water when they are swimming.<br />
I witnessed many amusing incidents at the haulouts. The juvenile males could often be seen to be hanging around in “mischievous” gangs that delighted in antagonizing the pompous old bulls. On one occasion I witnessed some young bulls leaping out of the water to nip a large bull precariously perched on a narrow ledge above them. He was unable to defend himself and eventually he fell into the water with a resounding splash.
    wildlife-2.tif
  • This was an unforgettable wild encounter! The sea was very cold so I had to haul myself back into my kayak to warm up, with my legs dangling over the side and my flippers slapping the surface like a stranded fish. Moments later I was surprised to see another kayaker paddling towards me; It was an American called Corrie who told me that he had just made the long sea crossing from Isla San Jose. It was great to be joined by another kayaker and even greater when I discovered that he had a wetsuit! There was no holding back now so I returned to the underwater circus. I discovered that there was one juvenile sea lion that was bolder than the others. At first it was trying to bite my mask and then it was nipping my chest as if it was trying to suckle from me; I think that the black neoprene wetsuit had transformed me into a marine mammal! This apparent attempt at bonding with me was taken to the next level of hilarity when all of a sudden I was aware of its flippers being wrapped around my body from behind and then feeling the little clown clinging tightly to my back! I reached behind me to feel it and it was very smooth, soft and spongy, making it conform to the shape of my back like an orthopaedic back-support. I continued swimming along with this unexpected diving accessory still firmly clamped to my back like an air cylinder. It eventually released me and disappeared momentarily; then Corrie exclaimed, “look at your kayak!” and to my amazement I watched it hauling itself onto the back of my kayak! It promptly settled down for a snooze on the most comfortable and exclusive bed available. Corrie climbed into the cockpit of my kayak to take some photos of me with my new friend, or should I say foster child, as photographic evidence was surely required. Corrie tried to evict the stowaway with my paddle, but the little rascal nipped at it and promptly slid down inside the cockpit to confirm its status as a stowaway but it was eventually evicted after much protest.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California38.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
  • Reproductively mature male sea lions aggregate on traditional rookeries in May, usually on beaches on isolated islands. A week or so later, adult females arrive, accompanied occasionally by sexually immature offspring, and form fluid aggregations throughout the rookery. Steller sea lions are polygamous but they do not coerce individual females into harems but control spatial territories among which females freely move about. Pregnant females give birth soon after arriving on a rookery, and copulation generally occurs one to two weeks after giving birth, but the fertilized egg does not become implanted in the uterus until the autumn. After about a week of nursing, females start taking increasingly longer foraging trips, leaving the pups behind until in late summer when they both leave the rookery. Males fast until August, often without returning to the water, after which time the rookeries break up and most animals leave for the open seas and disperse throughout their range.<br />
Steller sea lions are predated upon by orcas and I actually witnessed the death of one bull that had become quite attached to me. It had been showing so much interest in me and it even raised its head out of the water right in front of me to have a good look with its bulging eyes. A short while later I heard a commotion in the distance and saw that a pod of transient orcas had arrived on the scene and were systematically charging the sea lion and thrashing it with their flukes. It was a difficult event to witness, especially whenever the big bull re-appeared on the surface gasping for breath. It took the orcas about 15 minutes to finally kill it and not long after that they were attacking some humpback whales that had strayed onto the scene. It was an exhilarating experience to be paddling my kayak so close to a pod of orcas engaged in a hunt, but they showed no interest in me. It was one of those occasions when I wished that I’d had someone else with me to witness such an amazing spectacle.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion2.jpg
  • The Steller sea lions of Alaska have entertained me many times and provided company during bad weather when there were no other animals around. They were always inquisitive, if not a bit wary of me, and would often swim beneath my kayak and look up at me with their big bulging eyes. Sometimes they would even engage me in a race to show off their speed on the surface where they can leap like dolphins.<br />
Among pinnipeds, it is only inferior in size to the walrus and elephant seals. The males are bigger than the females and grow to a length of about 2.82-3.25 metres long, with an average of 3m. The males have much wider chests, necks and general body structure and weigh 450-1.120 kg with an average of 544 kg. Males are further distinguished from females by broader, higher foreheads, flatter snouts, and darker, slightly tuftier hair around their large necks, giving them a maned appearance. Indeed, their Latin name translates roughly as “maned one with the broad forehead”.<br />
The range of the Steller sea lion extends from the Kuril Islands and the Sea of Okhotsk in Russia to the Gulf of Alaska in the north, and south to Ano Nuevo Island off central California. The global Steller sea lion population has traditionally been divided into an eastern and western stock roughly through the Gulf of Alaska. They have attracted considerable attention in recent decades due to significant, unexplained declines in their numbers over a large portion of their range in Alaska. While the population of the eastern and Asian stocks appear stable, the population of the western stock, particularly along the Aleutian Islands, was estimated to have fallen by 70-80% since the 1970s. One suspected cause of their precipitous decline is overfishing of Alaska Pollock, herring and other fish stocks in the Gulf of Alaska. In 1997 the western stock was listed as threatened but in 2013 they were removed from the U.S Endangered Species List after a major population recovery.
    wildlife.tif
  • Kayaker paddling through a natural sea arch, Isla Partida, near La Paz, Sea of Cortez and the Baja Peninsula, Mexico.<br />
We came across this beautiful natural sea arch on the way from Isla Partida to La Paz.
    New-Baja111.jpg
  • Every day I walked across the rocks around the peninsula watching the angry confrontation between rocks and stormy sea. I had experienced similar frustrating situations before in Alaska, when I was trapped onshore by bad sea conditions, often when I was running out of food. This was yet another test of my patience and common sense. I could clearly see the Isles of Lunga and Eigg on the seemingly not too distant horizon. The sky was mostly clear, benign and warm in temperament in contrast to the cold fury in the sea below. I kept on assessing the wind and sea conditions, getting ever hopeful whenever there seemed to be a hint of respite, but most of the time I was just trying to persuade myself that the windy weather was relenting. I was in a relatively sheltered bay, and I say relatively because the sea was still very agitated, and I only had the distant whitecaps to give me any idea of what the sea conditions might be like farther out. Anyway, I finally threw caution to the wind, so to speak, and when there seemed to be a slight respite I decided to go for it, but my heart was very much in my mouth.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland32.jpg
  • If I paddled past a sea lion haul-out I always attracted a tightly-packed group of noisy sea lions like a magnet: they would extend their heads as high as they could to get a better look at me. They always stayed bunched together rather like a shoal of fish that employs the "one in the middle" defensive group strategy that relies on strength of numbers to increase an individuals chance of survival. They were very vociferous but always kept a safe distance, unless they dived underwater to get a closer look at me: I could see them circling beneath me and looking up at me with their big bulging eyes.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion8.jpg
  • The biggest challenge for the trip was being able to carry sufficient water and ration it because after I left Loreto there were only two places between Loreto and La Paz that I was aware of where I could replenish my water supply, and this small fishing village called Puerto Agua Verde that I’m setting off from was one of them. The photo was taken by a British couple that I met there who were also kayaking to La Paz. I was using my large French Nautiraid folding double kayak, which has a large open cockpit and ample storage space for an extended trip like that. When I started the trip I was only able to buy a limited selection of fresh fruit and vegetables and it was also a major challenge preserving them in the constant heat and ensuring that I had sufficient nutrition to get me all the way to La Paz. There were many contrasting benefits of kayaking in the Sea of Cortez compared with Alaska. Firstly, there is minima tidal range in the Sea of Cortez compared to Alaska, meaning that I didn’t have to drag the kayak up and down the flat sandy beaches and secondly there were so many places that were suitable for landing, whereas in Alaska there are very few accessible beaches and most of those are steep and rocky. This stop was the last human habitation until the ranch near the ruins of Mission Dolores.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California12.jpg
  • It was fascinating to be able to view the geomorphology of the landscape so clearly on the Baja Peninsula, and in many places the past was revealed by the presence of fossilised shells indicating the changing sea levels. The geological strata were clearly visible along the coastline of Isla Partida.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California46.jpg
  • If the magnificent frigate birds enchanted and hypnotised me then the brown pelicans amused and entertained me with their comical appearance and behaviour, although like the frigate birds they were also very impressive at times. This ubiquitous seabird inhabits the entire coastline of Baja California and the Sea of Cortez, and is often seen flying in long elegant formations, with their wingtips just touching the cresting waves. One of the most impressive sights on the entire trip was being in the water when they were plummeting from the sky to catch fish. It is the only pelican species to dive from the air into the water to catch prey with its specialised beaked pouch; other pelicans use an on-the-water group strategy to trap fish when feeding.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California96.jpg
  • The sea lions have such a thick coating of blubber to cushion their bodies that they can sleep just about anywhere and look very comfortable. It is a different matter when they are trying to haul their bulky bodies around with only their flippers to assist them. It involves a lot of huffing and puffing, heaving and swaying with much grunting and steam belching from their open mouths. They look like big sacks of blubber and bones being dragged across the rocks: in stark contrast to their fluid graceful motion underwater like huge flying fish.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion6.jpg
  • It was fascinating to be able to view the geomorphology of the landscape so clearly on the Baja Peninsula, and in many places the past was revealed by the presence of fossilised shells indicating the changing sea levels. The geological strata were clearly visible along the coastline of Isla Partida.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California45.jpg
  • Yasha Island was my regular place for observing, photographing and simply being entertained by sea lions. I had to land my kayak on the opposite side of the islet, creep stealthily through the rocks and trees, and then low down on my belly to get right in amongst them. There is usually so much noise and commotion at a haul-out that it's surprisingly easy to get in amongst them. Their vision is evidently quite poor out of water, so as long as I moved very slowly and didn't stand up and become boldly silhouetted, I could "bluff" my way into their close company. Sometimes one of them would stare at me inquisitively but as long as I kept completely motionless, it then continued participating in the general pandemonium that frequently pervades the haul-outs. But sometimes a degree of calm is restored as this photo illustrates, but it takes just one incident to flair up, perhaps when one of them is rudely awakened by the clumsiness of another one trying to get past it, and then the pandemonium sweeps across the haul-out like a wild fire with their extended heads swaying in the air belching out disgruntled roars and groans.
    Alaska-Steller-sealion5.jpg
  • The effort to climb to the highest vantage points on the islands was well worth it for the stupendous views along the stark, dramatic coastline of the Baja Peninsula, although I quickly discovered how much caution was necessary to avoid being impaled or lacerated by the prickly vegetation. As a keen amateur botanists I was fascinated by the succulent and scrubby vegetation, so perfectly adapted to such an extreme environment with so little rainfall and almost constant desiccating saline sea breezes. There is a organ pipe cactus in the foreground and the amber flaking bark of a torote Colorado tree { F. Burseracea - Bursera microphylla ) can also be seen.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California10.jpg
  • Sparce vegetation on the coast of the Sierra de la Giganta in the Bahia de Loreto National Park, the Baja Peninsula and the Sea of Cortez, Mexico.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California7.jpg
  • I would say that apart from the sea birds crabs were the most ubiquitous creatures that I encountered on the trip.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California23.jpg
  • Pair of magnificent frigate birds (Fregata magnificens) soaring in the thermals, Sea of Cortez and the Baja Peninsula, Mexico.<br />
I fell in love with the frigate birds and watched them endlessly soaring above me. They are true masters of effortless flight like the albatross. I was fortunate enough to examine one at close quarters, or I should say unfortunate enough because one of its wings was broken, meaning that it had no chance of survival. I was amazed at how slight and fragile their wings are, and in fact their entire body, hence how easily broken they are; presumably when they are engaged in an aerial dogfight with other marauding birds. They never swim because their long wings, adapted for gliding, and tiny feet render them unable to take off from water; all their food is snatched from the surface or stolen from other birds. The male is all black with a red throat pouch, which is inflated like a balloon for display. The female has a white breast and dark head. They have a scissor-like tail that is often folded in a point.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California58.jpg
  • One of my first amazing encounters on the trip was this large pod of long-beaked common dolphins. I was paddling quite close to the precipitous rocky shoreline and was just skirting a small bay when I could suddenly hear what sounded like a white water river rushing towards me. I looked around me to locate the source of the noise and saw that the flat calm sea was erupting with a myriad of splashes and leaping dolphins ploughing towards me. Within seconds the water around me was energised by hundreds of dolphins dashing in different directions. Everything was happening so quickly that I didn’t know where to aim my camera next so I had to deploy the shoot from the hip mode. They were evidently herding fish around the bay, so I just sat in the middle of the vortex of feeding dolphins and soaked up the visual energy and excitement.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California30.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California87.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
  • This is a view along a jagged ridge that juts out into Glen Harris from the northern side of Ainshval. After reaching the top of Ainshval I continued along a less daunting ridge towards the southernmost point of the island to Sgurr nan Gillean before following the gradually descending ridge to the west down towards the shoreline of Glen Harris. From there I followed a moorland track that goes up to the lovely forested Kinloch Glen and then back to Kinloch. I had already visited Harris on the shoreline of Glen Harris, partly because I wanted to see where the Bulloughs are interred. Originally John Bullough was interred in a rock-cut mausoleum under an octagonal stone tower, but this was later demolished, and his sarcophagus moved into an elaborate but incongruous mausoleum modelled as a Greek temple overlooking the sea at Harris. <br />
The extravagance of his son, Sir George, and Lady Bullough, could not be sustained indefinitely, and their finances gradually declined in the 1920s, and their interest in, and visits to Rum decreased, but when he died in France in 1939 he too was interred in the family mausoleum on Rum. His widow continued to visit Rum as late as 1954, and died in London in 1967, aged 98, and was buried next to her husband. Right up until her last visits to the island she would drive along the bumpy track to get down to the isolated mausoleum to visit her deceased husband and father-in-law. I couldn’t imagine a more bleak and isolated place to be interred, which is so exposed to the wildest elements of the Scottish coastline. It’s a hauntingly beautiful but lonely location for the mortal remains of three people interred beneath their marble effigies to command such a dramatic view out across the wild Scottish sea.
    Kayaking-West-Coast-Scotland56.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
  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
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  • For the majority of over 30 years of sea kayaking I have paddled solo, because I prefer to do so, but that has put me at much greater risk, in addition to the safety limitations of folding kayaks as opposed to a technically advanced paddler in a rigid kayak. I suppose that I must have thrived on the additional adrenaline rush of being completely alone and totally dependent on myself for personal survival, although I have been through some horrendous and frightening survival situations that I could have done without!! Anyway, I always have to factor in the original risks when deciding whether or not to set off on a journey, especially if it’s a crossing over open and exposed water, as I was facing here at Ardnamurchan.
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  • 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.
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  • From Lunga I had to return to Mull and get more provisions in Tobermory before continuing on to the Small Isles – Muck, Eigg, Rum and Canna via Ardnemurchan, the westernmost point on mainland UK. This is a view back towards the mainland and Mull from Fladda, one of the other islands in the Treshnish Isles on the way back to Mull. The other islands and skerries at the south end of the archipelago are Cairn Na Burgh Mor and Cairn na Burgh Beag. I paddled above a lot of seaweed to the south of Lunga and the current was very strong. It was evidently another good area for basking sharks to feed because I encountered two more, but wasn’t able to remain with them for very long. The swells were getting bigger and by the time I reached Treshnish Point on Mull and entered the bay on the other side I knew that it was going to be really hard work, and that I had to really stay focussed to stay in control because the combination of the strong south-westerly wind, strong currents and confused waves was swinging me every which way. The conditions were very similar and just as challenging as when I had to fight to get to Arinagour on Coll. I was very relieved to reach the other side and round Callach Point to find calmer sea conditions. From there it was a much easier paddle to gat back to my campsite in Ardmore Bay at the northern point of Mull.
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  • 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.
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  • It was a beautiful place to camp and I spent several days clambering over the offshore rocks and inshore san dunes. There were a lot of shy grey seals that hauled out on the rocks that I tried to get close enough to photograph without disturbing them. Not surprisingly the sea was very cold for swimming but I had brought a wetsuit with me for snorkelling. There was plenty of driftwood to collect on the beaches so I had some spectacular fires on the beach at night to cook my dinner under the glittering canopy of stars.
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  • 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.
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  • After stocking up with fresh provisions in Tobermory and spending a few more days in Ardmore Bay I set off for the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. I passed a lot of grey seals hauled out on the rocks on the way. Unfortunately I left later than planned and by the time I reached the lighthouse at Ardnamurchan Point, the most westerly point on the British mainland it was already dark, but at least I had the light of the lighthouse to guide me. Once again the sea conditions were very agitated, and it was that much more challenging because I was paddling in the dark. It was both exciting and unnerving as I paddled around the sheer rock face at the point with the blinking lighthouse lighting up the heaving swells and waves around me. I have always had a bad habit of setting off too late in the day and have frequently paid the price with some challenging survival experiences. But on this occasion it was more exhilarating than worrying although once again I was relieved to reach a relatively sheltered beach on the other side of the point.
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  • I had plenty of good weather to enjoy this beautiful, isolated location. I didn’t see anybody while I was there and very few boats passed by. Most of the marine vegetation was the same as what I was used to in my home of South Devon, with species such as thrift and white campion. But the summer peaks at an earlier date than South Devon so a lot of the plants had already finished blooming. After about a week I was ready to continue my journey towards my next island destination, Lunga in the Treshnish Isles to the south of the Isle of Mull. I first had to paddle along the east coast of Coll to reach the main settlement on the island, Arinagour, located at the head of Loch Eathara. On the way I stopped for a break and came across a very small dilapidated house on the beach with an old fisherman living in it. He was very welcoming and gave me an insight into an isolated and traditional subsistence lifestyle that seems so far removed from the majority of the UK now. Unfortunately before I could reach Arinagour I encountered my first really bad weather on the trip and I really had to fight to get there safely. It was a good test for the stability of my new kayak, as well as my nerves, because the sea conditions were so horrendously chaotic with waves coming at me from all directions. I can clearly remember being so relieved after entering the stormy loch to see the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry approaching, because up until that point I didn’t see any other boats if a rescue had been necessary. I camped near the shore there and the next day I enjoyed exploring the quaint settlement of houses and shops scattered around the loch before heading off towards Lunga. What a different life they have to most places on the UK mainland. I was used to living in, and visiting isolated island communities in Southeast Alaska, but the communities that I encountered on this trip seemed more removed from the influences of modern amenities – street lights for example.
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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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  • From Eigg it was a relatively short paddle to the largest island in the Small Isles, the Isle of Rum. I left quite late as usual, and had to negotiate strong currents and big swells between the islands in the Sound of Rum in diminishing light. I paddled northwest until I reached Loch Scresort on the eastern side of Rum and made my camp along the coast before the main community of Kinloch at the head of the Loch. Rum has an area of 40.4 sq miles and a highest point, Askival, of 812 metres (2,664 ft). This photo was taken from Askival in the highlands in the southern half of the island, looking northwards towards Kinloch to the east, and the sheltered anchorage of Kilmory Bay at the northern end of the island, where there is a good beach and the remains of a village. For much of the 20th century the island became Rhum, a spelling invented by the former owner who did not relish the idea of having the title “Laird of Rum”. Rum has been inhabited since the 8th millennium BC providing some of the earliest known evidence of human occupation in Scotland. The population grew to over 400 by the late 18th century but was cleared of its indigenous population between 1826 and 1828. The island then became a sporting estate and the exotic Kinloch Castle was constructed by the Bulloughs in 1900. Rum was purchased by the Nature Conservancy Council in 1957, and is now an <br />
important study site for ecology research, especially of red deer at Kilmory, and is the site of a successful reintroduction programme for the white-tailed sea eagle. Its economy is entirely dependent on Scottish Natural Heritage, a public body that now manages the island. The 30 or so residents of Rum are all employees of Scottish National Heritage and their families, along with a few researchers and a school teacher, all who live in Kinloch, which has no church or pub, but does have a village hall, small primary school, and a shop and post office, which is manned by volunteers and only opens on an irregular basis
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  • It was hard to tell from my nautical chart exactly where I could expect to find protection from offshore coral reefs. There appeared to be stretches where I would have to take my chances and run the gauntlet on the open sea and then hope to find a way of getting back inside the next stretch of protective coral reef. Sometimes they abutted right up to the shore or there were too many breakers to negotiate. It was a constant maze that I had to negotiate and make the best choices for. I stopped at a village called Vinanivao to see if I could pick up some of the usual provisions like baguettes, biscuits, onions, tomatoes and bananas. I limped through the hot streets dragging my bloated foot beside me and having to seek out the shade because the hot sand was scorching my feet. It wasn’t just the sand and my bad leg that made me feel uncomfortable, as the locals only stared at me as if I was an alien invader. It was the first remote village that I had passed through where I didn’t feel completely welcome. Sitting down was always a great relief now, even if I still had to keep moving my foot around to find the least uncomfortable position. By contrast, the next village that I passed afforded me a memorable welcome even if I decided to stay in my kayak. I skirted the beach and was spotted by a group of young boys frolicking in the water. They came rushing over to me and started clowning around, plunging, splashing, wrestling and plenty of funny faces. I could have spent the day with those little clowns enjoying their simple life but my bad foot meant that I had to keep pressing on to reach a doctor. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that I had to lay on my side and recite a rhyme until the pain abated. But eventually the sore on the back of my ankle burst open and erupted its suppurating contents, leaving a gaping hole, but at least the pressure and some of the pain was relieved.
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  • Giant barrel cacti (Ferrocactus diguetti) on Isla Santa Catalina, the Sea of Cortez and  Baja Penisnsula, Mexico.
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  • I had my first sighting of a humpback whale as we approached Nosy Boraha in the ferry. Isle Sainte Marie is a popular tourist destination with a few expensive resorts. I reassembled my kayak at the main port, Ambodifotra, and headed south along the sheltered inside coast to visit a whale researcher based at the island’s most well known resort, the Princess Bora lodge. It was wonderful to be paddling in calm sea conditions for the first time on the trip, and being able to land anywhere without having to contend with large breakers. I paddled close to the coral reefs and was dismayed to see how degraded and barren they have become; there were very few fish and most of the coral was bleached and dead. Many of the local people that I passed were coming down to the water’s edge to investigate the mysterious voyager in a bright red kayak; they are only used to seeing the traditional wooden dugout pirogues. I passed these two boys on their small homemade raft, who were very inquisitive about me, but understandably very shy.
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  • They obviously viewed me as a playmate or someone to tease and as soon as they saw me they started their pranks like this one darting towards me at high speed and then veering away as soon as I flinched. Their most annoying and clever prank was to keep picking up the anchor stone that my kayak was secured to on the ledge, swim out to deeper water and drop it so that my kayak would start drifting away and I had to keep swimming after it. I don’t know how they figured out how to do that; maybe it was something that they had already learnt to do from other kayakers, but they certainly appeared to relish my immediate reaction every time they did it. Eventually I had to wedge the rock firmly into a crack in the ledge to stop their merry prank.
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  • They are opportunistic feeders and eat a wide range of fish including herring, Pollock, salmon, cod and rockfish as well as squid and shrimp. I have even observed them catching seagulls on the surface.
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  • When I was camping on one of the Los Candeleros islets, I was sharing it with three ravens. They were rolling and tumbling acrobatically in the updraughts that were whipping up the precipitous face of the island. I have developed a special affinity with that most ubiquitous, intelligent and successful of all birds over many years in Alaska, where their amazing repertoire of calls is an integral feature of the ancient forests. I have even learnt how to mimic some of their calls and capture their attention. After a few days cutting the ice with my fellow residents one of them started flying out to my kayak to seemingly greet me whenever I returned to the island; it would circle overhead whilst calling out and then escort me back to shore.<br />
After a couple of weeks of familiarisation my glossy black friend vanished. A few days later I landed on a nearby beach at Ensenada Blanca to visit an American living in the local fishing village. As I stepped ashore I noticed a raven flying demonstrably towards me. I replied to its raven calls and it flew overhead and did a few rolls as if it was showing off. The acknowledgement was plain to see, rather like a dog wagging its tail. Then it flew ahead of me and proceeded to harass and dislodge the turkey vultures that were perched in the trees. After each successful assault it called out and then proceeded to dislodge another vulture in the next tree; within seconds the sky was full of screeching, disgruntled vultures! It seemed as if the raven was clearly intoxicated with its own sense of bravado, and maybe it was even trying to impress me. When I arrived at the American’s house at the end of the beach I told him about the hilarious encounter with my shiny black friend and when he looked out of the doorway to see if the raven was still out there he looked at me, laughed, and informed me that it was waiting outside for me, and sure enough it was perched on a cactus just a few metres from the door!
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  • With such sparse vegetation and the exposed geology, the sense of perspective, space and geological time is greatly enhanced. In the foreground is an elephant tree, one of the many plants perfectly adapted to surviving the extremely arid conditions prevalent in Baja. Standing water was virtually non-existent when I was there but the eroded streambeds created by the brief seasonal flash flooding were clearly evident.
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  • These colourful Sally lightfoot crabs (Grapsus grapsus) were the species that I observed the most, usually scurrying around the rocks just above the water.
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  • With such sparse vegetation and the exposed geology, the sense of perspective, space and geological time is greatly enhanced. In the foreground is an elephant tree, one of the many plants perfectly adapted to surviving the extremely arid conditions prevalent in Baja. Standing water was virtually non-existent when I was there but the eroded streambeds created by the brief seasonal flash flooding were clearly evident.
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  • These colourful Sally lightfoot crabs (Grapsus grapsus) were the species that I observed the most, usually scurrying around the rocks just above the water.
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  • I came across quite a few ospreys nesting on the cliffs along the coast.
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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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  • The town of Loreto is a regular staging post for commercial kayaking tour groups. I enjoyed mixing with some of them but farther down the coast I was I was shocked by the territorialism of some of the kayaking tour leaders. I encountered a dispute between two “rival” American tour groups that each laid claim to a nearby beach to camp on. The beautiful “unclaimed” beach that I gratefully accepted to camp on was evidently less desirable. The next day I stopped at an empty beach to stretch my legs when one of the groups that was involved in the dispute came into view and their leader paddled towards me. I greeted him politely as always and he promptly retorted by just asking me where I was heading. I told him that I was just heading south, to which he curtly replied, ‘I just wanted to let you know that we’ll be camping at the next beach, OK.” I didn’t take it as an invitation to join them for a campfire dinner or to share kayaking stories; I had no desire to detract from their wilderness experience or pollute their airspace with smoke from my campfire. The commercial kayaking groups don’t venture very far south of Loreto so it wasn’t long before I had left that bewildering attitude behind me and could embrace the infinite solitude that Baja had to offer.
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  • This was one of the most amazing things that I witnessed on the trip. I was on a beach where large numbers of squid were beaching themselves after mating. Once they were stranded they started flushing red rapidly back and forth along their bodies, presumably as a sign of agitation. Then I saw several large moray eels wriggling through the shallow water following them right up to the water’s edge and then to my amazement I watched them engulf and swallow the squid whole in the blinking of the eye. I could see why the moray eel has such a large head with wrinkled skin to allow it to swallow large prey whole rather like a snake.
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  • I was on my way to explore two offshore islands just to the south of Isla Carmen, Isla Monserrat and Isla Catalina in thecBahia de Loreto National Park, when I encountered a pod of short-finned pilot whales; this was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. This was my first ever encounter with pilot whales in my kayak. They are very impressive cetaceans, with a prominent melon (acoustic swelling), like big black shiny torpedoes. They were very inquisitive about me and were frequently spyhopping to get a better view of me. Spyhopping is when cetaceans elevate themselves vertically out of the water to be able to get a better view of something.
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  • This natural spring was the first water that I had encountered since I left La Paz. There was a small trickle of water from above this pool and I had one of the most heavenly showers ever in that most welcome oasis. It felt strange to see so much lush greenery and living creatures after so many miles of dry arid coastline. I have always been a dog lover and throughout my travels I have befriended dogs, usually by feeding them and showing them some unfamiliar kindness. I teamed up with a dog from the ranch and he accompanied me on a hike up the rocky canyon, where I had to traverse one large boulder after another and often have to help my canine friend along the way. He stayed with me and slept at my camp with me right up until when I left. It had been nice to have a loyal companion for a few days but sad to watch him wandering along the shoreline rather disconsolately as I paddled away.
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  • The Jesuit missionary Ciamente Guillen founded Mission Dolores in 1721 on the coast of the Baja Peninsula about midway between Loreto and La Paz. There was a small ranch near the beach with these burros. The people were very friendly and helpful, allowing me to replenish my water supply from their well and there was an unexpected bonus; I arrived just when the mangos on their mango tree were ripe so for a small price I was able to stock up on a rare treat of fresh succulent fruit; truly manna from heaven in that barren place.
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  • Dead puffer fish washed up on beaches are a very painful hazard to avoid. They are like little mines that cause an explosion of pain if you are unfortunate enough to step on one.
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  • Along with the pelicans, frigate birds and cormorants the blue-footed booby was one of the commonest seabirds that I encountered on my journey.
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  • I had stopped for a rest along this stretch of coastline and came across this mummified carcase of a dead minke whale. I removed a small section of its baleen plates, which I was later able to use in my school presentations to show the children exactly what baleen plates look like and how they work. I also found a lot of nautilus shells washed up on that stretch of coastline and miraculously managed to transport the incredibly fragile wafer-thin shells back to England. They are some of the most exquisitely beautiful objects that I have ever collected.
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  • Because of the permanently blue skies and maximum visibility the sense of scale and perspective were amazing. I only experienced clouds and rain on one day in the five months that I was there.
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  • The snorkelling around the islet where I camped for a week was excellent. There was a shallow underwater shelf that extended out from the northern end of the islet and because of the strong upwelling around the islet there was abundant marine life. This was the most surprising creature I encountered a very short distance from the shore, a stone fish, that blended in perfectly with the seaweed, apart from its incredible eyes, which seemed to be illuminated by fire. I was able to approach it very closely with a certain degree of caution.This was my first ever trip with a reasonably good underwater camera, and my first attempts at some serious underwater photography.
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  • I would often lay on my back to gaze upwards, hypnotised by the languid flight and graceful form of the frigate birds flying overhead.
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  • 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
  • Puerto-Princesa-21.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
  • Kayaking-Bacuit-Archipelago3.tif
  • Kayaking- Gulf-of-California13.jpg
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