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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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  • Kayaking- Gulf-of-California14.jpg
  • I loved the almost anthropomorphic forms of some of the cacti. When you are so used to being around either coniferous or deciduous trees, it’s like being in a dreamland or wonderland with such alien plant forms, and of course many of the cacti are much much bigger than you would expect to find in your local garden centre.
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  • Sparce vegetation on the coast of the Sierra de la Giganta in the Bahia de Loreto National Park, the Baja Peninsula and the Sea of Cortez, Mexico.
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  • 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 loved the almost anthropomorphic forms of some of the cacti. When you are so used to being around either coniferous or deciduous trees, it’s like being in a botanical dreamland or wonderland with such alien plant forms, and of course many of the cacti are much much bigger than you would expect to find in your local garden centre.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California17.jpg
  • 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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  • 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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  • One of my first amazing encounters on the trip was this large pod of long-beaked common dolphins. I was paddling quite close to the precipitous rocky shoreline and was just skirting a small bay when I could suddenly hear what sounded like a white water river rushing towards me. I looked around me to locate the source of the noise and saw that the flat calm sea was erupting with a myriad of splashes and leaping dolphins ploughing towards me. Within seconds the water around me was energised by hundreds of dolphins dashing in different directions. Everything was happening so quickly that I didn’t know where to aim my camera next so I had to deploy the shoot from the hip mode. They were evidently herding fish around the bay, so I just sat in the middle of the vortex of feeding dolphins and soaked up the visual energy and excitement.
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  • If the magnificent frigate birds enchanted and hypnotised me then the brown pelicans amused and entertained me with their comical appearance and behaviour, although like the frigate birds they were also very impressive at times. This ubiquitous seabird inhabits the entire coastline of Baja California and the Sea of Cortez, and is often seen flying in long elegant formations, with their wingtips just touching the cresting waves. One of the most impressive sights on the entire trip was being in the water when they were plummeting from the sky to catch fish. It is the only pelican species to dive from the air into the water to catch prey with its specialised beaked pouch; other pelicans use an on-the-water group strategy to trap fish when feeding.
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  • These colourful Sally lightfoot crabs (Grapsus grapsus) were the species that I observed the most, usually scurrying around the rocks just above the water.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California25.jpg
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  • I loved the almost anthropomorphic forms of some of the cacti. When you are so used to being around either coniferous or deciduous trees, it’s like being in a botanical dreamland or wonderland with such alien plant forms, and of course many of the cacti are much much bigger than you would expect to find in your local garden centre.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California16.jpg
  • My new American friend “Jose” came out on his small sailboat to join me on Isla Santa Catalina. Isla Carmen is visible in the distance.
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  • I found this beautiful, tiny, exquisitely coloured specimen underneath a rock. The brilliant red on the tips of its legs looked as though it had been freshly painted. As a child I spent my school holidays at the seaside and there was nothing that I enjoyed more than looking beneath rocks for hidden natural wonders.
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  • I have always loved starfish; they are such emblematic shoreline creatures. There are so many in the rich marine environment of Southeast Alaska, many of them like the sunstars very large. For obvious reasons they are one of the easiest marine creatures to photograph, and this particular species was best photographed on its striking underside. Now that I have my website up at long last I now have the extra incentive to identify the species of all the creatures that I have photographed, which is going to be very challenging especially for the invertebrates.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California66.jpg
  • I often watched them feeding as aerial pirates, chasing other birds and forcing them to drop or disgorge their food. They forage in the air, swooping close to the water to take things from or near the surface, making very little contact with the surface. It never swims and forages in the same way over land, taking prey from beaches without landing. It feeds mainly on small fish, also squid, jellyfish and crustaceans. It also takes hatchling turtles, young terns, other birds and their eggs.
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  • On my return journey from Isla Catalina to Isla Monserrat I had a very unexpected encounter. I was making great headway with a good following wind when suddenly a very tall tail fin appeared alongside me; my first thought was that it was the dorsal fin of a swordfish. I looked down into the water beneath me and its identity was immediately confirmed when I saw what looked like a giant checkerboard beneath me. Only one large sea creature has markings like that: it was a whale shark that had apparently come to the surface to investigate me. It wasn’t the right season for whale sharks so it was completely unexpected. As it was my first ever encounter with the largest fish in the ocean I implored it to swim with me for a while but it promptly dived out of view.
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  • After spending so much time under the full glare of the sun under permanently cloudy skies I became very brown. Fortunately my skin tans very quickly. When I was a young boy spending nearly every day at the beach during the summer holidays I became so dark that people were asking my parents if they had adopted me from India. Isla Monserrat and Isla Catalina were the farthest offshore islands that I paddled out to.
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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.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California64.jpg
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  • I came across this large gathering of stingrays when I was snorkelling in a bay when I was returning to Loreto. I haven’t encountered any stingrays anywhere since.
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  • Inside the protective barrier of the islands and coral reefs there was a beautiful tranquil lagoon. Beyond the tranquillity the Indian Ocean was still hurling waves and creating explosions of spray. I wanted to investigate the biggest breaks on a huge outcrop of bare rock on the outer side of the islands. I clambered up on to the rock and watched the massive swells that had travelled thousands of miles across some of the most tempestuous seas on the planet colliding with a boulder the size of a house. It was an awesome spectacle of the power of the ocean. I took some dramatic photographs but wanted to capture the perfectly timed moment of maximum impact. I dashed out onto the rock to a position that I thought was out of reach of the waves and quickly retreated to avoid the spray. They seemed to be consistently hitting a maximum height but all of a sudden a monster wave crept in unnoticed from a slightly different angle and hit me from the side. I spun around to face it and was engulfed in a surging mass of energised water; it felt like being hit by a car! I was swept off my feet and desperately tried to arrest my slide towards the foaming cauldron below, and to protect my camera. I just managed to save myself from what could have been a desperate plight if I had been swept into the sea. I felt pain, and the first thing that I noticed was that my arm was badly scraped; then I could see that I was standing in a pool of blood. I lifted my foot up and winced at the sight of a huge gash; it was very painful and I couldn’t stand on it. The infected sores on my shins and feet were still causing me some discomfort, especially at night. I wasn’t looking forward to going to bed that night because I wasn’t expecting to be able to find any comfortable positions. When I hobbled back to camp I cleaned and dried my camera and lens, but that camera body and my essential wide-angle zoom lens were now out of commission.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey28.jpg
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  • After a lot of walking through the forest streams I noticed a small uncomfortable lesion on the back of my ankle. It became very tender and inflamed when I wore my hiking boots and the collar rubbed up against it. Over the next few days it became more and more swollen, and then my entire foot swelled up to a grotesque size. With the massive swelling came excruciating pain; I couldn’t stand up for more than ten minutes at a time without having to lay on my back and then count to ten while the pain slowly subsided. When I was standing up I could feel the pressure building up and then the searing pain charging down my blood vessels like an express train. Ironically, I had just been able to place my other foot that had been cut so badly, flat on the ground again without any discomfort ; now I would be hobbling on the other foot for the next few weeks. I was very disappointed that my exploratory forays into the forest had to be dramatically curtailed until I could walk properly again. I found a sturdy staff to help me stand upright for long as long as possible and it became a valued companion over the next two weeks or so. It was now a case of having to do things in short bursts until the pain became too unbearable. I couldn’t have chosen a more isolated location to contract such a worrying condition. I couldn’t believe the size of my foot; it was so heavy and full of fluid, and looked more like a rubber glove that had been filled to bursting point with water. The skin on the back of my ankle had turned purple and split open because of the extreme swelling. It was looking very serious and I was compelled to start the long arduous journey to the next sizeable town, Antalaha, at least 100 miles to the north. It was going to be a daunting journey anyway because of the combination of heavy surf and coral reefs on the outer coast, but now with this latest problem my resilience would be tested to the limit.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey41.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey33.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 small island of Isla Catalina has the largest barrel cacti in the world and it is also home to the world’s only rattleless rattlesnake. I gorged myself on the succulent fruit of the barrel cactus that taste very much like kiwi fruit. The snorkelling around the island was excellent. There were some good places for fairly deep freediving that revealed many different species of fish.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California83.tif
  • Giant barrel cacti (Ferrocactus diguetti) on Isla Santa Catalina, the Sea of Cortez and  Baja Penisnsula, Mexico.
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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.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California91.jpg
  • It was nice to have a brief moment to indulge in my passion for macro photography. There was so much insect life attracted to this little green oasis, including these beautiful mating damselflies.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California52.jpg
  • 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.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California53.jpg
  • 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 natural spring near the ruins hence the lush greenery; a very rare sight on my trip.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California50.jpg
  • I found this beautiful, tiny, exquisitely coloured specimen underneath a rock. The brilliant red on the tips of its legs looked as though it had been freshly painted. As a child I spent my school holidays at the seaside and there was nothing that I enjoyed more than looking beneath rocks for hidden natural wonders.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California21.jpg
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  • This photo clearly illustrates the contrasting morphology of different plants that are adapted to surviving in a harsh of arid environment like the Baja Peninsula; the thick, waxy, prickly epidermis of the cactus contrasting with the amber peeling bark of the torote Colorado tree ( F.Burseracea – Bursera microphylla ).
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  • 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.
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  • This was another photo taken by Francois Gohier when he was also photographing the bubble net feeding whales around the Morris Reef at Point Hayes. After I won the Mammal Category of the BBC Wildlife Photographer of the Year Competition in 2002 I was commissioned to write an article for the BBC Wildlife Magazine and this photo was used on the cover of the magazine, which was indeed an honour for me as I have been reading the magazine since I was a young boy.
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  • This photo was taken by one of the leading humpback whale researchers in Southeast Alaska at the time, Cynthia D’Vincent. She was actually working with a film crew at the time who were making an IMAX film. We had a lot of encounters during the filming and she pointed out that I was getting into "rather too many" of their shots, and politely asked me if I could try to avoid doing that. I was getting fed up with having to breathe in the exhaust fumes from their fast boats, whilst I was left rocking in their wake. I continued to work in my usual low impact fashion, but eventually they got all of the shots that they needed and I was thanked for obliging with her request, and I was rewarded with a bottle of wine. <br />
The unusual lighting, and atmospheric conditions at sunset, was a result of an extensive forest fire in the Yukon Territory hundreds of miles away to the northeast.
    Alaska-camping-kayaking26.jpg
  • This was another photo taken by Francois Gohier when we were both photographing bubble net feeding humpback whales on the Morris Reef, near Point Hayes. I was very familiar with the underwater topography around the Morris Reef and became very good at predicting the movement of the feeding whales along it as they herded the herring. The main problem there was the sea conditions because it is near the junction of Peril Strait and Chatham Strait, so there are usually very strong currents and any wind can exacerbate the conditions as well.
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  • This is looking west towards the end of the inlet.
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  • Duncan Murrell kayaking with humpback whales in his Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak, near the Brother’s Islands, with Admiralty Island and Baranof Island in the distance, Stephen’s Passage, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
This was my first ever memorable day kayaking with humpback whales in Southeast Alaska in about 1983; an amazing day that set the tone for another 20 years of involvement there with the whales. It was a beautifully flat calm day out on the water and there was a large pod of humpback whales feeding in the vicinity of the Brothers Islands where we were moored with “Avalon”. It was the day when I realized that a kayak was the only way that I could really appreciate being around the whales without disturbing them or interrupting their natural feeding behaviour. I discovered that they are completely safe to be around and that I could manoeuvre the kayak more than adequately to stay out of their way. It was such an adrenaline-rush to be so close to them, and to be able to feel their power and energy transmitted through the water.
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  • Duncan Murrell’s Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak and gear at the start of a kayaking trip, Angoon, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
<br />
My partner and I eventually separated and I had one last fantastic summer alone cruising around Southeast Alaska with “Avalon” and my Klepper folding kayak. After that I just used my kayak and took everything that I needed to travel around with the humpback whales and camp out for many weeks alone in the Alaskan wilderness. It became a big challenge to be able to pack so much food and equipment in drybags into and onto my small folding kayak; everything had its place in the intricate jigsaw puzzle. Packing the kayak was always a chore but a necessary one to enable me to have so much freedom all summer. I developed a good system for taking the right dried food along with a certain amount of fresh food that could be hung up in the trees and eaten in the right order. That was supplemented with a growing knowledge of wild food that could be harvested from the beaches and the forest.
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  • This is the entrance on the West side that faced Admiralty Island. To the right of the photo you can see the distinctive outline of the hills that creates "the Sleeping Giant", as everybody called it. Later on when I was just kayaking, I still liked to stop here to camp because there was a very good place to camp near where I took this photo from. In the opposite direction behind this beach was a small island that was used as a haul-out by Steller sea lions. Whenever they were there you could constantly hear their rumbling groaning and roaring. There is also a lot of seal and seabird activity around the island, and particularly around the kelp beds. One of the regular seabirds there are pigeon guillemots (Cepphus columba), with their distinctive high-piched squeaking. Humpback whales also frequently feed in the nutrient-rich waters around the island, as a result of the strong upwelling created by strong currents colliding. I had my first close encounter with humpback whales lunge-feeding right next to the rocky shoreline of one of the islands.
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  • What an auspicious start to my trip! I had already made one false start leaving too late in the day and having to head back to the relative shelter of Tamatave. The next day I paddled 20 miles along the completely featureless coastline, and all I saw was a continuous, steep beach, with the big swells of the Indian Ocean crashing down onto it. I couldn’t see any ideal places for making a safe landing so I had to just go for it, come what may. I monitored the sequence of waves and made a dash for it at what seemed the safest point. I managed to get through the surf but as soon as I hit the beach and jumped out of the kayak the next wave broke into the cockpit and the powerful undertow started to drag my heavy flooded kayak back out to sea. The alarm bells were already clanging away inside my head, along with the thought, “Here’s another fine mess I’ve got myself into!”<br />
I instinctively started grabbing bags out of the kayak and hurling them up onto the beach while either my feet or knees were desperately anchoring into the abrasive shingle, but I was still being dragged around mercilessly by my unruly kayak. I looked down along the endless beach and saw two diminutive figures so I started hollering for help. As they got nearer my heart sank because I could see that it was a young girl with a child. They could only grab my things that were floating away in the relentless surf but then miraculously a strong young man appeared on the scene, and jumped into the sea to help me wrestle with my half-submerged kayak. The kayak was a dead weight in the water so I decided to start dismantling the cockpit coaming so that some of the water could be drained from the cockpit. It worked, and after much heaving we managed to drag it up the beach away from the surf; we both collapsed on the shore, utterly exhausted and chilled by the cold water. I was eternally grateful for the providential arrival of that young man on that deserted stretch of coastline.
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  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
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  • I was driven to Foulpointe and had to reassemble my kayak on the beach in torrential rain. I attracted a large crowd of onlookers including lots of excited children just as I did when I first assembled and launched my kayak at Tamatave. The local people were fascinated that I had a folding kayak inside two bags. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to impress them with any degree of composure and speed with which I assembled the kayak, because the wooden frame became covered with sand in the pouring rain, making the assembly much more difficult. One sweet little girl held an umbrella over my head as I struggled to re-assemble it, with blood running from cuts on my agitated hands; it was one of those situations when I could have done without an audience! <br />
Eventually I was able to launch my kayak with much clapping and cheering from my faithful audience. I paddled around the point and discovered that beyond the protection of the coral reef in front of town there were still ranks of intimidating breakers extending as far as the eye could see. I didn’t want a repetition of the first day so I decided to exercise caution and find another car to take me to Soaniarana-Ivongo. From there I would catch the ferry to Isle Sainte Marie, a popular tourist destination from where the migrating humpback whales can often be seen. I wasn’t too discouraged by the sea conditions beyond there because I knew that north of Isle Ste. Marie there are long stretches of coastline sheltered by coral reefs – according to my maps anyway.
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  • I tried to re-launch my kayak with the help of my local friends but every time I jumped into the kayak and tried to paddle out through the surf my kayak was swung around and I capsized, with my head getting rubbed into the sand. We eventually gave up and I made plans to be collected by a taxi and driven north to somewhere with more protection. My fully loaded, heavy kayak just wasn’t suitable for getting out through heavy surf and that was going to be a major limiting factor for the rest of my journey.
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  • 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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  • I stayed in this nice little cabana on a dock, where I could moor my kayak, on the outskirts of Foulpointe. It was good to have a modicum of comfort for a night or two. I made friends with the poor family living in a very basic hut nearby, which was very dark inside. They were very hospitable to me, and seemed to be genuinely honoured that a foreigner was so interested in them. They made me fully appreciate how poor most Malagasy people are, but still maintain their dignity and good spirits.
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  • Duncan Murrell’s fully loaded Nautiraid folding kayak, Hoonah, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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Although I had progressed to using a larger kayak it was still a challenge to get everything in, including myself. The wheels are for a kayak cart that didn’t survive very long. I usually used two inverted polystyrene crab-pot floats as rollers to haul my kayak up the rocky beaches. There were very few, clear flat beaches available anywhere to make it any easier to move my kayak up and down. Packing and launching, and then beaching and unloading was always a major work-out, done the hard way of course.
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  • Duncan Murrell photographing humpback whales in his Nautiraid double folding kayak at Point Hayes, Chichagof Island, Southeast Alaska, USA. Photo courtesy of Francois Gohier.<br />
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After many years of good service from my ageing Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak, I invested in a new French Nautiraid double folding kayak, which gave me more carrying capacity and a larger, more comfortable cockpit to work in, but it also meant more effort to paddle it. It was much easier to pack than my old kayak and it was also incredibly stable even in rough sea conditions. It is designed to be used as a small double kayak that can also be paddled solo.<br />
This photo was taken by fellow whale photographer Francois Gohier from France. I had been familiar with his work for a long time as one of the most published whale photographers. He was shooting from a boat at one of my regular locations and camp sites, where the whales often perform bubble net feeding. He was kind enough to send me some of the photos that he took of me and commented, “You really know how to do things the hard way!” I couldn’t disagree with that comment because that’s my style, and even to this day I still do things the hard way because it’s the only way that I know how to be.
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  • Duncan Murrell paddling his fully laden Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak, the Brothers Islands, Stephen’s Passage, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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It was always a relief to get everything packed into and onto my kayak. I broke all of the conventional rules regarding how much could be loaded onto the decks, but I was carrying such a heavy load with all of my camping and photographic equipment as well that my kayak was still very stable, if not a little heavy to paddle, but after paddling so many miles like that and keeping up with the whales day after day I developed a strong paddling style all of my own.
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  • A humpback whale sounds dramatically and forcefully in front of the Nautiraid kayak of Duncan Murrell, Peril Strait, near Chatham Strait, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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This was one of the very rare occasions when a humpack whale ever showed any aggression towards me. I always tried to avoid obstructing the passage of whales but with so many encounters it was inevitable that sometimes I didn’t have enough time to get out of their way, especially if they surfaced in front of me without any warning. Even then I was often amazed at how they would just roll beneath me like a gigantic ball caressing the soft hull of my kayak with barely a ripple. But on this occasion I encountered a slightly more irritable whale and as it was sounding (diving), instead of just lifting its flukes up before sliding gracefully out of view, it rolled its flukes sideways, creating a large wave that surged towards me, over the bow of my kayak and onto my lap. The icy water of Southeast Alaska was always cold enough to give me a sharp intake of breath, and some degree of punishment for not giving way to a much larger vessel fast enough!
    Whaleman-15.tif
  • My Klepper folding kayak fitted perfectly on the extra large deck for a small 28 ft sailboat. We also had a small dinghy called "Teacup" that fitted alongside my kayak on top of the forward hatch. They did get in the way when we were sailing but we didn't use the sails very often.
    Southeast-Alaska-Avalon4.jpg
  • Sailboat “Avalon”with Klepper Aerius 1 folding kayak on the deck, cruising along Icy Strait, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
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“Avalon” had a very large open deck for such a small boat boat so I was able to keep my folding kayak on the front deck and launch it very quickly; It was the perfect cruising combination. We also had a very small rowing dinghy called “Tea-Cup” that we used for rowing ashore, and which would also fit on the front deck of “Avalon”. “Avalon” was a gaff cutter but we didn’t use the sails that often because the sailing conditions were generally too unpredictable.
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  • The Brothers was one of my favourite and safest anchorages, with an entrance on either side, and a good beach near the anchorage for landing the dinghy or kayak. The intertidal life was amazing, and there was a special bonus of a rhubarb patch on one of the islands where there used to be a home.
    Southeast-Alaska-Avalon11.jpg
  • I met fishermen who came down to the beach with their families to cast their simple fishing lines out into the surf and kept them refreshed with cups of tea and roasted peanuts. I had become a local attraction; a regular watering hole and social venue for the local people that promenaded the beach. It was very exposed and windy there, and much colder than I had anticipated; It made me wish that I had taken a sleeping bag on the trip.
    Kayaking-Madagascar-journey4.jpg
  • Southeast-Alaska-Avalon12.jpg
  • We would have been motoring with the sails hoisted, as we often used to do, to assist our speed and stabilise the boat in any choppy seas. Glacier Bay was the northernmost place that I used to travel to in Southeast Alaska, and any trips there were always eagerly anticipated because of the stupendous mountain scenery and all of the dramatic tidewater glaciers and inlets.
    Southeast-Alaska-Avalon21.jpg
  • When I was in La Paz with the American kayaker, Corrie, we met an American guide who worked for the main commercial kayaking tour company in La Paz and he invited us to stay at their place while we there. I later arranged to meet up with him and one of his tour groups when I headed north back to Loreto. Shortly after meeting up with them at their camp I heard an animal crying out in the desert not far away from us so I ran in the direction of the cries and surprised a coyote attacking this mule deer fawn; It had its jaws clamped onto the fawn's back as you can see from the wound on its back. The startled coyote ran away leaving the wounded fawn behind. The Mexican support boat operator in the photo, who was accompanying the kayaking group, kindly offered to take the fawn back to La Paz to see if it could be saved.
    Kayaking- Gulf-of-California54.jpg
  • 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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  • From Ariganour I paddled south along the east coast of Coll passing the big open Crossapol Bay with extensive sandy beaches, and stopped to camp near Calgary Point and the small island of Gunna in the strait that divides Coll from the adjacent Isle of Tiree. It was another really beautiful location, and kayaking around to the west coast allowed me to experience the ocean swells and the feeling of open exposure to the North Atlantic. The next morning shortly after heading out for the long crossing to the south end of Mull and then Lunga, I had the encounter that I had been hoping for – basking sharks !! In the distance I could see their tall tail fins sweeping from side to side, and as I got closer, their unmistakeably comical bulbous snout ploughing across the surface above their massively inflated jaws while feeding on plankton. I was so excited, and full of eager anticipation to get close enough to see them underwater. It was one of those magical moments akin to when I had my first whale encounters in a kayak. I couldn’t wait!!
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  • This was my first really memorable day kayaking with humpback whales in my Klepper kayak in the early 1980s. It was a beautiful sunny day and the sea was flat calm. There was a pod of humpback whales feeding in the area all afternoon. I managed to capture a lot of good photos on this day with my Olympus OM1 because the conditions were so perfect and the whales remained in the same area for a long time. This was my first photo that I ever saw published in a book on whales. I stumbled across it in a book shop in Juneau, Alaska, which was a great thrill and gave me a lot of encouragement to continue photographing the whales. But the most rewarding encouragement for me was when most of the main conservation organisations, like the WWF, Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth started using my whale photos for their Save the Whale campaigns.
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  • Most of my kayaking and outdoor gear was used for many years, and occasionally, I treated myself to something new like this excellent Sierra Design tent. Most of my kayak dry-bags were well worn and scratched, but as long as I could keep repairing them I carried on using them. One of the biggest culprits for damaging my dry-bags were the pesky squirrels that always knew how to find their favourite snacks, especially peanuts! It was uncanny how they would nibble a hole straight through the coated waterproof fabric and heavy-duty polythene zip-lock bags exactly where their desired morsels were located. My cooking gear was certainly well battered and grubby with carbon, but all of my tatty gear and clothes had served a vital role for many years, and formed part of what was like a friendly family of very familiar objects that accompanied me on all of my epic kayaking trips.
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  • Whenever I was in Angoon, usually at the beginning of a kayaking trip after I had caught the ferry from Petersburg with my kayak, and my gear and food, I always visited the city dump, which was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Sometimes they were having a bath in the ditch alongside the road, and I was able to observe their playful behaviour in the water, although with a little trepidation, because they always seemed to have one eye on me. They seemed to be OK with my presence as long as I just stood in one spot and didn't move around too much.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • This was my first really memorable day kayaking with humpback whales in my Klepper kayak in the early 1980s. It was a beautiful sunny day and the sea was flat calm. There was a pod of humpback whales feeding in the area all afternoon.
    Alaska-humpback-whale-sounding1.jpg
  • Two of the three Alaska brown bear (Ursos arctos) siblings wrestling in muddy water in a roadside ditch near the Angoon garbage dump, Admiralty Island, Southeast Alaska, USA.<br />
Whenever I was in Angoon, usually at the beginning of a kayaking trip after I had caught the ferry from Petersburg with my kayak, and my gear and food, I always visited the city dump, which was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Sometimes they were having a bath in the ditch alongside the road, and I was able to observe their playful behaviour in the water, although with a little trepidation, because they always seemed to have one eye on me. They seemed to be OK with my presence as long as I just stood in one spot and didn't move around too much.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
  • Whenever I was in Angoon, usually at the beginning of a kayaking trip after I had caught the ferry from Petersburg with my kayak, and my gear and food, I always visited the city dump, which was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Sometimes they were having a bath in the ditch alongside the road, and I was able to observe their playful behaviour in the water, although with a little trepidation, because they always seemed to have one eye on me. They seemed to be OK with my presence as long as I just stood in one spot and didn't move around too much.
    Alaska-wildlife-bearAlaska-wildlifeA...jpg
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