Successful basking shark surveys completed

For the last two weeks we have been lucky enough to return to our old basking shark survey stamping ground in the Western Isles of Scotland.

Our intention was to survey further afield than our 2002-2006 surveys aboard S/Y Forever Changes, and build on our scoping visit in 2009 aboard S/Y Pèlerin. The overall area we planned to survey covered considerable new ground including the west coast of Skye and the east coast of the Outer Hebrides from South Uist to Barra Head. In addition to these new areas, we also re-visit the two hotspots we established in our surveys from 2002-2006 at Canna/Hyskeir and Coll.

To make this happen, some transects needed to be long and extensive. The weather was very much in our favour (fortunately), with only one gale passing through during the two weeks. Therefore we were able to work flat out from first thing in the morning until well into the evening on many days - we were very glad that the weather played its part in making our first year successful. Although only able to make the Outer Hebrides once, we surveyed long into the evenings to maximise our time whilst there – the light evenings allowing extended surveying opportunities.

During the two weeks, we managed to complete the entire circuit except for one short (yet important) leg in th outer islands, where sea conditions were just too rough for viable effort-corrected surveys. Overall, we completed nearly forty transects, recording twelve sharks and over three hundred cetaceans of six different species across our survey area - so all in all we are very pleased with the result.  

We had two teams of volunteers to assist us, who all played a full role in helping us observe and record observations, sail the boat, and ultimately help us achieve our goals, so many thanks to them all: Ronnie Mackie, Dave Marshall, Bel Noon, Matt Borne, Sarah Fowler, Gary Burrows and Yvonne McCoy.  Thanks too to Isle of Skye Yachts for supplying us with ‘Sleat Lady’, a comfortable Beneteau 393 that swallowed us and all of our gear in her cavernous interior, and performed pretty much flawlessly throughout. And finally thanks to the Shark Foundation of Switzerland for supporting us financially throughout.

In the event that further funding can be secured, we aim to follow this survey in subsequent years with complementary surveys to help establish additional areas important for the basking shark. But 2011 was certainly a welcome return for us to see the sharks in Scotland, and we look forward very much to being able to continue our work there.

Scottish Shark Survey 2011

Colin and Lou embark on the first of a renewed programme of Scottish basking shark surveys.

We’ve headed up to the Western Isles of Scotland, to undertake two weeks of basking shark survey. We’ve left our boat Pèlerin in Morocco, and chartered a yacht out of Skye Yachts in southern Skye.

Our mission this time is to build on the knowledge gained from our 2002-2006 shark surveys undertaken in the waters around the Inner and Outer Hebrides. But this time we hope to concentrate on areas slightly more remote, to identify whether any surface-sighting hotspots exist outside of those already identified in our report to Scottish Natural Heritage in 2009.

The Shark Foundation of Switzerland continue to be generous to our mission, and we appreciate their support to help make this survey happen. Our 2011 crew consists this time not of paying volunteers, as occurred previously with our Earthwatch Europe and Wildlife Trusts projects, but of friends and colleagues from our work in shark research and conservation. We hope to spend time in the Outer Hebrides, visiting areas identified as favoured historical shark-hunting grounds, and revisiting some areas reached only briefly during our previous shark survey seasons. In 2009, Colin and myself brought our own boat Pèlerin to these waters, and very good sailing was to be had; but the weather was not ideal for survey and few sharks were encountered in these outer islands. In the last month or two there have been reports in the Scotsman newspaper of sharks at both of our previously identified hotspots, around Hyskeir and Coll, so perhaps feeding conditions are favourable for a summer of good sightings.

So as we board our survey boat today, with a favourable short-term weather forecast, a good crew, and bucketfuls of luck, we embark on our 2011 shark survey… full of amazement again at just how beautiful the landscape is, and excitement at what the next two weeks might bring.

<*))))< Louise Johnson

Passage from Spain to Morocco

Trawler at sunset - we saw a lot of these (credit: L. Johnson)

Well we've arrived in Moroccan waters at last... Africa!

The sail from Cadiz in SW Spain was good; we were both excited by the thought of venturing towards a whole new continent - our first new continent on our adventure... we felt like real explorers! So excitement, mixed with a little anxiety - a night passage is never something to take lightly. This was my first night passage in over a year, and a solo night watch in new waters is enough to put shivers up your spine. Plus with demonstrations due to be held across Morocco that day (as the King has just announced a new constitution following major demonstrations recently) we weren't quite sure what would await us on arrival at Rabat - you know, the seat of Moroccan parliament, where the King lives! Nevertheless, we had a nice breeze from the NNW, so we poled out the genoa and settled into our 2-hour watch system.

As sunset approached we could see something akin to Blackpool Tower illuminations off in the distance... bit strange we thought, nothing marked on the chart... checked the AIS, which indicated a tug about 8 miles to the south of us, directly in our path, going extremely slowly - it was listed as 'engaged in tow'. Ah, it'll be towing something then. As we got closer, we realised the massive, lit structure was an exploration oil rig... oh, Lordy. The tug was still showing on our predicted path, moving ever so slowly east to west, and we're charging south. Colin goes down for some shut-eye (it is his off-watch) and I keep a watch on the tug. After 30 mins, it's clear that we're going to have to dismantle the poled-out genoa and gybe, to make sure we don't (a) run into the tug ('restricted in his ability to manoeuvre'), or (b) get our mast decapitated by some tow-line linking the tug to the rig. Neither the rig nor any of the flashing lights are marked on the chart, so we're thinking if this really is a tow (even though the tug is hardly moving), we've got to manoeuvre around behind it. It's dark by now, and more flashing lights are starting to come into view surrounding the rig. There are numerous trawlers fishing along the parallel contours to the west of us, so were trying to work out what on earth each of these pin-pricks of light ahead of us mean. I've got my well-thumbed 'Reeds Sailing Handbook' out, flicking through the navigational lights pages...
[As an aside, we really do take our visual ability for granted - as soon as it gets dark, you lose full-use of one of your most important senses, and it can be very disorientating.] The moon wasn't due to be up for a few hours, so it occurs to us how much we really rely on people using the right navigation lights (which they don't), and keeping their distance (which we always try to do!).

Anyway, we approach, not quite knowing what we're letting ourselves in for, and this turns out to be a massive operational drilling rig, and the 'tug' is not towing, but an offshore support vessel. We pass 1.5 miles to the west of the rig, which feels very close when it's so huge and lit up like a Christmas tree. Why on earth did the AIS info on the support vessel state it was a tug, that was engaged in towing? Just goes to show you can't rely on nautical charts, and you can't rely on electronic navigational aids, you can only rely on your senses - however dysfunctional they might be! 

In the end, no harm done whatsoever, but we were glad to get the rig, its ships and all its flashing palaver behind us. We could then settle back to our watch system and only have the trawlers to worry about! 
And what a lot of trawlers there were... how can there be enough fish for all these fishing machines? 

We were lucky enough to be visited by several pods of common dolphins during the night. At sunrise we were rushed by a pod numbering well over one hundred, but they didn't take any notice of us, they were on a mission likely a feeding mission. Sadly, once they'd gone, I couldn't stop questioning why on earth we continue to be oblivious to the effects our actions are having on the marine ecosystem. Reckless extraction of everything, both under-sea and under-seabed, and thereby affecting not only the food chain but also marine species ability to adapt to an increasingly changing environment.

Sailing through the night and experiencing a welcome rising sun after a long passage does that to you. You've made it through the night, and you want all to be well with the world... I'll get off my soap-box now, they become quite unsteady at sea.


<*))))< Louise Johnson

View from the office

Working and living on board a boat provides its own set of professional challenges: the continual balancing of large batteries linked to our wind and solar devices  to enable the charging of multiple laptops, phones and cameras; seeking sufficient opportunities to access the internet, not just for emailing and Skype, but for the various desktop research projects we both undertake; that deadlines sometimes need to be flexible (and colleagues understanding) if we need to urgently move the boat to avoid a storm; and the most unique ‘challenge’ provided to me so far, given by an old colleague in Uganda unused to being around water, that we might drown, not get to finish our reports and never see our families again!

Colin doing emails in the cockpit

On the other hand, the advantages are good: the view from the office changes with a rather agreeable regularity; there is the daily benefit of only a 3 metre commute; and the realisation that interacting within a variety of different local cultures proves your working knowledge is only based on your experiences so far... and there’s an awful lot left to experience.

These things aside, one of the biggest differences when comparing our floating situation to a more typical brick-built, static office setup is the need to be adaptable. We have to cater for the unpredictable in a much more business-as-usual way, and factor that into our professional approach. We’ve worked extremely hard to ensure that colleagues and clients are oblivious to the way in which we work, ensuring that deadlines are met, objectives achieved and projects completed seamlessly, regardless of our time-zone, wind strength or harbour.

We are making this work because of dual needs: the need for exploration and the need to keep our feet on the ground are both very important elements to us. As the old baseball saying goes, you can’t steal second base whilst keeping your foot on first.


 <*))))<  Louise Johnson

Sailing where the fish fly

We relaunched Pélerin about two weeks ago, and it has been superb being back on the water, anchoring in secret spots, gently rocking with the waves and feeling a sense of freedom again. A few shake-down sailing days helped us ensure that the boat was working fine, and that the few little jobs we got on with over winter were holding tight. Big thanks to the guys at the Sopromar boatyard in Lagos; not the cheapest of outfits, but the standard of work and attention to detail is impressive. And working on the boat in the yard also gave us the chance to meet a lovely American couple, Dick and Ginger who have sailed extensively on their boat Alchemy.

The sailing since our relaunch has been wonderful, and we’re switching between all our sails to give them all a good airing (and remembering the various hoisting quirks of each). We saw our first flying fish - they’re the weirdest things, looking like a gliding crucifix, but with feet. All very strange… It’s comforting to notice how well myself and Colin are once again predicting what the other does, and sometimes at the right time too! Although we’re a little rusty after 6 months of very little sailing, it shows that we’ve been building up good partnership sailing miles in the last few years (especially now we’re not surrounded by a gaggle of survey volunteers eager to pull the right rope whilst trying not to get trampled upon).

So these are good times indeed. But frustratingly, an extended spell of easterly winds and the need to wait for our outboard motor to be fixed, has forced us to sit around in Vilamoura marina for longer than anticipated. Although the people here are great, the shelter good, and the curries at Lakhsmi amazing, the resort is rather built up, a little bit bling, and there are far too many drunken Brits crawling between the bars, looking the most unlikely fitness fanatics in their branded sports outfits with beer and ketchup down their football-shirts. The upside to being forced to remain static for a few days is that we’ve been able to catch up on some work and admin chores, and also get a chance to use the fold-up bikes generously presented to us by some cruising friends we met in Lagos, Brad & Diane (…obrigada!) on their yacht Riviera Magic. I think I need some go-faster stripes to fit to the side of my bike, that might help…

But a sense of frustration is building. The need to move on is a strong one. Less developed, gorgeous locations are calling loudly: in the short term, none more so than the Guadiana River, marking the southern boundary between the Algarve and Andalucia. This narrow sliver of water snaking its way inland is famed for quiet anchorages, time-forgotten villages and wonderful birdlife. We’ll get there soon.

This morning we cast off our lines and bid adios to Vilamoura. After motoring in light winds first thing, and spotting a pod of bottlenose dolphins breaching in the bay (who then came over to see us), we had a great sail with the cruising chute (the one with the basking shark) and are now anchored (bliss!) somewhere in the lagoons just south of Faro. It’s another day’s sail eastwards to reach the mouth of the Guadiana, so we might aim to get there for Sunday night, winds allowing. That’ll also give us a day or two to potter around the sand-bars and marshes of the lagoon here. Exactly what weekends were made for!

Learning from experience

2010 was a year that exceeded all expectations on a professional basis, but not quite so from a sailing-south perspective.

We had originally planned to get the boat south via the wildlife-rich areas of the Azores, Madeira and possibly even Cape Verdes. The potential photographic and filming opportunities pulled us strongly towards these passages offshore from the European mainland.

However, the day-to-day realities of living (and working) aboard a boat meant that plans for such passages were continually just out of reach, as contractual consultancy commitments became higher priority. With both of Lou’s two major projects culminating in huge deadlines around the end of Oct, along with a frustrating series of issues requiring attention on the boat, the last weather window for achieving serious south-bound mileage escaped us during November. With it went any hope of a 2010 Atlantic crossing from Cape Verdes to Brazil.
We resigned ourselves to the fact that, once again, when juggling passage-planning and consultancy projects, the sailing plans “seldom withstand contact with the enemy”!

On the bright side, we’ve had the chance to slow down a little, and loiter in an area of Portugal neither of us knew previously - this has also allowed us some well-earned sabbatical time off the boat. We think we’ve used this time wisely, and had time to reconsider our sailing and work plans.

Now, bring on 2011, and let us put those plans into action…

<*))))< Louise Johnson

Differing perceptions

Avian dogfight

We’re often asked where we’re planning to go on our travels aboard. When we reply that we’re at some stage hoping to visit more remote and often colder places like Norway, Newfoundland and Chile, many people seem a little mystified. So much so that we’ve both taken to immediately adding that we’ll also be visiting places more recognisable as priority destinations, too. But many non-sailing people seem to assume that cruising is all about socialising in sunny, busy places, seeing the sights and visiting bars and restaurants, just as if we were on holiday like anyone else – and what’s wrong with that? Why go where it’s often cold, wet and desolate – there’s nothing there in any case, is there?

But the fault-line in understanding the difference in attitudes is that we’re not going on holiday, not in the conventional sense. Anyone who has planned an expedition or gone long term cruising will recognise the level of planning and preparation involved before taking the first step towards ‘the elusive goal’. It’s not a fortnight off work we’re looking forward to here - yet handling all of the hassles typically associated with that is usually stressful enough, isn’t it?

So many sailing destinations now just cater for a slightly varied form of the same theme, it’s difficult to differentiate between them. After the first few rum punches, the endless party culture, remembering that sun, sea and sand can be lovely, you might find yourself asking “what’s next”? And as for “nothing” being out there in the more remote places, that is emphatically not the case. Far off the beaten track, whether afloat or ashore, there can be an abundance of wildlife, wild places and wonderful people.

We’re certainly not trying to avoid human company; far from it. We’ve always enjoyed meeting people and socialising, whether in new places with different cultures and challenges, or simply reuniting with good friends. However, we’re hoping to explore simpler places in a more basic, rustic manner that allow us the time and the peace and quiet to take them in. We both recognise the importance and value of solitude and wilderness. And that’s a large part of our reason for travelling in this way, to see the wonderful array of wild creatures that the world still possesses in as unobtrusive a manner as possible.

One thing about boat travel is that you become part of the ocean environment. As you’re seldom more than a metre or so above the water how could it be otherwise? And when you encounter marine life you are part of their world, and can meet nature on its own terms.

We were reminded of this last summer whilst sailing off the Sound of Harris in the western isles of Scotland. A beautiful sunny day, with light winds saw us drifting gently northwards when a sudden loud clamour caught our attention. A lesser black-backed gull was being attacked by an arctic skua, and flew straight at us as if trying to seek shelter in our rigging. To anyone who doesn’t know about birds, skuas are kleptoparasites, that chase and harry other birds (often far bigger than themselves) to make them disgorge their food, to be picked up at leisure by the skua.

Lou and I scarcely said a word as this aerial battle raged around us, captivated by the relentless dives and assaults of the smaller bird, and the vain and undignified attempts of the bellowing gull to evade its fate. Eventually, despite putting up a staunch fight, the gull threw the towel in and surrendered its gorge full of food to the sea and the triumphant skua. Witnessing and, by our very presence, participating in this fascinating but routine event of the predator-prey world, left us both mesmerised and re-enchanted with the experience of moving through these less-disturbed places.

And it’s the remarkable moments such as this that remind us why we choose to go cruising, our chance to inhabit the wild world of the oceans and their shores. At such times all of the stress-inducing planning, preparation and cost become worthwhile, and the whole project makes sense. And whilst it’s difficult for us to express the essence of this to some friends and family who don’t share our enthusiasm for the sea, we hope this attempt to explain it will go some way towards justifying our choice of destinations.