CONVERSATIONS WITH WILDLIFE FILMMAKERS

A. You take whatever steps are necessary to get the shot. The goal is simple. Be in the right place at the right time. Sounds easy… but life is unpredictable. When filming animals, you need to know everything you can about your quarry—and the best Cliff Notes are the people that study them. Every animal in the world has someone lurking in the shadows, watching their every move. Usually scientists, but not always, they come with eclectic resumes—and are our most valuable resource, helping us learn where, when, and how the animals live. Then all you have to do is juggle the logistics… travel, hundreds of thousands of dollars of gear, acts of god, customs, and the thousands of little things you need to do to be in the right place at the right time. Wildlife doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

A great shot is a great shot… something that makes people say “wow”.

A. 230 feet down, diving along the purple wall of the abyss, off Belize’s barrier reef, the nitrogen narcosis goes to my head as thousands of 4 foot long Cubera Snapper approach to investigate me—a strange creature with no business at these depths. They sniff around like puppies as I remain motionless, clinging to a rock on the steep slope with my thighs, and trying to ignore the euphoria pumping through my blood stream in the form of nitrogen. When suddenly a 30 foot whale shark emerges from the depths, and parts the enormous school of snapper. He remains with me irresponsibly long… when I realize I’ve got 30 minutes of decompression time… and about 5 minutes air.

But with the help of the emergency reserve tank hanging from the dive boat—I pay my penance to the nitrogen gods, and avoid the dreaded bends. No favorite moment comes without risk.

A. There is no average shoot. Sometimes you get what you need in a day, and other times you get nothing in a month. But you usually see every sunrise and every sunset. Unless you’re shooting bats… then reserve that.

A. I’ve been attacked by a tapir, burned by a Portuguese man-o-war, and had monkeys throw feces at me. I’ve been chased by a tornado, dodged torch wielding mobs in India, flown through a sandstorm in Namibia, bribed countless 3rd world police officers, and had to emergency evacuate my best friend from the jungle with a severe head trauma. I’ve wrestled crocodiles, pet lions, stood my ground with king cobras, and swim with sharks on a regular basis, but what really scares me are the little things. I’ve been bitten by venomous ants on three continents, woken by a scorpion sting, and have had far more fungi, parasites, bacteria and other creatures living inside of me than I would like to admit. My scars are on the inside.

A. As long as you have plenty of clean underwear and a whole lot of cipro, you’ll be fine.

A. My wife recently took out a life insurance policy on me. Huh?

A. Sleeping conditions can range from a 4 star hotel—to a burlap sac full of hay, and a hole in the ground. The older I get, the more I prefer the first one.

A. Nestled deep among the jagged cliffs and glaciers of the Greenlandic wilderness stands the Arctic Research Station. I spent the better part of a month in this scientific oasis waiting for the blizzards to relent long enough to head out in search of the elusive Bowhead whales…100-foot behemoths that rule the Arctic seas. Two other teams of international researchers shared the station with us… and together we all willed the angry winter skies to clear so we could escape and track our quarries. They were studying Plankton and Snow Crabs. We’d only made it out maybe six or seven times the entire month…so the station was fast becoming an Arctic reality show. Food was mostly a “fend for yourself” mentality and limited supplies led to some very unique creations. Spam meatloaf, spaghetti potpie, and more salami sandwiches than any human ever needs.

When finally the air cleared and the howling winds relented…we were out. With me strapped to the front of the tiny speedboat, Arkivik, we raced against the currents on the trail of the Bowhead Whales, intent on taking skin samples and filming the arctic giants. It was an incredibly successful day, encountering three different whales. We were euphoric when we crossed the threshold of the tiny research station, and even more elated when we saw the other scientists had been just as successful. They returned with arms full of their day’s prizes: snow crabs, dozens of them, wrestling in heavy buckets; mountains of rare caviar donated by the guilty guides who had ditched us to chase the prized Lumpsucker spawn; steaks of Narwhal (a whale with a unicorn-like horn) presented by our proud cook; and shots of vodka swimming with green, alien plankton lined up in racks of test tubes.

What I remember most is the caviar. We chased endless servings of the coral-colored sea eggs with shots of esophagus-stripping Greenlandic Vodka, guiding the plankton down our throats. Tearing into the snow crabs like savages, we pulled fistfuls of sweet, snow-white meat that took a short bath in butter before delicately dissolving in our mouths. The Narwhal, by contrast, tasted like a rubber tire marinated in gasoline… still, we smiled gratefully at our cook, enjoying the culinary exchange.

While a far cry from a “four-course expense account extravaganza,” this exotic feast was a culmination of my experience in the Greenlandic Sea. Everyone in the Arctic Research Station was there to better understand and help save the animals they worked with…but for some reason there is an odd satisfaction in also eating what you study. After all…when in Rome.