Though numerous grizzly bears appeared randomly along the edge of the forest, it was not until I reached a particular spot along a river I had been negotiating that I finally got my chance for a closer encounter. Had I known just how close, I might not have been so keen.
The place was picture perfect, with the river splitting around a wide, grassy plateau surrounded by steep cliffs of granite that reached high into the misty sky. My first glimpse of the place from my canoe revealed two grizzlies splashing around in the water some distance away. By their active behavior and splashing back and forth, it was obvious they were hunting salmon. By the time I had secured my canoe to a washed-up log and prepared myself for a trek across land, two more bears had appeared, joined minutes later by two more. I had found the mother load. This was bear heaven!
Contacting my team by radio, I gave them my GPS coordinates, suggesting they drop everything and head out my way ASAP. There were bears to be filmed. Close by, Burt had also beached his canoe. Quickly he made his way over to where I was preparing my kit and cameras. Burt was a keen photographer himself, sporting some impressive long-lens equipment. He carried these with him wherever we went, ever ready to make use of any photo opportunity. The team consented to this, as long as it did not divert from Burt’s duties as guide, for which he was hired.
As well as being my guide, Burt was also responsible for carrying the bear spray and watching my back whenever I might be close to bears. Moving in for some close-up photography, my attention would be fully absorbed in the moment, leaving me vulnerable should another bear approach. Every move I made would be filmed by the camera crew, who would take up position some distance away so as not to place themselves in harm’s way (and so they’d have a clear, long-lens view of all the action). The bears in this case, half a dozen by now, were mostly preoccupied with chasing after the elusive salmon to pay much attention to me. It was perfect opportunity to get in close.
I have always been fascinated with close-up wildlife photography, and this has served me well where reptiles are concerned. With reptiles, I was always able to get really close, often incorporating a macro lens for detail. Later, when including mammals into my photography, I was faced with a new challenge. Still feeling the need for the effects derived from close-up work, but not able to coordinate the larger animals as I might a small reptile, I was faced with the daunting task of getting as close to my subject as the situation might allow, incorporating as wide a lens as possible to create the effect I preferred.
This is by no means always possible, and certainly can lead to trouble, as many of these animal subjects are potentially dangerous. And here now again, far out in the extreme wilderness of British Columbia, surrounded by feeding grizzly bears, my plan was to get as close as possible for that ultimate shot. The trick always, as I had learned through experience, was to know how far one could push the envelope. As I have heard said; Only those who risk going too far, will ever know how far they can go.’
The real danger comes with those factors that lie outside of your control. No matter how cautious or knowledgeable you might be, there is always room for the unexpected.
With the arrival of the rest of the team, we set about planning our strategy. All around us, as though summoned by a dinner bell, grizzlies were arriving for the feast. Our strategy was not complicated. With Burt as guide and knowledgeable bear-behavior person, one cameraman, and one sound engineer following at a respectable distance behind me, I would set out to creep up to the feeding bears to get some close-up pictures. The second camera team would remain close to the canoes and film from a distance with the long lens. We would be in contact by short-range, hand-held radios. Nothing to it. All angles and sides covered. What could go wrong?
Hunched over, dragging our equipment with us and keeping as low a profile in the long grass as possible, we set out. Burt, carrying his own camera and a can of bear spray, moved out some distance on my right, the far side from the bears I was heading for, giving both the close- and long-range camera crews plenty of clearance, so as not to be caught in the shot.
“Don’t worry about my positioning,” Burt called softly as he moved off through the grass. “You concentrate on the bears. I’ll keep my distance but be close enough if you need me.”
Good to know, I thought to myself. As any wildlife photographer will tell you, once you have your eye in the viewfinder, lining up your subject matter, all concentration is in that direction and the rest of the world disappears. It was imperative under these particular circumstances, with bears appearing randomly out of the tall grass, to have someone watch your back.
The grass was green, tall as a man in places, and soaking wet from the perpetual rain and mist. The mud underfoot sucked at my boots, making progress slow and awkward, with every second step landing me in a muddy hole. There were at least eight bears in the area that we had spotted, with no way to tell how many were emerging from the distant forest. In the tall grass, most bears were only visible when they stood up. The only bears constantly visible to me were those few already engrossed in fishing along the edge of the river. I headed for these, every nerve on edge as my eyes swept the surrounding area. I hoped Burt was doing the same. Any warning message from him would be transmitted to my camera team, who would relay to me vocally, as I did not carry a radio. This was a very different scenario to my earlier film series dealing with reptiles, where there was no threat of ambush and the whole team could work together in close proximity.
Not far behind, my camera team kept pace with me, a reminder that any risks I might take spilled over to them. I needed to get close to the bears, and the crew needed to be close to me when I did so. Such is the nature of the business we were involved in: the making of “good telly” as one British cameraman often remarked. Of Burt, there was no sign. He had melted away into the grass some distance off to one side of us, presumably checking the perimeter for any approaching bears.
It took some twenty minutes of navigation, but finally I exited the tall grass where it thinned towards the edge of the river. The two grizzly bears I had spotted earlier were now chest deep into the fast-flowing river, running this way and that, snatching at the fast-fleeing salmon heading upstream. The bears’ antics were somewhat playful, and it dawned on me that, although fairly large in size already, these were young bears, subadults, not yet proficient in the art of catching their slippery prey. Stealthily, I headed towards them, hoping that their concentration on what they were doing would preoccupy them enough to ignore me. Close behind me, the camera team exited the tall grass and prepared to roll camera. We were now all exposed on the rocky slope along the edge of the river.
Visible on my left some distance away along the exposed stretch of riverbank, the first camera team had the advantage of height and ran long-lens surveillance on the proceedings. Behind me a radio crackled into life.
“Grizzly approaching from behind, moving at a steady pace towards you guys. Watch your distance.”
Though I carried no radio with me, not wanting any extra distractions, I could clearly hear the message broadcast on the film crew radio some twenty meters behind me. Looking around, I could not see anything over the tall grass back from the riverbank and wondered where Burt was. Had he not spotted the bear? Burt was supposed to be our backdoor warning system. Quickly, I backed up closer towards where the camera crew was stationed at the edge of the grass. With numerous bears in the area, mostly invisible to us from our location, I was not about to take any chances.
“Give Burt a call on the radio,” I suggested. “Find out if he can see the bear.” A few calls later rendered no response from Burt.
The two young grizzlies meanwhile had curtailed their activity in the water and started in our direction. It was obvious they had been alerted to our presence. One made a tentative move in our direction, then stopped, then made another. The second bear followed suit. Their curiosity was aroused and they wanted a closer look.
“Grizzly still moving in your direction,” a voice f
rom the first crew sounded over the radio, more urgent now. “About sixty meters behind you and moving steadily. Better back away along the riverbank.”
Good advice! However, at that very moment, the two bears from the water were slowly heading towards us, leaving little room in which to maneuver. Where the hell was Burt? Why was he not answering his radio?
Then suddenly I saw a movement further up the bank, just at the edge of the grass. I recognized the long, white Canon camera lens immediately. It was Burt, and he was taking pictures of the bears in the water. He was taking bloody pictures of the bears frolicking in the water when he was supposed to be watching our backs! Aaaarrrgh! I was furious!
Suddenly, from behind me, I heard a commotion and turned just in time to see the camera crew scuttling for distance as a huge grizzly appeared out of the grass, not ten meters from where I crouched on the riverbank. At the same time, exiting the water, the two young bears picked up their pace, now loping towards me . . . and the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I had just done the unthinkable! It was not coincidence that these three bears were heading steadily in our direction. This was the mother of the two subadults in the water. And the very first rule of safety while in the company of bears, or any other animal for that matter, is never get between a mother and her offspring!
Holy mackerel! Finally my life was over. There was no escape.
Then I remembered Burt, and with no further reason for stealth, I turned and screamed for his attention.
“Burt! Over here!”
But Burt was already running towards me, his camera forgotten, his hands grabbing for the bear spray attached to his waist. In a second he had it out and was struggling with the removing of the cap and the safety pin. With panic in my heart, I watched Burt’s frantic approach, and I saw, as though in slow motion, his hands pulling desperately at the trigger mechanism of the can, until with a sound of snapping metal, the whole apparatus came loose and flew through the air. The operating mechanism was unserviced and rusted, traveling now uselessly through the air to clatter onto the rocks, and in so doing, rendering my last hope of salvation inoperable.
Excitedly, the two young bears loped up the bank towards where their mother and I stood facing each other. Burt, now without the means to assist me, wisely backed off, crouching so as to attract as little attention as possible. The mother bear had now stopped dead in her tracks, eyeing me maliciously through small, unreadable eyes. Then, with a grunt, she threw herself up on her hind legs to tower over me, her jaw open wide . . . and I all but had a heart attack. Vaguely in my head, as though in a dream, I recalled the basic facts that had been drummed into me.
Bears can outrun you.
Bears can outswim you.
Bears can outclimb you.
Right now my legs were in desperate conflict with the first rule: never run from a bear! Oh dear Lord . . . I now so desperately wanted to run from this bear. Somehow I fought the urge. There was nothing to be done but stand dead still and embrace my fate.
I have heard it said that, if a man has nothing to hope for, then at least give him something to do. So slowly, very slowly, I raised my camera and took a picture.
Then the impossible happened. The two young bears stopped where they were half way up the riverbank, swaying their heads, as though uncertain of my presence between them and their mother. And just when I thought my time had finally come, the great bulk of the mother twisted slightly away from me, dropped back down onto all fours, and slowly sidled past me, her eyes never leaving me as she did so. Another few steps and she was past, allowing my heart to regain some of its former rhythm. Gathering together, the three bears greeted each other enthusiastically, confirming my belief that they were indeed a family group. Their greetings concluded, they entered the water to once again pursue their feeding on the salmon.
With deliberately slow movements, both Burt and I moved away back towards where the film crew was positioned. I glared at Burt. I was not impressed. His job was to watch out for us, not take pictures for his personal collection. We were relying on his knowledge and experience working in bear country, and the fact that the bear spray was unserviced and not operable made my blood boil. It was bad enough to have to rely on someone else to watch your back, but worse if that person is unprepared and incompetent. I was really angry and voiced my feelings to the director. Lives were on the line here, and I wanted Burt out of the picture.
In reality, of course, being in as isolated a region as we were, hundreds of kilometers from anywhere, there was no chance to arrange a replacement guide, leaving me weary and deciding finally to carry my own personal can of bear spray. Admittedly, though, having experienced the awesome size of a grizzly closeup, I seriously doubted it would be of much use.
Fortunately, as it turned out, the incident had a positive side to it. Enough footage had been recorded during the event to enable the scene to play a dramatic part in our story. Another week of continuous filming followed, during which one night I came within touching distance of a black bear and on another occasion managed once more to fall into a freezing stream. The latter resulted in my beginning to show all the signs of acute bronchitis by the time we were finally heading back to civilization. My missing baggage had been located and returned to me as we were wrapping up our shoot. What can I say? At least it had not all been permanently lost and was able to tackle the half-dozen flights back to Namibia in properly fitting attire.
Thus, the first episode of my new series was filmed and heading for the edit studios in Bristol, where afterwards it would be judged and no doubt cut to shreds and reassembled by the powers that be. It remained to be seen what my fans and public at large might have to say about the new direction my shows were taking. It was an established fact that the reptile series was hugely popular. Would my adventures with mammals have the same appeal? Only time would tell.
CONCLUSION
Once the dominant form of life on the planet, the reptiles and amphibians of today are largely reduced in numbers and variety. Some are relatively unchanged from the age when dinosaurs dominated the land and offer fascinating hints as to what life was like at that time.
Reptiles, especially snakes, are a hard resource to sell to the public at large as worth conserving. Not only are these not of cute and cuddly genera, but the fact that some snakes are venomous has unwittingly condemned all the species. In fact, few snakes are dangerous to humans; rather, most are generally shy and elusive. Should a human encounter a snake in the wild, there is a greater chance than not of the snake being harmless, and it is certain that the encounter is by accident, with no evil intent on the part of the snake. Should one encounter a snake, it is certainly best to either keep still or step back and away. Snakes do not actively seek out humans (as humans are generally too large to be considered prey), and so are experiencing as much fright as the human and will usually take flight in the direction of the closest cover. As stated before, a venomous snake is generally only a threat if it has been stepped on or cornered, in which case it may possibly strike out in self-defense.
The style of my adventure television series developed as it did because I was allowed, to a large extent, the freedom to respond according to what each situation called for. Armed with a basic script, my team and I visited wilderness areas in a variety of regions of the world in search of particular species of interest, to photograph and film them as best possible in their natural surroundings. Naturally, we experienced numerous encounters with a variety of wildlife species along the way, and these would gradually dictate the shape of the story behind the expedition.
Wildlife documentary programs are designed not only for their entertainment value but with the idea in mind to encourage viewers to become more aware of the natural world and of the wild animals that exist in it, their behavior, and their position in the intricate chain that connects all natural things. I have heard it argued that if not for zoos, people would have no opportunity to view and learn about wild animals from various locations of t
he planet. With modern-day technology, however, the media of television not only brings wildlife programs directly into the living rooms of every home but does so in such a way as would never be seen in a zoo. And it does this without the need to confine any wild animal to a life of incarceration. There is no greater media of education than television. Thus it is the obvious way to introduce wilderness and wildlife of the world, that people should have a better understanding of it, fear it less, and hopefully be more encouraged to protect it.
It has been said that “a picture is worth a thousand words.” I find this to be true, and especially relevant where wildlife is concerned. Never can one describe the wondrous colors to be found in the shiny, textured scales of an exotic snake or the wings of a particular hummingbird. But in one close-up picture, all is revealed. Most people in their lifetime will not see many exotic animal species in their natural habitat, especially not close up. It is important to bring these animals into their homes in the form of pictures and film, so that they become aware of the wonderful beauty that we still have on this planet. Hopefully, this will in some small way arouse awareness and help promote the conservation of all living species.
I am seldom without a camera close at hand, even if it is simply my little pocket Sony Digital Cybershot. You just simply never know when something of interest will pop up. I photograph anything that might interest me, with special attention of course given to all wildlife subjects. I do personal wildlife trips whenever possible. In doing so, I am free to take my time and concentrate on what I want. It does not matter how long it takes. I usually travel in a campervan (for example, when in Australia) or a four-by-four double-cab vehicle when in Africa. This enables me to carry all supplies and equipment I might need with me and leaves me free to remain in any place as long as is necessary to get a particular photograph. When it comes to big-game photography, one can only wait and watch, but when attempting to photograph reptiles, I am forced to seek them out actively, as these creatures, especially snakes, are shy and elusive, and therefore not often seen in the wild.
Snakemaster Page 26
