"Wild Passions"
It's not a nine-to-five job.
It's not about forgetting about your
work when you get home from the office
Only on three occasions have
venomous snakes actually gotten me.
The thing that can go wrong
is if we mis...
It's not really work, is it?
Yeah.
It's just a way of life
. A way of life for us.
When I get to see something
that nobody's ever seen before,
that's a thrill that I don't think
I'll ever get over.
It's getting that image in a way that
it's never been captured before.
It's like gambling. You go out and
you never know what you're gonna get.
And more than likely,
you're not gonna get anything.
But the payoff is that
we live in paradise.
And we have a life
that nobody else has.
They're images that enchant.
Through them, we're face to face
with creatures we've never imagined...
witnesses to the stark drama
of struggles for survival
voyeurs of nature's most hidden moments
What does it take to
capture those images?
Who stalked that lion?
Confronted that cobra?
Swam with that shark?
You're about to meet some of
the world's most talented filmmakers.
On any given day, they're at work on
wildlife films for National Geographic.
You'll learn what they do, how they do it,
and what it takes to
bring back unforgettable images.
I think a lot of people
think it's a dream job.
In many ways, it is, I suppose.
But it's a helluva lot of hard work.
It used to be much harder.
The first wildlife filmmakers were
true adventurers.
The wilderness was wilder then,
and conditions were much more primitive
Filmmakers often developed
their own film in the bush.
And transportation was more often
four-legged than four-wheeled.
Early pioneers even had to
invent their own equipment.
Those intrepid explorers
brought back images that were a
revelation to the public.
People had never seen moving pictures
of animals in the wild.
The footage was hard-earned,
but it was guaranteed to keep
audiences amazed and enthralled.
Today, dependable cameras,
hi-tech gear,
and all kinds of vehicles
make the job easier.
But the challenge has gotten tougher.
The public sees incredible things
on film every day.
In fact, they want to
see more incredible things.
So we in the business are actually
pushing the pinnacle of perfection
higher and higher and higher.
We're competing against ourselves.
We're making it more difficult for
ourselves to come out with new things.
And when you're doing film work
there's a certain amount
of pressure to get the sh*t.
And you tend to do things that push
the envelope a little bit.
Sometimes, you can push
a little too hard.
For the first test of
National Geographic's Crittercam,
the camera was attached
to the fin of a shark.
But the shark swam off prematurely,
and things took a horrific turn.
A fisherman tried to help
by hooking the shark.
He didn't realize that cameraman
Nick Caloyianis was just ten feet away
But the shark did.
Wanna keep pressure
on these points, now.
A little more pressure.
Up over here. Up over here.
The shark tore open Nick's hand,
and bit his leg to the bone.
Nick was medevaced out and went
through nine operations in 21 days.
It took him three and half months
to recover.
And then he returned to work
on another film about sharks.
Accidents do happen.
It certainly wasn't the shark's fault.
I would never blame the shark
for what happened to me.
Nick's attitude isn't unusual.
In fact, most wildlife filmmakers
don't think it's dangerous work.
I don't think it's dangerous work.
I think it's certainly not dangerous
work if you're considering the animal.
We've gotta remember that snakes
are on the defensive all the time.
They're not an offensive animal
who's gonna att*ck you.
You would think there'd be things down
there that are constantly stinging
and biting,
but surprisingly, that's not the case.
Press them harder, though, and they'll
admit to their share of close calls.
I lost a finger to a puff adder,
first of all,
in handling that for photography.
Very nearly lost my life.
I got spit in the eye
by a spitting cobra.
And then, no, actually I got bit by a
coral snake, and the coral snake d*ed.
I fell out of the tree
in Guyana 55 feet.
I was bitten by the insect that gave me
I was caught up in a w*r in Rwanda.
I've been charged by elephants
and hung up with microphone cables
and couldn't get away.
Oh, I dunno, you have to be careful.
Some years later, I was bitten
in the backside by a leopard.
I'd jumped down off a cliff and
I landed right in front of it,
and it came out and got me in the butt
I got out of the car.
The cubs were playing to the one side,
and the female,
the mother was lying on the other side
I started walking towards them
with the camera,
and the next thing,
the mother just came at me.
She actually stopped
probably five meters away,
growling and hissing
and then moved off.
I got in the car.
The other thing was African bees.
We were att*cked by African bees
to the point where
we thought we were going to die.
All of us were stung 40, 50, 60 times
in the head and the face.
A couple of years after that,
I was filming underwater
in this crystal clear spring in January 8th, 2001
Two males started a fight.
In the confusion, one of the male
hippos charged and got me by the leg.
Shook me around like
a rag doll for awhile.
I had a hole through my leg big enough
to stick a coke bottle through.
But danger doesn't deter
the best wildlife filmmakers.
They'll go to incredible lengths
or heights to get the sh*t.
That's what Neil Rettig is famous for.
Here, he's climbing 150 feet up
to film the world's most powerful bird
of prey the harpy eagle.
It has a wingspan
of more than six feet,
and talons the size of bear claws.
The harpy will att*ck any intruder
that gets too close to its nest
including a precariously
perched cameraman.
The first time an eagle flew at me,
I was scared to death.
The problem is if you're climbing up,
and you don't know where they are,
you have to look in a 360 degree
radius around to try to spot
when they're coming,
because if you didn't see 'em,
they'd definitely hit you.
They're incredibly powerful.
If you weren't roped in, they could
knock you right off the limb.
leatherjacket that was totally shredded by the end of it
It was just like a big hole
in the back, you know.
How do you end up in a spot like this
warding off attacking eagles?
Like most filmmakers,
Neil's been following this path
from his earliest days.
I grew up in an area that had
a lot of wildlife.
My parents were very supportive.
I would collect turtles,
and salamanders, and snakes, and so forth.
And I really had an interest
in birds of prey especially.
Today, when he's not on the road,
Neil spends every spare moment
raising hawks on his Wisconsin farm.
You're a good boy.
I got into falconry in
the late '60s and early '70s.
Birds of prey are just so free
and fantastic.
Neil's hobby became a career back
in the 1970s,
when he learned of a giant eagle
that had never been photographed.
A complete novice at the time,
Neil sh*t the first film ever made
about the harpy.
Now a highly-respected old pro,
he's returned.
He's spent six months here,
hoping to capture the first flight
of a young harpy chick.
I think all of us have
a lot of experience sitting
in a blind for weeks at a time,
and not sh**ting a single inch of film
waiting for something to happen,
and maybe it never will.
The young harpy spent weeks testing
its wings and Neil's patience.
And then one day
he went maybe 60 feet out
into the canopy of the nest tree
and I was ready, you know,
I had my finger on the shutter release
and I was ready
to roll the camera thinking,
"This is it.
We're gonna get this first flight."
And it just took him forever.
He slowly walked down the limb
and he kept walking.
And I go, "Oh, my God,
he's gonna walk all the way back."
But then, finally,
he just suddenly flew.
I was rolling the camera and
I got the first flight.
Some unusual skills are required
for filming birds of prey.
Everybody ready?
Did it go over?
Neil uses a cross bow to rig cable
for tracking sh*ts through
rain forest canopies.
We have a vertical tracking system
where we can lift the camera
from the ground to the top
of a huge tree.
We have a horizontal tracking system.
You get a floating sensation,
tracking through the forest.
All these things take a lot of time
and it's a lot of hard work.
Neil became known as a man
who could film in high places.
For awhile,
every phone call I was getting
from producers had something
to do with climbing.
No climbing was required
when Neil went to film in the Arctic.
A plane put him down on top of
remote Prince Leopold Island.
But the job did call for someone
who wasn't afraid of heights.
It was just incredibly bleak.
I mean the cliff just falls away,
a thousand feet straight down.
The cliffs were bathed
in sun the day Neil arrived.
But things went downhill after that.
We had the worst weather I think
I've ever experienced out on the field.
I mean blowing gales, and sleet,
and freezing rain, and howling wind.
Trapped in their tents
by the harsh weather,
Neil and his soundman were
going stir crazy-Arctic style.
All the eggs have fallen off the cliff
All the eggs have fallen off the cliff
All of them.
When the weather did clear,
Neil had other problems.
He was trying to film
a colony of murres,
nesting in crumbly stone
on the sides of the treacherous cliff.
To get the sh*t,
Neil had to go right to the edge.
The wind literally would
buffet you and, you know,
it threatened to blow you
right off the cliff.
Of course, you're not going
to survive falling 1,000 feet.
So we're talking about this 200-pound
apparatus that we had to set up right
on the edge of the cliff
with these rocks that are flaking away
And to get the sh*t, we wanted
to actually sweep the camera out
with a wide angle lens to sort
of give you a birds-eye view
of what it'd look like
to look straight down.
Neil got the sh*t
and then, a bonus.
There were thousands of nest sites
spread out along this cliff face.
And there was an Arctic fox
that used to raid the nests,
but he never came to the area where...
we were filming,
which was the ideal spot for filming.
One day, the fox came along
and I was just thinking,
"God, wouldn't it be great
if he started raiding these nests right
in front of the camera?"
And sure enough,
he went in front of the camera,
raided the nests, maybe 10 times,
I mean, it was just like
perfect choreography.
And that was probably the most
rewarding sequence
I've ever done in the wild.
It was just luck. It just happened
while I was there,
you know, that's a rarity.
Today, filmmakers like Neil Rettig are
well-established professionals
in what could actually
be called a career.
But it wasn't like that when renowned
African filmmaker Alan Root started out
Wildlife photographer wasn't something
you could find
in any career guide's booklet.
Fortunately, because the whole
business was in its early days,
the standards, I have to say,
were pretty low.
So anything a cut above home movie
footage would get onto television,
because it was all new
and exciting to them.
And I really appreciate that,
because the youngsters today have
a much harder nut to cr*ck to get in.
Actually, just drop me down here.
I think there is more pressure on me
because this is my first film
and I obviously want it
to be a good film.
Go right, Pete, go right, go right.
But as long as I'm learning,
that's the key thing.
Still running, still running.
Matt Aeberhard's here in Tanzania
to make a National Geographic film
about jackals.
Stop!
They're a tough animal
to keep in frame.
Missed it. Missed it.
Despite the frustrations
and challenges,
for Matt,
this is the fulfillment of a dream.
It's taken some real doing to
get this far.
After failing at University,
I was really forced to really go
for something and do my best.
He landed a few menial jobs in film,
including work for a British company
that made wildlife films.
I made teas for people,
worked long hours,
I made sure I was noticed.
And gradually,
one thing led to another.
It led to an invitation to come work
for a wildlife filmmaker
in the Serengeti.
Driving out to the Serengeti was, yeah,
one of the best days of my life.
I believe I cried
when I saw the Serengeti,
because I'd arrived and
it really was the culmination
of a good deal of difficult driving,
boring work, and finally I'm here,
doing what I want to do.
You ready, Peter?
Matt spent five years working
for someone else
before attempting a film of his own.
This is his big chance.
He won't get many more
if he doesn't deliver.
He's chosen a difficult subject.
Jackals are unsympathetic heroes.
People watching the film might
be disgusted
by the fact that these jackals
are preying on little bambis.
But that gives me a good challenge.
I don't have a problem
with the fact that people might hate
the jackals one minute
if I can make them like
the jackals the next minute.
Make them feel something.
If they feel something, that's good.
Jackals can be doting parents.
And Matt wants to show that
by capturing a key scene
the moment when the pups emerge
from the den to greet their mother.
Stop.
No, useless.
Matt's too late.
Half a scene won't do
Well, I missed the beginning.
I should have been earlier, because
I knew exactly where she was going.
Every day bring's a frustration,
but you just have to continue
on and eventually it will work out.
Isn't that right, Pete?
Maybe tomorrow, or day after,
you might get it again.
Absolutely, absolutely.
A couple of hours away,
veteran Dutch cameraman
Anton Van Munster is sh**ting
a National Geographic film
about a family of cheetah.
It looks like something's
about to happen.
Less than 15 seconds from
beginning to end,
and the cheetah never went out of frame
Okay, stop here. Go quick.
Now, Anton moves in for the close-up.
It puts him right on top of the k*ll.
Turn, turn, turn, turn, turn, turn,
stop like this.
Of course, I've seen it
more than once by now.
But I still can hardly bear to watch.
It's terrible.
But sentimentality
in nature doesn't exist.
Things couldn't be going better
for the seasoned veteran.
As for Matt...
Oh, we missed it.
Go one... to the left, yeah.
Right, right, right, right,
go around these...
Keep on this side...
Go right, Pete, go right, go right.
And now to the left.
Go, go, quick. Yes, of course.
Okay, stop like this. Stop like this.
There we are. Missed it again.
Fantastic.
We missed what happened here
just by a couple of minutes.
Matt would be happy just to
get close to his animals.
It's clearly no problem for Anton.
I'm happy that there's glass.
And while the cheetah are climbing
all over Anton's car,
Matt's is breaking down.
The link just snapped blow
a gasket here relentless problems
But good wildlife filmmakers
are persistent.
Once again, Matt waits at the den,
hoping to catch the pups emerging
to greet their mother.
Finally, the right place
at the right time.
A crucial scene for Matt
a testimony to the gentle side
of the jackal.
Capturing key moments is a challenge
for all wildlife filmmakers.
How do you get great scenes like these?
What does it take to be
a good wildlife filmmaker?
The first thing you need is patience
that verges upon stupidity,
because you're down there,
and typically you're cold
and uncomfortable,
and you have to be sort of mentally
marginal to stay there
for hours on end.
To me, the challenge is
the most important thing.
If somebody says to me, you know,
"Here's a species that's never been
filmed before,
and you probably can't do it."
That would like feed the fire
within me to actually accomplish it.
Good wildlife filmmakers
are primarily naturalists.
And their interest in
wildlife filmmaking stems
from their interest in animals.
If you understand the animal behavior,
you have a better chance
of being able to film it,
as opposed to understanding
the camera technique
and trying to film some animals?
Never going to work.
Derek and Beverly Joubert have spent
a lifetime in close contact
with the animals they film.
And they've learned every trick
of the trade.
We almost try and become part of them
so that we know exactly
what they're doing
and what they wouldn't want us to do.
For the Jouberts,
wildlife filmmaking isn't a job;
it's a way of life.
Over here we've got a handy item.
It's an elephant's pelvis and
it's great for having our wash basin.
And then, of course, our famous toilet
You don't sit there for long
because the teeth are still
in the elephant's jawbone.
Life in the bush is basic.
But the Jouberts' reward
is an unusual intimacy with wildlife.
When we're sitting somewhere
and an elephant comes to us,
we will just sit and
soak up the atmosphere
and almost communicate with him.
That is something that you
would not get in many places.
Such moments are unforgettable
like Howard Hall's
extraordinary encounter
with a Patagonian right whale.
It was a remarkable experience,
because after we'd been
with the animals a few days,
one of them actually became curious
and wanted to play with us.
And it was amazing.
We found that the whale
would come right down to me,
come right down,
and sit on the bottom next to me
and lean over toward me so that
I would scratch his eyebrow.
And he loved for us to scratch him.
And we're talking a huge animal,
we're talking this gigantic behemoth
of an animal, coming down,
settling only a few feet away with
his eyeball only 18 inches from you,
and then you just reach out
and scratch his eye,
and you watch him looking
at you while you do that.
Now you may think, you know,
you look into the eye of a whale,
you're not going to see
any characterization or emotion there.
But you can.
There are filmmakers who are drawn
to a particular animal.
We've found bats to be
particularly fascinating subjects.
For me, birds of prey.
Water hogs, they're amazing things and
as I've said,
such humorous little guys.
In some cases,
you'd have to call it an obsession.
Okay, hold it,
just hold it a second there, yeah.
That's my favorite bear there
Polar bears are Tom Mangelsen's passion
Beautiful bear, that guy.
You can't help but get attached
to them, you know,
you just watch them,
and you know certain individuals,
that I let myself kind
of get involved in that.
I'm always happy to see, you know,
a bear that I recognize.
Tom Mangelsen is an award winning
photographer and filmmaker.
He's come here to Cape Churchill
in northern Canada every year
for the past ten years.
With his assistant, Cara,
and an old friend, Spence,
Tom traverses the frozen landscape
in his tundra buggy,
searching for yet another great sh*t
of the bears.
I think they're just beautiful
to begin with, you know,
they're designed for this landscape.
They're powerful, they're strong,
they're able to live solitary,
predatory existences.
Extraordinary beings, you know,
nice to watch.
But getting so attached
to your subjects can take its toll.
Tom followed a female he called
"Pretty Bear" for six or seven years.
He was thrilled to discover
two cubs trailing behind her last year
So it was difficult for him to watch
when one of the cubs sickened
and later d*ed.
It's hard not to be emotional
when you see something that's just,
that is kind of horrific
as a cub dying in a snowstorm,
and a mother trying to protect it
from all comers,
staying there with it,
even though the thing's,
poor thing's been dead for two days.
Tom's emotional connection
to the bears
leads us to see them
in a different light.
The pictures I probably enjoy most are
the ones that are hopefully
more esthetic
and soft and more painterly, maybe.
That's probably most people's
favorite overall,
the one called
the "Bad Boys of the Arctic."
It looks very human, you know,
the guy's kicked back looking like he's
you know, ready to turn on the TV
or watching the football game
or having a beer.
I named that image "Polar Dance"
because it looked like
they were dancing.
It looked like a classical dance
that people would do.
Actually, it's two large adult
male polar bears play fighting.
You guys, this could be so cool.
Alright.
That's nice to see.
In the distance, a mother
and two cubs saunter into view.
You've got to be impressed by an animal
that can raise two eight-month-olds
in this landscape.
I mean, look at that,
that's harsh out there.
Those little guys have been probably
walking for 20 miles, maybe.
She keeps looking back,
checking on that one that's kind
of lagging behind a little bit.
Tom decides to take a chance
to get closer to the action.
Be a lot nicer to see her low.
It's risky going down on the ground.
But the mother bear seems
a safe distance away.
She's not gonna leave the cubs
to get us.
But Tom doesn't see the huge male
walking up from behind the buggy.
He and Cara race up the steps,
leaving the camera behind.
That's a little excitement
for a change, huh?
That was too close!
Good thing Spencer saw him, huh?
You see how they can
just come out of nowhere?
Too bad your camera's down there,
'cause it's a great scene.
Oh, it's a wonderful scene.
That's one of the sh*ts
I've been trying to get
for the last five or six years.
I don't know
if I'll get another chance at it or not.
That was our first mother and cubs.
Ahh! Jeez! I can't believe it!
In this business,
things don't always go right.
But there's something you gotta get,
you gotta get that bit of behavior
that is absolutely vital for the film
and you just go through hell
sometimes to get it.
It's a very bitter cold, wind chills
of minus 100 Fahrenheit.
You can freeze your flesh
in five or six seconds.
It's so incredibly hot.
It's 115 Fahrenheit
and it's just muggy.
And, of course, days without having
proper showers and baths
and things like that.
You're often out on small boats.
Conditions are rough.
You occasionally get to reveal
what you had for breakfast,
which is pretty unpleasant.
Millions and billions of mosquitoes,
and black flies, and
and every little kind of bug you can
imagine would get in your eyes
and your nose and your ears
and your throat.
You're up to here in muck,
going through just
a disgusting stench of water.
Neil would turn back and look
at me and I said,
"Isn't this a glamorous business?"
We've had film assistants
that have come out to us
and that have paid us to let them go.
Problems just go on and on and on.
And it's amazing how many good films
get turned out every year.
When you really want to do
something bad,
it's amazing what you can put up with.
Not many people would want to get this
close to a deadly black widow spider.
One bite could k*ll you.
Yeah, she's getting a little close.
But it's all in a day's work
for George and Kathy Dodge.
You gettin' her? Where'd she go?
We come in close contact with
venomous animals of all kinds.
That doesn't necessarily concern us.
I mean, the point is getting the sh*t.
For the National Geographic film,
"Bite of the Black Widow,"
George and Kathy decided to get more
personally involved than usual.
All that they really asked us
to do was film
a black widow underneath a blanket.
We thought, Well, let's put the person
under there and add a little movement.
I better cut soon.
I don't want to risk her getting
too close. Good one!
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah, now, get her out of here.
It was a nice idea as long as the black
widow didn't move too far too fast.
Get her!
Okay, I'm trying.
If we timed things just right,
we'd get the black widow out
from under the cover before
it actually reached his flesh.
While many filmmakers head out
into the bush
in search of nature's largest animals,
the Dodges specialize...
in filming the smallest
and many would say the creepiest.
You can only see elephants and lions
and zebras and wolves
and bears for so long, I mean,
there are only certain,
limited species of each one
of these animals.
But insects-beetles,
wasps, bees, flies,
I mean, they're countless,
they're countless.
We could never run out of subjects.
But if you think it's
hard figuring out what an elephant
or lion is about to do try insects.
Like a black widow spider
is going to lay eggs,
well she isn't going to tell us.
We don't speak Black Widow.
So she isn't going to tell us,
"Oh, I'm going to be laying these eggs
at exactly one o'clock tonight."
We had 12 black widow females
and they were all ready to lay eggs,
all in separate cages,
all ready to be put on the set.
One of us will go to bed
and the other one will stay up
and watch the black widow
for three hours
and then we shift back
and forth like that.
Oh, she's really doing it, huh?
The least bit of interference would
cause her to abandon the whole process
just a light going on,
or any sudden shock to the container
would throw off the whole scene.
Even when the black widows performed
on cue,
other problems invariably cropped up.
Okay, roll camera, she's starting.
Even though we had two cameras,
this animal's got eight legs.
Several times we'd get egg laying,
but not a good sh*t,
because one or two of
her darn eggs would get in the way.
And then the mating
of the male and the female
now you're dealing with 16 legs
in the way.
How do you get a clear decent sh*t
of the male mating with the female
where you can see what's happening?
It wasn't easy. It wasn't easy at all.
George and Kathy even managed
to get the black widow to bite on cue.
How did they do it?
That is one of our little
professional trade secrets, I'm afraid
We don't even tell our family.
Our family will ask us... you know
"Well, how did you do that sh*t?
How did you do this sh*t?"
We don't tell anybody.
Sometimes, the animals don't do
what the Dodges want them to.
For the National Geographic film,
"Ants from Hell,"
George and Kathy wanted to sh**t
a timelapse sequence of
fire ants devouring a frog.
The frog needed to be taken down,
all the way down to a skeleton,
so there was literally nothing left.
It took a lot of studying
to see exactly how long does it take
a colony of ants to take down
that size of frog.
But apparently, the fire ants
hadn't read the script.
The very first colony
didn't eat the frog, they buried it.
So we dig up the frog,
put him back, start on another colony,
and they eat the frog half way
and abandon it.
It took quite a few attempts,
but we finally got it
and it came out very nicely.
George and I are challenged,
challenge ourselves
to go after those images
which haven't been captured before.
I mean, to whatever degree that
takes us, extreme macro or telephoto,
it's getting that image in a way
that it's never been captured before.
My particular favorite sh*t that
we've ever done is a close up of
the harvestman eating the aphids.
No one had ever seen a harvestman eat
an aphid before.
We not only saw it, we filmed it.
We're bringing this to the public
so the public can appreciate
this animal and its uniqueness.
This is what makes our job worthwhile.
This is what makes doing
wildlife photography so exciting.
I found the jumping spider to be
a very interesting subject,
because it has sort of a soft
cuddly look to it, which is appealing.
Soft and cuddly. Did you hear that?
Soft and cuddly.
This is what I love about this woman.
She loves all animals...
she calls a jumping spider cute
and cuddly.
It doesn't matter what we sh**t
or what we photograph,
she empathizes with the animal,
gets to really like it.
I couldn't find another woman like
this on the face of the earth,
you know, if I spent the rest
of my life trying,
and especially one that looks
as good as this.
I'm one lucky man, I'll tell ya.
While there are wildlife filmmakers
who work alone,
it's striking how many of them team up
with their spouses or partners.
I'll tell you when you hit 24 frames.
Because in this business,
a good year you might be
gone 250 days out of the year.
And what kind of relationship
can you have
with somebody that's waiting at home?
So the ideal situation is if your
partner can be part of the team.
Most couples, you know,
they see each other at the beginning
or end of the day.
And there's a big chunk in
the middle where they're interacting
with other people.
And we have ourselves.
And very often,
we're off in wilderness areas
and we just have to get on
and thank goodness we do.
Look how easy that was.
That's right, that's right.
We live with the job. I mean,
I could wake up at two o'clock
in the morning and,
you know, "Kathy, Kathy,
I just got the greatest idea."
There sure are difficulties.
I mean, working at nighttime
is an incredible difficulty...
because she wants to sleep
a little bit longer than me.
We have the domestic crossing over
into the professional world,
back and forth.
There would be squabbles taking place
over who was gonna be responsible
for vacuuming up the back guano,
let's say,
that's dragged into the carpet.
We have these goals and things that
we wanted to do in life
and we've dedicated to that.
If Beverly didn't share the dedication
that I had or vice versa,
it wouldn't work.
And we would not be
a filmmaking married couple out
in the bush.
So, what do we do?
Are we gonna get end takes?
First let me do this
and then we'll do a front take
and then we'll add some questions.
One such couple is Richard
and Carol Foster.
The husband and wife are among
the world's leading wildlife filmmakers
They make a perfect team.
Richard's the cameraman,
while Carol does sound,
still photography and research.
Back there. Oh, they're so cute.
We're both naturalists.
And we both think in the same way...
Get ready, get ready, Carol.
even though we do separate things,
then we come together when it is a film
Carol and I compliment
each other very well.
We're actually both very
different kinds of people.
I'm much more laid back.
Carol rev's much higher than I do.
I tend to get a
bit mentally lazy sometimes,
and she gives me a quick kick,
you know, when that happens.
And I try to calm her down
when she gets too hyper, you know,
so we have a pretty good effect
on each other.
It works well.
We couldn't make these films
as individuals. We really couldn't.
It's too wide a breadth
of stuff to get done.
And we both have respect
for each other in what we do.
Recently, this filmmaking team
had to confront a grave challenge.
They were in Venezuela, filming one
of the world's biggest snakes
he anaconda for National Geographic.
At first, it seemed like the danger
would be in getting the sh*t.
They were following a researcher
whose favorite method
of finding the snakes was to
feel for them underwater
with his bare feet.
To get his respect,
which was, actually,
I was quite happy to do,
was to take off my shoes as well.
We've got stingrays, which if you
tread on one and it stings you,
it's three months out of your life.
They're very, very bad, very poisonous
You've got electric eels,
which put out 500 volts
and they'll knock you straight out
of the water if you get shocked by them
The snakes actually are not aggressive
when they're in the swamp,
because they're used to being trodden
on by other animals.
It's only when you start grabbing them
and hauling them out,
that's when they start turning around
and biting you.
But as it turned out,
the Fosters faced a much more serious
thr*at than the anacondas
during their time in Venezuela.
And all of a sudden I had these sharp
pains in my spine.
And when I got up,
my right leg wouldn't work at all.
And I was dragging it.
And then my left leg went.
And then we decided
we better medevac me out of there.
The mysterious illness puzzled doctors
Only one thing was certain:
Carol wasn't letting it stop her.
I didn't want to go back to
the States or anything.
I wanted to go back to the film,
because I had spent so much time
getting it to that spot,
so I says,
"I'm going back to the field."
And I was either in a wheelchair or
somebody was always carrying me.
It's a good thing you're light.
I know. They carried me.
And I says,
"I'm going to every scene."
Over time,
Carol regained the use of her legs.
Okay, Frank, you've got her. Okay,
you've got her.
Now, less than nine months after
her stint in a wheelchair,
she's joining Richard
on an arduous sh**t.
For a National Geographic film
about bats,
the Fosters and their team
are descending into a huge bat cave,
a few hours from their home in Belize.
Grand Central Station of a cave,
this, isn't it?
It's a monster.
The steep descent is treacherous.
But it's a sh**t Carol
wouldn't want to miss.
The Fosters have brought along
a unique thermal camera.
that registers heat rather than light.
It's just the thing for filming
in pitch black caves.
Hidden in the darkness are all kinds
of creepy crawlies
not to mention, thousands of bats.
Going into a bat roost,
it's a pretty unhealthy place.
These bats are all sitting around
the roof, and they crap down on you,
and there's piles of guano
on the floor,
and the temperature is higher
than it is outside.
It's sort of a Turkish bath feeling
about the whole place.
There's airborne diseases that
the bats propagate in the guano.
The main feeling is you want to
get the job done
and get the hell out, quite frankly.
But it's worth going
in there just to get the images.
Okay, we're gonna need that,
so we're gonna need to take that in.
Soon, the team is setting up
for a sh*t they never could
have attempted before.
The cave is too big to light.
But with the thermal camera,
it's heat, not light that counts.
It's like a starry night. Look at that
Yeah, exactly like a starry night.
You want more detail
on the stalactites,
or you just want 'em darker?
Um, detail, I think, if you can.
That's really nice. Keep it there.
You wanna record that?
The images are everything
Richard and Carol had hoped for.
They're showing the bats in a new way,
using technology early filmmakers
could never have imagined.
But for this husband and wife team,
being able to capture this scene
together is a personal triumph as well
For recently, Carol's mysterious
illness was finally diagnosed
as multiple sclerosis.
Now, I hope I'm going into remission,
and then,
I'm still able to go into some caves
and work on the bat film.
And I really tried hard because I,
you know,
I have to always be there,
because I like it so much, you know.
We're going to fight this thing
all the way through and,
you know, with modern dr*gs,
who knows?
There may be a cure next year.
So you just keep that, keep your body
in shape as much as possible
and carry on making films.
For dedicated professionals like these
wildlife filmmaking is in the blood.
They'll keep at it
as long as they're able.
They do it because they love it.
And because they know it's important.
Someday, their films may be
the only record we have
of wildlife that is fast disappearing.
The fact of the matter
is the cameramen
and the film crews
need to be out there,
because tomorrow,
it's not going to be there.
To see, you know,
you're bound to be impressed.
But 15 years ago,
it would have been
As a cameraman, I have an
opportunity to make a difference.
People see these wonderful animals,
and they don't want them to disappear.
From the first hardy pioneers
who dazzled new audiences
to the conservation
minded professionals of today,
wildlife filmmakers are adventurers
driven to bring back
images that hold us spellbound.
I can't imagine a job which has
so much reward, certainly for me.
We have fun every single day
of our lives.
I think that there's nothing else that
I'd rather be doing
right now on this earth.
National Geographic: Wild Passions (1999)
Moderator: Maskath3