The sportsman who wishes to substitute the camera for the rifle should
possess not only a special knowledge of photography, but also many
qualifications not absolutely necessary to a successful hunter. Any one
who has had much experience in hunting large game will remember
occasions when, if he had only had a camera, it would have been easy
enough to have made successful pictures. But, once provided with a
camera, and having started out with the sole object in view of making
negatives, he will find the opportunities for successful work few and
far between.
The true sportsman is not a game-butcher. When he has shot what he
wants, he may well refuse to avail himself of chances to kill, and turn
to the camera as a weapon with which to bring home trophies of his
abilities as a hunter. Few indeed are the localities where hunters
complain of being able to kill more game than they need; yet it has been
my good fortune for a number of years to spend my annual vacation in a
country where game is so abundant that little effort is needed to
provide camp with the needed fresh meat.
Having in years gone by, through force of circumstances, acquired a
thorough technical knowledge of photography, it naturally occurred to me
to attempt the use of the camera when there was no need for a rifle.
Although I had such a knowledge of photography and of the habits of the
game as had always enabled me to meet with fair success in the use of
either camera or rifle, I had no adequate idea of the difficulties of my
undertaking until they became real from actual experience. My first
effort was with a small and excellent hand camera, which also served to
make views of camp scenes and the beautiful scenery of the country in
which I was hunting. I was especially fortunate in that my
hunting-ground was on some one of the great park plateaus of
northwestern Colorado.
These plateaus are indeed the sportsman's paradise. They comprise
numerous great parks, forests of timber, and lakes ranging in size from
the tiny pool of brown snow-water to those large enough to deserve a
name and a place on the map. They are the great summer home of the deer
and elk. Frequent rains cause a most abundant growth of herbage suitable
for their food, and the higher ground provides cool retreats for the
male deer and elk while their horns are growing and hardening. They
never leave these plateaus until driven down by the snow. Here elk and
deer have for the past few years existed in sufficient numbers to give
abundant sport. Farther to the north, where these plateaus break into
the sage-brush plains of Wyoming, antelope inhabit the larger parks, and
from these feed up for some distance through more open timber on the
slopes of the surrounding hills. In this more northerly locality I have
succeeded in getting photographs of elk, antelope, and deer, all within
a distance of but a few miles.
My first experience with an ordinary camera soon showed me that, at the
usual distances, pictures of game would be so small as to be of no use.
With a year's experience to guide me, I began the construction of a
camera especially adapted for the purpose in view. For my lens I used a
Dallmeyer rapid rectilinear, whole-plate size. I used only the back
combination of the lens, which gave a focal length of about twenty-two
inches. The lens was equipped with a Prosch duplex shutter, which was, I
found, even when set for its lowest speed, too rapid for my purpose. In
determining upon a camera, I had already arrived at the following
conclusions: the camera must be a hand camera, equipped with a film-roll
holder; it must be water-proof, light, not easily damaged, and of small
size--_i.e._, must make only a small-sized negative; focusing must be
done at the front by moving the lens.
To obtain these conditions, I constructed my first camera in the
following manner: I made a rectangular core of wood exactly the shape I
wished the inside of my camera to be. The front end of this core was
cylindrical. I then built up on this core of wood a paper shell, using
strong Manila paper saturated with shellac as it was rolled upon the
core. This was then wound with a strong cord at intervals of about one
half inch, in order to provide cell spaces and consequently stiffness;
and over all was stretched strong muslin, fastened to the core with
liquid glue. The outside was then shellacked until it was absolutely
smooth and hard, when the wooden core was removed, and there remained a
paper tube which admirably met my requirements. A wooden frame, fitted
to the larger end, received the roll holder, and the cylindrical part of
the front received a brass tube covered with velvet, to the end of which
was soldered the lens flange. This tube could be easily moved in and out
of the end, while the friction of the velvet always kept it in place.
Upon this tube I marked the focus for various distances. Of course the
lens was capable of making a much larger picture than my roll holder
would receive, and the surplus light was cut off by a metal diaphragm
placed inside of the tube.
I found that this camera, when provided with a strap, could be carried
slung on the shoulder with very little trouble.
The slowness of the lens I found a drawback, and after a year's
experience I obtained a 12-15 Dallmeyer single-combination lens, which I
had mounted in aluminum, thereby saving considerable weight. For this
lens I constructed a camera on a different principle, as the length was
too great to carry conveniently in the form of a rigid apparatus. This
in turn I have displaced with a Dallmeyer telephoto lens, mounted in
aluminum, which I consider a marvelous instrument.
I have not succeeded in obtaining any pictures with it as yet. The
difficulties of using it are in some respects greater than with the
other lenses, as it requires to be focused on the object. I have,
however, designed a camera with the ground glass fastened rigidly in the
top, and with a movable mirror which permits of the focus being obtained
without removing the roll holder. This camera, when extended, is thirty
inches long, and when packed for carrying is reduced one half.
It is home-made; but, if constructed by experienced workmen, I believe
would very satisfactorily fill the conditions necessary for a
game-camera. The weight and size, together with the necessity of
focusing, require, however, some kind of a support. I believe that a
pair of adjustable legs, with a universal joint which could be easily
attached to the front of the camera, and a small handle by which the
back could be supported by the hand and moved in any required direction,
would answer every purpose. The image made by this lens is so large, and
the field comparatively so small, that it requires the facility and
precision of sighting which are obtained in the rifle. I use no finders,
preferring sights exclusively.
With this incomplete sketch of a hunting photographer's weapons, let us
consider the conditions under which he must capture his game; and
suppose him in pursuit of the king of all stags, the noble elk,--giving
him the advantage even of being in hearing of the clear bugle-note which
never fails to thrill the hunter who has once heard it and so knows its
significance. To make a successful stalk with a rifle, he would simply
get his game between himself and the wind, and approach with such
caution, and under such cover, as circumstances permitted. When once
within gunshot, ninety-nine times out of one hundred he might make a
successful termination to the stalk, without ever seeing more of his
game, before firing, than a patch of brown as large as his hat. The
swaying of the white antler-tips in the midst of the thicket, the
particular shade of the moving brown seen through the openings, would
almost always disclose the location of the vital point to the eye of the
experienced, where the tyro would distinguish nothing but the shadow of
the thicket, moving twigs, and the browns and russets of bark and
leaves.
Under such circumstances as these, while the hunter triumphantly raises
his rifle, the photographer crouches hopeless and discouraged. Far
different conditions are needed for a successful result of his
undertaking. Not only must the wind be in his face, but the sun must be
at his back, or upon either side. He must be in dense cover, and yet
cover that permits the free range of his lens. His game must be in the
open, without intervening objects, and must be in the broad glare of
sunshine. The hunter never realizes how seldom an animal comes into full
view until he has followed him around with a camera, and met with
failure after failure, after having had numbers of chances which with a
rifle would have put a speedy end to the chase. When the bull elk are
whistling they are an easy animal to stalk; yet I should consider it an
easier task by far to kill fifty full-grown bulls than to obtain a
picture of one which would combine photographic perfection with
satisfactory composition.
He who follows game with a camera, and who feels the satisfaction of
matching his faculties against those of his game, will, however, derive
a keen sporting enjoyment from his failures; and if he meets with
success, great will be his pride and contentment. He will learn much
about the habits of game which has escaped him before; and, not needing
to use his rifle, his opportunities for observation will be more
frequent and satisfactory. For myself, the few pictures that comprise
the results of my hunting with the camera have brought me a keener
enjoyment and a greater sense of satisfaction than the finest heads in
my collection, possibly on the ground that we are disposed to value most
that which has cost us most.
I succeeded in obtaining a satisfactory photograph of some antelope one
morning, when we were on the homeward journey from one of my hunts. I
had ridden on ahead of the pack-train, and was just coming to the edge
of the timber when I saw the white spots of several antelope feeding in
the sage-brush just beyond. Tumbling off my horse, I crept along until
as near as I deemed safe, when I stood up behind the trunk of a tree
and, pointing my camera through an opening, made a noise to attract the
attention of the antelope. They lifted their heads, and with a quick
snap I had captured them. They remained motionless, and turning my roll
to get another film, I found I had used the last one. With careful and
slow development, I obtained a fair negative. I had judged the distance
to be seventy-five yards, and the focus showed that I was nearly
correct.
My most successful attempt at elk was made the year following, when,
after two weeks of stormy, bad weather, during which I had seen
abundance of game, but had had no chance to photograph, I started off,
with a pack-animal and one man, to make a quiet camp ten miles away,
where I knew there were plenty of elk. When we had gone as far as we
dared, we pitched camp in a little park, and picketing our pack-animals,
started to reconnoiter. I found an abundance of fresh tracks and
wallows, and finally saw two young bull elk feeding in the open. The
only point which would enable me to get near them with a fair light,
required me to get very nearly in line with the wind; but as there was
nothing else to be done, I determined to chance it. When I arrived at
this point, I found that in feeding they had walked farther away, and I
was obliged to crawl over the intervening space. We had nearly
accomplished this when the circling of the wind gave them an inkling of
our presence, and put them on the alert. We remained quiet, hoping that
the wind would change back; but it did not, and they stole away into the
thicket.
About three o'clock we caught sight of a twelve-point bull coming out to
drink. I could have snapped at him with a downward shot, as I was on the
slope above him; but as the distance was great, I decided to try and get
nearer. He walked in behind some willows and, as I discovered afterward,
lay down in some water to take his mud-bath. While this was going on I
began to slide down the hill, watching for his reappearance, when to my
surprise and disgust I suddenly saw the head and horns of an elk that
was lying down one hundred yards to my right and almost on a level with
me. I did not want to disturb him, with a chance of startling all the
other elk in the neighborhood before I had a chance to photograph them,
and so decided to try and get a photograph of his head and horns. With
my man George following at my heels, I finally crept up behind a low
spruce-tree about seventy-five feet from his highness. I knew from
experience, however, that his head and horns would be almost
undistinguishable on the negative against the surrounding objects.
Getting my camera ready, and leaning out from behind the bush, I told
George to whistle so that the elk would get up. To my great surprise, he
turned his head in our direction and, without rising, gave vent to a
shrill blast of defiance or annoyance, as it seemed. After repeating
these tactics several times, and finally shouting at him, only to meet
with the same answer, I finally decided to stand up, in the hope that
when he arose he would hesitate an instant and give me an opportunity.
Upon performing my part of the program, he gave one look in my
direction, sprang to his feet, and was off with such rapidity that,
although I snapped the shutter, the resulting negative showed only an
undistinguishable blur, due partly to his motion and partly to my haste
in trying to make a quick exposure.
We then followed in the direction of the large band, the bulls of which
were making a great deal of noise. I finally located them about half a
mile away in the heavy timber. The shadows then were very long in the
open space, and I knew there was no use of trying to photograph except
in the open. As a forlorn hope I told George to hurry through the timber
and get on the other side of the band, while I would stand in the open
space, so that I might get a snap shot if they came through. In a short
time I heard a commotion in the band, and a sharp stampede in different
directions, accompanied by loud bugling by the head of the band, whose
voice was so deep and sonorous that I readily recognized it as the one I
had heard a few nights previous in the same locality. At that time my
companion and I had christened him the "elk with the fog-horn." In the
midst of the commotion, George gave vent to several startling yells,
which I supposed were made in his effort to turn the band.
In a short time he returned, breathless and tired. As soon as he was
able to speak, he recounted a tale of wonder which can readily be
imagined by any of the readers of this chapter for whom George has acted
in the multiple capacity of guide, cook, philosopher, and friend. He
said that when the band got his wind, after several short stampedes,
they dashed directly toward him, and as I had made him leave his rifle
with me, he had no alternative except to climb a tree or jump out where
he could be seen and swing his arms and yell. He said that this stopped
the band, but the old bull with the fog-horn walked directly toward him
until he thought he was going to charge, and looked for a convenient
tree. After inspecting George, however, the bull walked off with his
band, apparently not much alarmed. George and I returned to camp with
nothing to show for a hard day's work, cooked our supper, and tumbled
into our blankets.
A starlight night gave promise of a perfect day on the morrow, and we
arranged to get up before daylight, so as to catch the elk before they
had lain down. The next day the same experience was repeated: not a
photographic shot came in our way, and about three o'clock we went back
to camp weary and disgusted. As we had to be in the main camp that
night, ready to start back home the next day, we loaded our pack-mule
and were soon on the back trail. About half-past four we suddenly heard
an elk whistle, not far to the left. We were going on a game-trail,
through heavy timber, and I remarked to George, "This is our last
chance." We quickly tied our animals and rushed in the direction of the
call.
A few hundred yards brought us out on a little projection, and,
cautiously looking over, we saw that the ground sloped up beyond through
burned timber, and that there was a band of elk scattered around
feeding. Adjusting my lens to the distance, which I judged to be one
hundred yards, I made one exposure after another as rapidly as possible.
The bull was not in sight, but we could hear him crashing around through
the thicker timber, and bellowing in anger at another elk in the
distance.
Suddenly, to my great delight, I saw his majesty come into the opening
and walk rapidly across between the trees. There was only one opening
large enough to show his whole body, and into this I pointed my camera;
but as one of the cows had already got sight of us, I knew that my
opportunities were short. As the bull entered the opening, I was as near
an attack of buck-fever as ever before. The resulting picture shows a
slight movement of the camera; but although the sun was very low, I
succeeded with careful development in getting this and several other
satisfactory negatives. I also had my small camera with me, and made
several exposures; but the elk can be distinguished only by spots like
the head of a pin, if at all. In the mean time one of the cows had fed
up very close to us, and suddenly stopped in the shadow and looked at
us. I made an exposure on her, but the negative showed nothing. A second
more, and with a spring she was off, and suddenly the whole band dashed
away in a tumult of crashing sticks and timber. Hurrying on in the
direction of the other elk, I started to cross a stream under some dense
alders, when suddenly a yearling cow started away and, running around,
stopped directly in front of the opening, in an attitude of listening
and looking back. I quickly reduced my lens to a shorter focus and made
an exposure which gave a fair picture, although the position was an
unusual one. This ended my opportunities for the day and trip.
These negatives show a remarkable blending in the color of the elk and
their surroundings, and they would be quite difficult to distinguish
were it not that some were in sunlight, with a shadowy background. One
negative shows nine cows, nearly all feeding.
In photographing elk, I very soon learned that they do not like to come
out into the openings during the middle of the day; consequently, when
one gets opportunities, the light is so non-actinic that the results are
apt to be very much undertimed. Ordinarily, a rapid shot is not needed
for photographing game, as when there is any opportunity at all, they
are either moving slowly or standing still. I should say just enough
speed is required to neutralize any unavoidable motion of the camera
which might take place during the exposure.
While trying to photograph the does and fawns which were continually
jumping up and running away as we rode along from day to day, I observed
a very curious habit which had never attracted my attention before:
although they would often stop in the open, yet I shortly found that,
photographically, they were not where they would make a negative. After
several days, it dawned upon me that they always stopped in the shadow.
Giving special attention to this point, I very soon found, on watching
the deer which started up, that when they stopped for that moment of
curiosity, as so often happens, it was almost invariably in the long
shadows thrown by some trees across the park, or else in some shady part
of the wood, and seldom by any chance where the sunlight shone directly
upon them. This, while a matter of indifference to the hunter, is fatal
to photographic success in this brilliant rarefied air, as it is almost
impossible to get the details of any objects in the shadow without very
much over-developing the high lights.
During the past season I found the elk very much wilder. They seemed to
haunt the heavy timber, and to go to their wallows early in the morning
or late in the evening, being scarcely ever seen in the open. I believe
I should have succeeded much better had I waited till a month later,
when the heavy snows would have driven them out of the higher country,
as at that time they move in the daytime, and feed more in the open
where the sun has bared the ground.
The game-photographer should always develop his own negatives, since the
whole development is devoted to bringing out the details of the animals,
regardless of the surrounding picture; and as these are so small, and
blend so remarkably with the surrounding objects, the ordinary
photographer is almost sure to overlook them.
In conclusion, let him who would get negatives rather than heads,
possess his soul in patience, and carry all his energy and perseverance
with him. If he is successful, his reward is ample from a sportsman's
standpoint; if not, he will find a satisfaction in the chase not to be
obtained by killing only.
_W. B. Devereux._