Crashed cargo planes, vampire bats and endless rain: William F. Vartorella gives a crash course in rainforest filmmaking, from gear to staying healthy.
A dilapidated, 1950s cargo plane misses its landing and piles into the bush. Vampire bats cling to the mosquito netting, fearless in the torchlight. Rosemary, the Jaguar, snarls beneath the open window, two massive eyes in the dawn. Welcome to the Rainforest. Welcome to the Heart of Darkness. Someone once wrote, “Adventure is the result of poor planning.”
Perhaps. But if you are shooting a documentary in the Rainforest or scouting feature film locations, time there is relative and the rules severe. “It’s not what you see that kills you,” as the saying goes.
For all of you who have never nearly stepped on a Bushmaster snake (“deadly; hold the hand of the dying”) or swam with the one-inch candiru catfish which is attracted to urine, human urine, read on. If you know your Piranha (“careful, those are the Reds”), the advice that follows is a mere refresher course.
The rainforest is magical. It is life-changing. And after lugging your gear for your first two-hour “hike”, well, it’s also a sticky, bug-infested, vine-challenging jungle out there.
Remember the Boy Scout motto: “Be prepared.”
Let’s start with the basics. “This isn’t Kansas anymore.” Unless you are slumming the tourist haunts, camera swinging in a rum-induced haze, you’re going to have to take responsibility for your own well-being. “Clutch Cargo” may not drop in from the mist for days. The river-of-no return journey back to civilization could take a week. The night-ofthe-iguana path (read: dirt road), resplendent with five-foot deep ruts, may be in the next valley. And malaria, which some experts believe has killed nearly half of all humans who have ever lived on earth, is just a micro-habitat away.
Get with the program, pilgrims.
- Advanced First Aid course – not the basic one, Advanced (or a Wilderness Medicine course), plus a First Aid kit and the refresher set of cards that has drawings of how to set a simple fracture quickly, efficiently, correctly.
And it’s useful to know how to get a leach off your eyeball. Hint, saline eyedrops. Carry plenty of sunscreen and a modicum of insect repellant. Plus all allergy medications, etc. and a copy of doctor’s prescriptions. The insect repellant you need is available in-country, specially formulated, and may not be legal to bring back into the U.S. Splurge on the softest toilet paper you can find and pack it in. You’ll be using the local sandpaper with wood chips variety soon enough, if you run out, courtesy of the local “Rainforest Revenge.”
- Medical
Evacuation Insurance.
Trip cancellation insurance is also useful.
- Tropical medical advice. Call the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and find out which malaria prophylactic is needed, plus other shots, including your tetanus update.
- State Department Travel Advisory: Consult the U.S.
State Department’s website to see which natives are restless. Carry pictures of Mom and Dad, significant other. That’s just in case of a coup. You’ll know it’s a coup because your cheap handheld shortwave radio is playing military music on the local stations. Photos establish that you are a person, just like that 17-year-old with the AK-47 jammed in your ribs.
- Ham
radio license, helpful. Satellite telephone, mandatory. Inexpensive, palm-sized shortwave receiver.
- Clothing and essentials: the locals get to go shirtless, barefoot, or in flip-flops. For neophytes, light all-natural clothing and high-tech boots that are fast-drying. Hat and a headnet for the “no-seeums” that love tourists and filmmakers. Rain gear. Tight-fitting swim suits for that urine-loving catfish. Two flashlights (one will fail, trust me). A $10 wristwatch that is “water-resistant.”
Your basic U.S. Armed Forces Survival Manual or SAS Survival Handbook for the Rainforest/Tropics (tear out the requisite chapters and pack them). Remember, 60% of all human societies eat insects. Good to know if that giant cockroach is edible. Mosquitto netting and fist-sized, roll-up hammock, just in case your outfitters/porters forget yours. Fishing line and a few hooks. Black Piranha make great bait for edible fish. Knowledge of basic knots. Pocket guide/Spanish or Portugese, French, etc. depending upon country. Money belt, preferably one of the synthetics that doesn’t rot. Leave the “Beer – it’s not just for breakfast anymore” type T-shirts at home. Not everyone loves a neo-colonialist. Believe it or not, you can get everything described above into a simple, synthetic backpack. Plus have room for that great Spanish-language guidebook to birds of the volcanoes and some tourist treasures, as well as your battle-weary laptop. A colleague has a simple system: he brings in enough clothing based on one-use, then give to the locals. (It’s going to rot, anyway, remember.) By the time he leaves, he has one carry-on bag of trinkets, gear, and the fresh clothes on his back. None of his stuff has a logo on it, so cultural imperialism or “visual pollution” aren’t really issues. And his clothes don’t have that fetid, just-died smell that the person next to you on the international flight so enjoys.
You’re a filmmaker, not a survivalist?
If you are heading into the Heart of Darkness, send in an advance person/team to accomplish three major things:
(1.) Identify local doctors (IAMAT certified) and scope out an exit strategy for health or insurrection emergencies.
(2.) Permits and meetings with the governmental honchos, plus your Embassy (register with them and you officially “exist;” don’t at your peril).
(3.) Equipment rentals.
Number 1 is self-explanatory: you want infrastructure to drag your carcass out of the bush after the crocodilian jumped out of the water and up into the tree and snagged you and your camera for the death roll. Number 2 is critical, because an afternoon over tea (or drinks) with the Secretary of Amer-Indian Affairs will give you access to other ministries, plus a letter of introduction that might even keep the poachers you run into from stealing all your gear. Number 3 is a matter of preference.
If you bring in your own film gear, you run three risks:
(1.) Outright theft at the airport on the way out.
(2.) Massive failure due to climatic issues.
(3.) Having to pay “customs duties” entry/exit or both.
A better approach is for your advance team to make arrangements with the locals at television and other professional studios for gear rental and crew. This supports the local economy, means no gear hassle entry/exit, plus most Rainforest countries have leap-frog digital technologies that mean decent Internet. Plus, you have locals who have a vested interest in your well-being, re: getting paid (your advance team makes banking arrangements with either a U.S. or correspondent bank, etc.). Make certain your cell phone is compatible (or satellite phone) – oh, and leave the iPhone and the iPod branded devices at home. You don’t want to have “victim” sketched on your forehead. Remember – when venturing into the developing world, the two times you are most apt to get robbed or have your pocket picked are near or at the airport.
Keep your wallet and passport in your front pocket. Plus, photocopies of your passport and a passport photo in each piece of luggage so that when you lose your passport, the Embassy (they know you, remember) can actually arrange for a new, emergency one. Also, having that ID in your luggage means you can easily identify it when someone “mistakenly” grabs it at the airport. Also, consider this: in an altercation in a developing country setting, the foreigner is usually the one who gets arrested. For keen insights on the status of incarcerated foreigners, see any episode of “Locked up Abroad.” The cavalry only shows up in the movies.
Letter of Introduction.
An official letter of introduction on good stationery (with a logo) will open ministry doors, plus perhaps a meeting with the Prime Minister or President of the country. In the former British Empire, this means someone on your team should bring a khaki suit and tie, rather than the eponymous black T-shirt. Morning tea with the Prime Minister can mean an impromptu telephone call by him to some government minister who can cut through a ton of red tape (and maybe get you a free lift into the Preserve or an interview with someone important). Here’s a real example that should be mailed/e-mailed well prior to travel and carried on your person/luggage in-country:
ATTN.: The Ministry of Trade, Tourism, and Industry (name of Minister, etc.)
“This serves as a letter of introduction for [fill in your name], who is [assisting XYZ company on a scout or is a director/producer, etc.] for a [documentary entitled or a feature-length Hollywood film entitled] with a strong, positive ecological and conservation message [abbreviated elevator pitch]. This project will necessitate locations in [provide a ‘complete list’]. Specifically, we would appreciate your help with the following: 1. the potential for filming the [XYZ] scenes at the listed locations, including assistance with permits and infrastructure related to such efforts over a [two-week, etc.] period commencing [date] with wrap [date]; 2. details and forms related to tax and in-kind incentives (air travel, accommodations for cast and crew, etc.) for [documentary or feature-length motion pictures]; 3. the availability in [country] of film crews, their experience (credits) and best per diem estimates; 4. [if country has a Film Office, contact, etc.]. Any formal discussions should be directed to [contact information]. Any assistance and information you can provide [your name] during her/his stay in [country] is greatly appreciated. Sincerely Yours, etc.”
If you are really lucky, a Minister may provide an additional Letter of Introduction that can be enormously helpful. Use it discretely as a lever, but not a hammer.
Intellectual Properties.
Not every Rainforest country has a Film Office. Worse, permits may be a matter of negotiations on several levels: central government, regional/indigenous authority, “preserve.”
Reality check: you may be negotiating a “definitive” permit on location. And that’s only part of the story board. Governing legislation may mandate that any filming not compromise “traditional resource access” and the “use rights” of indigenous peoples living in or adjacent to the Rainforest. The locals have likely already been ravaged by bad deals involving “bio-prospecting” or mineral rights. They are now cognizant of a wide range of Rainforest issues involving eco-tourism, sustainable timber management, carbon offsets, and their genetic pool.
You’ll be dealing with stakeholders you didn’t even know existed, particularly if your agenda involves endangered species, indigenous political rights, or some oil company whose world headquarters is on the far side of the moon. There may even be a non-governmental organization (NGO) up-country who believes it has secured all filming rights for the region in perpetuity.
Then there are the malaria-ridden field scientists who have invested years of their lives and health to study and protect giant otters, giant eagles, or giant Arapaima (an endangered fish worth thousands of dollars for its meat). Go to your college library and check out The Negotiating Game Edge. Moreover, check out where you’ll be filming to see any published “best practices protocols” and who conducts stakeholder reviews. As noted in one South American context, intellectual property rights and “equitable benefit-sharing” is a mistake-laden minefield with scope for considerable “learning-by-doing.” A morning – or day – spent with your gear still packed and an open mind builds trust.
In-country.
Cargo planes are ancient, inexpensive, and flown by dared evils. Lodging: lots of research field stations and eco-lodges in the Heart of Darkness. Good choices because of Internet links off satellites and amazingly good food. Fruit bat is an acquired taste. You might want to pass on the tarantula hors d’oeuvre. Some of us are allergic to the fine hairs. If you have allergies, the Rainforest is not the place to test the efficacy of your rescue inhaler or anaphylaxis auto-injector. Also, simple lodging with a reasonably secure toilet beats sleeping on an open platform in a string hammock. Want excitement? Use the jungle for a bathroom in the middle of the night. Also, keep your hands off machetes. They’ll cut your leg “clean off” and are used for lifting follage out of the way more than hacking. Perhaps worse, hacking can dislodge wasps, bees, or hornets – big suckers!
Lights, camera, action: As the saying goes, “take what you need, leave the rest.” Between the hikes through the undergrowth on “trails” (there’s one there, somewhere) and the fact that most cargo and other small planes charge for any luggage in excess of 25 lbs., you’re going to have to make choices or have a strong back and deep pockets. Determine what you’ll need to shoot 90% of your project, then fill in gear around the edges, ideally with locally-available, “bullet-proof” equipment. Camera lens speed can be an issue, particularly as amateur gear you may encounter in developing countries as “professional gear” will tend to be slow, but compact and light. Everything is a trade-off.
Remember that the Rainforest has its own POV, often from the canopy. A sage ranger in a large preserve once said, “The rainforest knows we are here and that you are a stranger.”
Being a stranger in a strange land gives you an unusual POV as well. Look. Listen. Feel. Recognize that it rains, rains, rains. Getting Golden Hours shots can be aggravating until you pick up the micro-climate’s rhythm. Be sure to carry in plenty of zip-lock bags, garbage bags, and – yes – grab the free showercaps at the hotel, which have endless uses protecting your camera and gear from the elements. One bag will be for your boots, which you will take under the mosquito netting every night. You’ll still shake them out every morning to remove any unwanted denizens, but that’s better than a spider leaping out at dawn and biting your face. Add a laptop for workflow, plus a heavy-duty charger plus an array of appropriate plugs for any possible electrical situation. Most field stations have a limited electrical-generating schedule, as they have to truck in the diesel fuel. You’ll have to work around that as well.
Unless you have a proclivity for dungeons, don’t even think about shooting a few frames of any military facility, no matter how deserted that Soviet era tank might look. Footage of an antenna array = “spy.” Also, police and even the local rangers aren’t keen on your camera in their faces. You really don’t need footage of the local airport, unless jail is your goal. Trust the hairs on the back of your head. If they are standing straight up, that’s evolution’s way of saying “danger.”
Final Advice: Anthony Trollope (1873) shall have the last word: “I doubt whether I ever read any description of scenery which gave me an idea of the place described.”
It is, after all, the Rainforest.
Bill Vartorella has 25 years experience with a host of projects in developing settings, some involving film and television, as well as ecotourism, extracting otoliths from tarpon, and surviving by his wits two coups, an earthquake, volcano eruption, and very close encounters with things that go bump in the night. He has taught scriptwriting and worked behind-the-scenes on Hollywood film projects in the U.S., as well as negotiated a documentary film deal with The History Channel. Vartorella has taken courses in Advanced First Aid, CPR (and had to use them) and recently completed the requirements for his Amateur Radio General License. He can be reached at globebiz [ at ] juno [ dot ] com or 803.432.4353.
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