American Cinematographer - May 1985 - 38

one's feet.

Also,

we must not

breathe deeply of the

Arctic air for it could freeze the

lungs.
We journeyed north on the little
E.D.& P. (Edmonton, Dunvegan and Pacific) narrowgauged railroad. The ride became increasingly slower
and jarring, with no resilience from a roadbed right on
the frozen tundra. Warmed by a birch-burning stove at
one end of the toy-like wooden car, we didn't complain;
we joked about our adventure as we rattled along.
At a point best described as "no¬
where," our seemingly endless trek simmered to a halt.
Dog teams awaited us in a snowy setting of brittle cold.
Charlie Burkhart took

over.

With

re¬

markable

thoroughness, he assigned us to sleds and di¬
unloading of our equipment. Soon we were
each tucked snugly in a sled and securely fastened. We
pulled the thick fur parkas about our faces and kept our
hands buried in the warm gauntlet gloves. Then, a crack
of the whip - and with incredible swiftness, the whirl¬
ing-tailed, frisky malamutes took ofF with us into a stark,
bleak wilderness of dazzling white.
Our campsite consisted of fisher¬
men's shacks built of raw pine boards with gaping cracks
rected the

on the shore of Slave Lake. Both shore
under a thick blanket of snow.
Our first major disappointment came
when we learned only two cabins had stoves. It was
decided that Nell could take one; the Curwoods the
other. Added army blankets were given to the rest of us.
And we found later it was necessary to put as many
blankets under us as on top. The temperature that night

and

cookhouse

and lake

were

registered forty degrees below zero.
I was too keyed up to sleep. This was
the eve of my first big motion picture. I stole out of the
shack at about eleven, heavily bundled in fur, my face all
but lost in the thick mass of a long-haired parka. 1
pressed the fur to my nostrils to retain body heat and
remembered to breathe shallow. The rugged smell of
tanned hide and walrus oil was not unpleasant. My eyes
became accustomed to the darkness. 1 was suddenly
transfixed by what I saw.
A picket fence formed in the black
sky; fingers of pale yellow and white shot up one at a
time and stretched fan-shaped across the northern hori¬
zon. They pulsated in delicate hues while the
spectacle
held. Then, as at a given signal - all went down together,
like a collapsing fan.
A drawn curtain of rich darkness

blanked the

night. Was the show over?
Slowly a heart-shaped design
formed. It glowed in tones of dark magenta, mauve and
orange. The pattern throbbed and rolled in slow mo¬
tion, changing form and color. It reached a zenith of
brilliance, then disappeared as a slide being pulled from a
projector. Again an interval of darkness ensued. The
picket fence returned.
Aurora borealis!
If only it could be

I watched

as long as I dared. Return¬
the shack I crammed newspaper chunks in whis¬
tling gaps between the wall boards. Wrapped in a
cocoon of army blankets, I was
ready for sleep. And so
deep was the sleep, I knew nothing 'til awakened by Dal
Clawson's exuberant voice in the early dawn:
"Let's try Sammy Wong's cookin'!
He's frying fresh-caught white fish. They jus' cut out a
hole four feet deep in the ice, drop in a line, and pull 'em

ing

out!"

The first

We had

was spent

no meters at

The oil from
cameras

our two

had been removed before

Bell & Howell
left LA. It was

replaced with a mixture of kerosene and refined walrus
oil, such as used in ship's chronometers in the Arctic. On
expert advice I was told to leave our cameras outdoors
at all times in this climate, covered with tarp when not in
use and tied down for protection
against the wind. For,
bringing them indoors after exposure to colder tempera¬
would

tures

And if this

returned

cause

lenses

to sweat

between the elements.

occurred, the moisture would then freeze if
the cold.

I made several test strips of that vast
white expanse. Everything was shot at f/3.5.-and if
there's a question why 1 shot everything at f/3.5 - there

but embarrassing reason:
Despite my eagerness to drain every
last bit of oil from the two cameras, I completely over¬
looked the all-important layer of oil in the lens di¬
aphragm! 1 stood in this fiercely cold wilderness cussing
myself. The iris diaphragms in both cameras were frozen
wide open at f/3.5.
I dared not risk changing the setting
for fear of shearing the delicate pins of the iris leaves.
And to attempt thawing would only sweat the lens as
I've already mentioned. 1 resorted to the alternative of
varying the shutter opening to give a choice of ex¬
posure-knowing full well this could be critical, for cut¬
ting the shutter opening a trifle too far would cause
was a

necessary

flicker.
I shot the

and

hoped for the
consult; already on
this first "easy" day he was off with some new-found
buddies looking for moose. I had to remind myself that
was the dangling promise
responsible for my getting this
tests

best. Dal Clawson wasn't around

big-shot

cameraman.

Then and there I decided I wouldn't
tell him what

happened. I'd calmly assume my role of
authority and tell him pointedly:
"Shoot everything at f/3.5. And
don't change that setting!"
I

photographed! No
point in trying; that magnificent light was too delicate to
capture on film. (Film, that is, of those days.)

paper

American

May 1985

Cinematographer

day

making ex¬
that time, hence the
tests. I knew I must be most accurate, for all about us
was reflected light. The sun skimmed
along the horizon
and stayed right there; at io a.m. I decided that was as
high as it was going to climb.
posure tests.

kept

walls in

rigged

one corner

a makeshift darkroom of tar
of the cookhouse. Sam Wong

fire stoked in the big black

range.

I explained

American Cinematographer - May 1985

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