Movie Makers (Jan-May 1928)

GALAPAGOS NOTES from a Cine Diary Recording a New Camera Trail Blazed by an Amateur By Barclay H. Warburton Jr. ROM my porthole I get glimpses of truly desert islands, the most deserted I have ever seen. It scarcely seems possible that distant by a few score miles is Panama, and that last night, as we came to anchor, myriads of twinkling lights greeted us, confiding in us that here was our Pacific fleet hidden from an imaginary foe, tracking it down during these annual maneuvers. But that was last night. The fleet left at daybreak and we are monarchs of all we survey. Getting dressed means scrambling into a bathing suit, and it is no time before one is on deck to be greeted by the hail, "Morning! I just saw a big humpback whale blow over there about two miles. Like to go after him?" Five minutes later we, Charley Thomson, the fisherman, Harry, the launch man and myself, were in the big Port Launch, speeding for where the whale was last seen. It was great ! Think of going after a whale, to try to harpoon him — the weapon Charley was rigging on a long harpoon pole seemed pitifully inadequate. With trembling hands I was mounting our treasured movie camera. We felt so secure in our sturdy iuunch. Charley was whistling contentedly, perched on the bow. "Fella," he said over his shoulder, "better grab as many of those air cushions as you can lay hands on. "Case his tail hits us a crack, they make good life preservers." I'd never thought of that. Anyhow, we never got to the whale. He blew once or twice in front of us, then sounded for good. We circled one of the islands after that. I have never seen so many birds in my life. The water was veritably black with cormorants — "nigger geese" as they are called by some. GALAPAGOS — with or without the accent — still spells for me the nearest terrestrial approach to those eerie lands that Dante created. The appearance, in a recent newsreel, of some hundreds of feet of films I took there in 1926, brought a request from Amateur Movie Makers for the story of this amateur adventure. These diary notes will, I think, fT^ have more interest to my fellow members of the Amateur Cinema League than a tale, written now about the Galapagos Islands. The diary repro '.^™* duces something of the intense effect g< that those weird isles had upon me and the members of our party. I hope that they will serve to direct other amateurs to that filmers paradise in the Pacific Ocean. By Permission of William Bcebc THE BRIARY BUSH A Galapagos Version The boat seemed not to disturb them a whit. They moved only to make room for us. I got four hundred feet of excellent film here. I did not get the picture of a whale but I did get a whale of a picture. Here it was that one of the most astounding events of the trip took place. Harry, the launch man, was standing on the bow of the boat, keeping his weather eye out for hidden reefs. To have run on one of these after having seen the sharks that were about — well! Anyhow, Charley was steering and myself and another were trolling. "Back, Charley, back," yelled Harry. "We're going on the rocks!" "Too late now," Charley returned excitedly, "can't stop! We're on! Holy Ike, man, they're not rocks — why they're— they're FISH!" And at that moment each of us fishermen had a terrific strike! What had seemed a reef with waves pounding over it was, in verity, a school of tremendous bright orange red-snappers, feeding on a shoal of small fry. Astounding! But there they were right under us. Four of these we caught, then sped back to the yacht in order that the artist might record faithfully their gorgeous colors. Cocos Island — What a place! To me in retrospect, the most gorgeous, most enchanting spot seen during the entire trip. As the shores of Cocos drew nearer, we sighted another yacht and great was the conjecture, until it was finally agreed that these were the hunters after the fabled Cocos treasure who had set out from England some time before. We dropped anchor in a beautiful cove. The water was so blue that it didn't seem real. It was crystal clear. One could see sunken reefs and sea gardens with attendant rock fish of extraordinary brilliance swimming about indolently. A great, gaunt, grey shape — a shark — accompanied us to anchor. On three sides were we girt by the rocky shore of the island cove, fringed by cocoanut trees. Directly in front a tiny beach gleamed white Seventy -nine