Camera secrets of Hollywood : simplified photography for the home picture maker (1931)

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screw in the plug, attach the wires, turn the crank, and, if we hadn't taken more than forty-five seconds in this final operation, it would often start on the seventh or fifteenth turn. After that only a few things could stop it. But even if Ave only stopped for a moment the starting process was always the same. One day, three weeks after leaving Seattle found the skipper and myself out viewing Alaska from our motor boat. The past two days we had been cruising with the schooner on that part of the Inland Passage known as Fitzhugh Sound. After leaving the schooner anchored in a small protected bay, we had cruised several miles down the east shore of the Sound until we encountered the floe ice as the tide brought it out of Le Conte Bay and carried it into deep water. Five miles up the bay Le Conte Glacier was "calving" great icebergs as it moved down the mountains' side. These bergs would float down the swift tide1, which often drops twenty feet at this point. The small ice would pass through the narrows and out into the Sound but the large bergs would ground on the sandbar two hundred feet under water. We were weaving in and out of the narrow lanes of water surrounding the bergs, in an attempt to bag a pair of innocent looking ducks, when suddenly we hit a cake of floe ice. The shock was severe and the little putt-putt stopped dead in her tracks. Before we could get the oars and ride to safety the pack closed in on us and we were caught. The tide had changed and was carrying the small ice back from the sea, jamming us against the grounded bergs as the floe tried to pass into the bay. Soon we were in the center of a twenty-acre patch of grinding, crunching ice, a mile from the nearest shore. Almost instantly the small body of water which had been left to float our boat disappeared and we found ourselves still sitting in the boat but jammed high into the air by the ever-moving ice pack. The surrounding salt water was as cold as the ice itself. Swimming Avas impossible. Our only hope was that, somehow, the little oak boat might avoid being crushed by the tons and tons of ice. [ DO 1