Tom Falardeau
September 16th, 2007, 07:06 PM
(with absolutely no apologies to Edward Bulwer-Lytton or Snoopy)
It was a dark and silty cave; the flow flowed in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent kick of the fin which swept up the passage (for it is in Gervais Cave that our scene lies), rattling along the limestone outcrops, and fiercely agitating the scanty beam of the HID canister lights that struggled against the darkness. Through one of the obscurest caves of North America, and among haunts little loved by the gentlemen of the Florida cave diving set, a man, evidently of the strangest orders, was wending his solitary way. He stopped twice or thrice at different sumps and sinkholes of a description correspondent with the appearance of the cave in which they were situated, and pressed the shutter for some photo or another which did not seem easily to be met with. All the pictures he took were couched in the digital; and as he turned from each spot he muttered to himself, in no very elegant phraseology, his disappointment and discontent. At length, at one sinkhole, the resident fish, a sturdy sturgeon, after rendering the same flip of the fin the photographer had hitherto received?
Ummm? apologies for that introduction. Spending over an hour and a half alone in a cave can do things to your mind, especially if you?re already a bit, er ? strange.
Recently, the Ottawa Cave Rats were asked to contribute an article to Canadian Caver magazine, and since I?m the only one who can string more than one coherent sentence together, I was elected team scribe ? again. The article was easy to pen, distilling a year?s worth of diving the Ottawa River caves into 1,700 words. Getting good pictures to accompany the text, that was another story altogether. Which meant that today?s outing by Marc, Marie and yours truly to Gervais cave was to be a mission photographic (within a life aquatic).
Armed with my trusty old Olympus 4040 (you didn?t think I was going to take my brand new dSLR into a low and mucky cave, did you?) and whatever dive gear I needed so I could breathe air instead of water, I loaded my comrades into my gas guzzling, global warming, pimped up truck for yet another ride ?up the line?. We made good time, as usual, and were soon standing on the shore of our friendly landowner?s property, gazing at the water. The level had not dropped further since last time, which was good since we weren?t much into sump diving British-style.
Deferring to my status as team photographer, and thereby requiring a silt-free environment, my comrades gave me first passage into the cave. I quickly remembered why I wasn?t all that thrilled about doing photo or video in a cave ? it?s too much like work. I had to give part of my attention to the camera while swimming, to make sure I didn?t damage it or scratch the (expensive) wet lens on some sharp outcrop, and was left with one hand for any pull and glide. My plan was simple: do a ninety minute dive while respecting thirds and take as many pictures as I could, hoping that a few would turn out good enough for publication. As I couldn?t think of a better path to see some amusing rock shapes and ditzy fish than going up to Pool #5, I did just that.
Taking pictures in a cave is bit like night dive photography: it?s dark. But that?s about where the resemblance ends. Anyone who has ever handled a camera underwater knows only too well how easy it is to get distracted and lose global awareness while setting up that perfect shot, even more so in still photography than video. An underwater photographer who tells you he or she never ever loses awareness of surroundings while shooting is shoveling manure at you. That?s why I very much prefer to have one or more babysitters to watch out for me and make sure I don?t lose the line (in a cave) or get ambushed by a short-sighted and ambitious shark. In Gervais, we dive solo. The environment demands self-reliance, and no way was I going to have my shots spoiled by my fumble-finned friends. In other words, I was task-loading myself and had to make sure I didn?t lose sight of the line while chasing down that elusive fish. Doing a lost-line drill because I was too busy with the camera would have been one of those things I would never have lived down (not that I would ever admit it). I didn?t lose the line, but had to orient myself a few times after taking a shot, as I?d drifted almost out of sight of the line, and even once turned myself around. Thankfully I was in a flow cave and all I had to do was watch the direction the silt took ? that was the way out.
Speaking of silt, that?s the other fun thing about photography in a cave like Gervais. Even the most perfect buoyancy god or goddess will create silt ? it?s everywhere: on the floor, walls and ceiling. Breathing will silt up. That means my best shots would be going in against the flow, something rather different from my usual, which is to take the pictures on the way out, with the flow, as it is less strenuous. And silt, struck by the intense glare of a strobe, will give a perfectly workman-like impersonation of a blizzard at the South Pole. You can work around it by distancing the strobe from the lens and lighting up obliquely, but my old Olympus was rigged to fire the strobe with its own, built-in flash, and some direct illumination in parallax with the lens was unavoidable.
By the time I had crossed the ?T? to get to Pool #5, I was growing a tad dispirited by the lack of good photographic opportunities. The thick layer of summer silt on the delicate rock formations obscured most of the features, rendering pictures of brown, velvety ?stuff? that reminded me of an old 1970s rec-room sofa (if you?re too young to remember what that looked like, count your blessings).
As I approached the debris pile by Pool #4, I suddenly had a flashback to Jurassic Park ? no, I didn?t have a sudden appetite for some haunch of Laura Dern, delightful as that might be. In the glare of my can light, a sturgeon of some 3-4 feet in length filled my view, looking like the magnificent prehistoric creature it was. Finally, some fodder for the camera. The big fellow even posed for me, fancy that. I snapped as many pictures of him as I could, cycling the strobe about as fast as it would go.
Cheered up by this encounter, I continued to Pool #5, only to find it choked by branches, logs and other debris, the line ending at a thick log beneath that mess. Although I was far from hitting thirds, I had no intention of venturing into what could be a nice way to really screw up visibility in the cave. Soon after turning, I came across both of my companions, and took pictures of them as well. They didn?t turn out to be anywhere near as good looking as the sturgeon, who waited for me at Pool #4 for a farewell snap.
With room left on my piddly 128mb memory card, I headed up the other branch of the ?T? towards Pool #7 and tried my best on some of the better looking rock formations, with mostly mixed results as I was now swimming in the silt knocked free by the exhalation bubbles of three divers. I half-heartedly tried a few more shots as I let the flow push me out and by the time I was at Pool #2, I had Marc in front of me and Marie behind me. Photography was pretty much over. I surfaced after 93 minutes in the water, still feeling relatively warm in my drysuit. The water temperature was still a balmy 62F, although that will soon change. Autumn is here, and nowhere is that more apparent than up the Ottawa Valley, from crisp air temperatures to red leaves and wood smoke.
The drive home was uneventful, except for a few moments of middle-aged madness when the B-52s hit Rock Lobster came on the satellite radio. If you don?t know that group or song, count yourself lucky. Some things from our youth are best left there.
Next trip ?up the line? will be videography, if only to show our Florida cave diving friends what it?s like up here. In the meantime, I will be posting a few of my pictures in the gallery, once Bill fixes the blessed thing so that it allows uploads.
It was a dark and silty cave; the flow flowed in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent kick of the fin which swept up the passage (for it is in Gervais Cave that our scene lies), rattling along the limestone outcrops, and fiercely agitating the scanty beam of the HID canister lights that struggled against the darkness. Through one of the obscurest caves of North America, and among haunts little loved by the gentlemen of the Florida cave diving set, a man, evidently of the strangest orders, was wending his solitary way. He stopped twice or thrice at different sumps and sinkholes of a description correspondent with the appearance of the cave in which they were situated, and pressed the shutter for some photo or another which did not seem easily to be met with. All the pictures he took were couched in the digital; and as he turned from each spot he muttered to himself, in no very elegant phraseology, his disappointment and discontent. At length, at one sinkhole, the resident fish, a sturdy sturgeon, after rendering the same flip of the fin the photographer had hitherto received?
Ummm? apologies for that introduction. Spending over an hour and a half alone in a cave can do things to your mind, especially if you?re already a bit, er ? strange.
Recently, the Ottawa Cave Rats were asked to contribute an article to Canadian Caver magazine, and since I?m the only one who can string more than one coherent sentence together, I was elected team scribe ? again. The article was easy to pen, distilling a year?s worth of diving the Ottawa River caves into 1,700 words. Getting good pictures to accompany the text, that was another story altogether. Which meant that today?s outing by Marc, Marie and yours truly to Gervais cave was to be a mission photographic (within a life aquatic).
Armed with my trusty old Olympus 4040 (you didn?t think I was going to take my brand new dSLR into a low and mucky cave, did you?) and whatever dive gear I needed so I could breathe air instead of water, I loaded my comrades into my gas guzzling, global warming, pimped up truck for yet another ride ?up the line?. We made good time, as usual, and were soon standing on the shore of our friendly landowner?s property, gazing at the water. The level had not dropped further since last time, which was good since we weren?t much into sump diving British-style.
Deferring to my status as team photographer, and thereby requiring a silt-free environment, my comrades gave me first passage into the cave. I quickly remembered why I wasn?t all that thrilled about doing photo or video in a cave ? it?s too much like work. I had to give part of my attention to the camera while swimming, to make sure I didn?t damage it or scratch the (expensive) wet lens on some sharp outcrop, and was left with one hand for any pull and glide. My plan was simple: do a ninety minute dive while respecting thirds and take as many pictures as I could, hoping that a few would turn out good enough for publication. As I couldn?t think of a better path to see some amusing rock shapes and ditzy fish than going up to Pool #5, I did just that.
Taking pictures in a cave is bit like night dive photography: it?s dark. But that?s about where the resemblance ends. Anyone who has ever handled a camera underwater knows only too well how easy it is to get distracted and lose global awareness while setting up that perfect shot, even more so in still photography than video. An underwater photographer who tells you he or she never ever loses awareness of surroundings while shooting is shoveling manure at you. That?s why I very much prefer to have one or more babysitters to watch out for me and make sure I don?t lose the line (in a cave) or get ambushed by a short-sighted and ambitious shark. In Gervais, we dive solo. The environment demands self-reliance, and no way was I going to have my shots spoiled by my fumble-finned friends. In other words, I was task-loading myself and had to make sure I didn?t lose sight of the line while chasing down that elusive fish. Doing a lost-line drill because I was too busy with the camera would have been one of those things I would never have lived down (not that I would ever admit it). I didn?t lose the line, but had to orient myself a few times after taking a shot, as I?d drifted almost out of sight of the line, and even once turned myself around. Thankfully I was in a flow cave and all I had to do was watch the direction the silt took ? that was the way out.
Speaking of silt, that?s the other fun thing about photography in a cave like Gervais. Even the most perfect buoyancy god or goddess will create silt ? it?s everywhere: on the floor, walls and ceiling. Breathing will silt up. That means my best shots would be going in against the flow, something rather different from my usual, which is to take the pictures on the way out, with the flow, as it is less strenuous. And silt, struck by the intense glare of a strobe, will give a perfectly workman-like impersonation of a blizzard at the South Pole. You can work around it by distancing the strobe from the lens and lighting up obliquely, but my old Olympus was rigged to fire the strobe with its own, built-in flash, and some direct illumination in parallax with the lens was unavoidable.
By the time I had crossed the ?T? to get to Pool #5, I was growing a tad dispirited by the lack of good photographic opportunities. The thick layer of summer silt on the delicate rock formations obscured most of the features, rendering pictures of brown, velvety ?stuff? that reminded me of an old 1970s rec-room sofa (if you?re too young to remember what that looked like, count your blessings).
As I approached the debris pile by Pool #4, I suddenly had a flashback to Jurassic Park ? no, I didn?t have a sudden appetite for some haunch of Laura Dern, delightful as that might be. In the glare of my can light, a sturgeon of some 3-4 feet in length filled my view, looking like the magnificent prehistoric creature it was. Finally, some fodder for the camera. The big fellow even posed for me, fancy that. I snapped as many pictures of him as I could, cycling the strobe about as fast as it would go.
Cheered up by this encounter, I continued to Pool #5, only to find it choked by branches, logs and other debris, the line ending at a thick log beneath that mess. Although I was far from hitting thirds, I had no intention of venturing into what could be a nice way to really screw up visibility in the cave. Soon after turning, I came across both of my companions, and took pictures of them as well. They didn?t turn out to be anywhere near as good looking as the sturgeon, who waited for me at Pool #4 for a farewell snap.
With room left on my piddly 128mb memory card, I headed up the other branch of the ?T? towards Pool #7 and tried my best on some of the better looking rock formations, with mostly mixed results as I was now swimming in the silt knocked free by the exhalation bubbles of three divers. I half-heartedly tried a few more shots as I let the flow push me out and by the time I was at Pool #2, I had Marc in front of me and Marie behind me. Photography was pretty much over. I surfaced after 93 minutes in the water, still feeling relatively warm in my drysuit. The water temperature was still a balmy 62F, although that will soon change. Autumn is here, and nowhere is that more apparent than up the Ottawa Valley, from crisp air temperatures to red leaves and wood smoke.
The drive home was uneventful, except for a few moments of middle-aged madness when the B-52s hit Rock Lobster came on the satellite radio. If you don?t know that group or song, count yourself lucky. Some things from our youth are best left there.
Next trip ?up the line? will be videography, if only to show our Florida cave diving friends what it?s like up here. In the meantime, I will be posting a few of my pictures in the gallery, once Bill fixes the blessed thing so that it allows uploads.