Hardware

We'll be using cameras & lenses. Natch.

I've got a couple of Canon 7Ds with lenses from 14 ~ 200mm. Even got some great old glass from my Pop that he used with his Contax. The 25 & 135 are especially sweet.

Since a bit of the footage needs to be shot on the water, from a moving boat (note to self: finish the story so that part is obvious), and we don't want the viewer(s)* getting seasick, the camera should be stabilized.

So, I'm building a 3-axis gyro-stabilized mount around a 7D.

The thing it's not yet attached to, nor seen in the photos, is a trolly that'll hang from an aluminum extension ladder. (We're gonna need a ladder anyway for shooting up in the trees, might as well make it pay for itself in as many ways as possible). It'll hang out from the deck of Favorite so we can shoot "young Eric" from a variety of low angles ahead/alongside/behind him as he runs his skiff over the water.

The "trolly" also has motorized wheels so it can crawl a line stretched through the woods, spider-cam style.

This whole gadget is radio controlled, with a video downlink so we can frame the shots. I have all the bits here - just need to complete the assembly. I don't have a good enough monitor, nor is the video signal HD, so we won't be able to pull focus accurately on the image, but if there's enough time set aside to get this thing done, we can pull focus to pre-determined points.

Here it is so far:

* There might be 3 viewers besides the group of us film-makers...

Further Reading

I've been stumbling onto various posts that abound the interwebs. Thought I'd start linkin 'em here as food for thought.

This post subject to change as more are stumbled upon.

http://nofilmschool.com/2012/01/director-power-collaboration
http://nofilmschool.com/2012/01/director-objectives

http://vimeo.com/videoschool/lesson/147/scary-shooting-techniques

Locations

This story starts at Turn Island. It could be any of the campsites in view of the boat moored on a bouy off the north beach, or inside the cove by Little Turn also looking north.

The flashback could start in Friday Harbor marina where the young Eric sets out on his trip up San Juan Channel. Or, it could be a long shot looking into Friday Harbor from out in San Juan Channel.

Flashback continues north past Jones Island and up between Orcas and Waldron islands.

We settle in to more boating detail as Young Eric approaches Matia Island.

One of the challenges of filming this story is that the east end of Matia is off limits to people as it is now a wildlife reserve. So, a scene of Young Eric pulling around the point and seeing a cove empty of other boaters can be started at Matia, but will finish by pulling into the cove between Turn and Little Turn. To frame it so it's not too obvious that we're now on the wrong island the arrival at "Matia" should be shot from high in the trees. This can play into the story of "being watched" as the viewers point of view could be that of the imaginary bogeyman - a bit of foreshadowing.

The Twist

So, what is it that makes this story interesting?

The "Original Story" is a simple spook story where we never see the imaginary bogeyman. It's just someone's fears being shared with no antagonist to see.

The "Outer Story" is just old guys sitting around reminiscing, right?

Well, the inner story is about an imaginary antagonist. What if the friends around the campfire are imaginary too? We see 'em. They talk about the spooky stuff that sets up the telling of the original story.

But what if the two friends interactions are just what Eric's imagination would expect? For example:
1. The dishes being done are single items: one plate, one cup, a couple of pieces of silverware.
2. When Eric comes ashore, he brings chips & beer to share around, that are never opened or moved by the other two even though the express thanks.
3. There's only one camp chair near the fire, occupied by Eric, the other two sit on the campsite picnic table.
4. Wide shots of the campsite show only one sleeping bag in the tent.

The Outer Story

Two middle-aged guys (Tim & David) are sitting around their island campsite campfire after sun down as a third is finishing up the dishes aboard the boat. As Eric comes ashore, David & Tim are overheard talking about their experiences getting spooked in the woods.

Eric pipes in with his story and we flash back to the past and the "original story" is told.

At the end of the original story, we're back to present day.

Original Story

I (Young Eric) was running a skiff from Friday Harbor to Bellingham one summer afternoon and I decided that the route over the top of Orcas would mean a nice stop overnight on Matia Island.

I had a tent and sleeping bag packed with the intention of staying on shore in one of the campsites.

As I approached Matia in the late afternoon from the west, I could see there were boats in Rolfe Cove so I swung around along the south shore to see if I might have the little cove facing Seal Rocks in the east end to myself.

No one was there as I pulled around the point, and elated, I dropped an anchor a little way from shore with a long line so I could unload the camping gear and “clothesline” the boat back away from the beach for the night.

The sun was on the horizon by this time, so my first priority was getting the tent up. I found a little hide-away back in the undergrowth above the bluff and went to work with the ground tarp and pup tent.

At some point in my efforts, I began to feel a little uneasy. Nothing major I told myself, just my imagination waking up here in the woods all alone.

I pushed my discomfort aside and laid out my sleeping bag and dug out something to eat along with my flashlight to offset the coming night.

I made my way down to the beach to check on the anchorage one last time, when my unease returned a little more forcefully. I had this eerie feeling my activities were being watched. I scanned the shoreline in the gathering dusk but spotted nothing. No gull or crow nor seal or sea lion to explain the sensation. I turned back around and searched the uplands, again coming up empty of spies.

I shook away the feeling and laughed at how silly this was and told my little voice “there’s nothing there” with more bravado than I really felt. I chided myself: “I’ve slept out in the woods on little islands alone before, so what’s big deal tonight?” Just a long day in the boat I answered.

I returned to my camp and rooted around in my backpack for more snacks, all the while keeping alert to any sounds around me. All was quiet, but the feeling of not being alone wouldn’t leave me.

I got out of the tent with my flashlight and scanned the now dark woods, throwing shadows of gnarly tree branches around, but still nothing to explain the feeling. I guess I expected to see the glow of eyes, or something to answer the sensation, but I neither saw nor heard anything to support my rising fears.

I decided to explore a little way into the wood with my light - I was going to face down this fear and prove my imagination was operating in overdrive. Venturing further into the woods, with yet no evidence of anything or anyone actually out there, I couldn’t tamp the silly fear down, if anything it was growing stronger with each step.

On heightened alert I stopped on the trail to get my breathing under control and try to will my heart rate down. I stood still for a moment and listened to the woods with all the attention I could muster. The way was more open here with none of the undergrowth as along the shore, and though my feeble little light could reach a little further, nothing was revealed that would cause me any harm. Small birds or animals, a breeze to rattle the leaves, even camper’s voices from the other side in Rolfe Cove would be welcome explanations now. Still there was nothing.

Calming myself a little at the further lack of visible or audible evidence of anything worrysome, I turned around and worked my way back to camp. Though the sense of foreboding had eased a little at again finding nothing, as I approached the tent my apprehension returned full force. I cast the light about me desperate to find something, anything, taunting me and again came up empty.

Throwing off any remaining reasoning ability, I stormed into camp and dropped the tent as quickly as I could, folding it haphazardly on itself and my supplies still inside. Tripping over myself and the loose fabric I raced over the bluff and down to the shore. Hand over hand drawing the skiff to shore, I threw the mass of tent, sleeping bag, and backpack into the bottom and leaped in, with heart pounding in my ears, I madly pulled the boat out to the anchor.

Once away from the shore, and having no creature chasing me down for dinner, I laughed at my fears. Still, I decided that other campers nearby might not be such a bad thing, so I hauled the anchor, started the motor, and worked my way slowly around the north side of the island back to Rolfe Cove.

Picking my way along the rocks and between the moored boats with my flashlight, I found a spot between the dock and shore to drop anchor again, this time with the intention of spending the night sleeping in the skiff. I folded the tent and tarp into a pad and laid out in my sleeping bag looking up at the stars and wondered what it was that had happened back there.

Sometime during the night I was awakened by the wind blowing smartly over the top of the island. Had I remained in the east end I’d be taking the brunt of it right now, perhaps even pushing the skiff ashore and stranding me for a time.