One of the best things that has happened as a result of starting this blog is to meet some incredible people. One such person is Amy Grisak, a freelance writer from Great Falls, Montana. Amy worked for a time as a sound recordist for National Geographic – a highly enviable gig that is just a pipe dream for most nature recordists, and she worked in the wilds of Montana and southern Canada, no less. I asked if she would be willing to share some of her adventures from her sound recording days, and she graciously agreed. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have permission to use the sounds she collected, so we’ll have to settle for her beautiful photos.
By Amy Grisak
Viewers typically focus on the memorable images of a natural history program – the grizzlies fighting over a salmon or the lion chasing its prey- but the background sound holds the story together without many of us realizing it. During the 1990s, I worked on natural history programs for National Geographic Television as a sound recordist before video cameras were standard. For the most part, we used 16mm (or super-16) film for the wildlife programs, so audio wasn’t a given. To this day, recording sound separately allows for higher quality and a greater range of sound, just like separate angles in a specific video shot. As a sound recordist, it was one of my duties to record the ambient sound so the editor could accurately portray the natural experience.
When I was in high school, I planned on becoming a wildlife biologist, but had a parallel goal of being a photographer for National Geographic. When I moved to Montana, my plan was to attend the University of Montana for biology, but I ended up picking up a gig hauling gear for a cameraman, which eventually led to working on films such as Bear Attacks, Urban Elk, Yellowstone: Realm of the Coyote, a couple on mountain lions, and Giants of Jasper for National Geographic “Explorer” as everything from pack mule to associate producer, as well as ambient sound recordist.
The goal was to record sound tracks of the wildlife and environment – the wind through the leaves and the water cascading at various rates – so the sound fit the images. This meant waiting and listening for coyotes calling to each other during the night, or ruffed grouse making the drumming noise deep within the forest, then grabbing the gear trying to capture it. Other times, opportunities to sit quietly in the woods or meadows to gather whatever was happening was the best way to create a well-rounded recording. These were often almost meditative moments focusing on nothing but the tiniest sounds around me.
While recording the birds might seem trivial in our visual world, accurate sound does make a difference. Here’s a little hint, grizzlies don’t growl when they walk along the landscape – or chew on a dandelion- and by the sound of it, we must have more red-tailed hawks than we ever had passenger pigeons since it seems as if their distinct cry happens every time a hawk or eagle flies across the screen. It’s just as wrong to use these inaccurate sounds as it would be to try to pass off a black bear as a grizzly. And while sound recordists don’t receive the kudos of the camera folks, a program isn’t its best without careful attention to the real sound of the situation. Now if we could only convince more film editors of that.
Of course, the experience has changed over the years, and looking back at the equipment makes me giggle. The recorder, a Sony TCD-DAT10, was cutting edge technology at the time, but was clunky and cumbersome compared to today’s equipment. The high quality Sennheiser was the primary mic (so not a lot has changed on that end), usually with a big furry wind screen since the places the east side of Glacier National Park, as well as Waterton Lakes National Park in Alberta, are notoriously windy regions. But when the wind wasn’t an issue, a parabolic mic worked better to home in on particular sounds.
Regardless of the gear, the experience of gathering wild sound is the same. Sit comfortably, quiet your breathing, don’t move, and listen. It’s remarkable how everything comes into focus without even looking. To be able to hear the birds hopping from one branch to the next, ice moaning as it formed, or grizzly cubs purring while they nursed, feels like some sort of out-of-body superpower.
During those years, there were a number of memorable experiences, whether spending an afternoon pursuing caribou or a simply a short time trying to find a specific sound. A favorite was when, if I remember correctly, I walked into the woods to try to record ruffed grouse in the spring. I hunkered down along the trail, being as still as possible, when to my surprise, a coyote followed the same path right towards me. Moving nothing but my eyes and trying not to even be too obvious with them, I watched it as it came within 6 ft. of me. There was no fear on either end; just a special moment of 2 creatures meeting in the forest.
Some moments with the mic were downright comical. During one of the many cold, winter days in Jasper National Park, the cameraman and I hunkered down near an elk carcass to try to film a pine marten visiting the much-welcomed meal. Being less than 10 ft. from the carcass, it was a good opportunity to record the sound of the marten chewing and tearing off the frozen meat. I sat very still with the parabolic mic trying to avoid any noise from my hand, but the marten still spotted me. Oh, the chewing out I received! In unique pine marten high-pitched chattering vocalizations, it told me in no uncertain terms that I was not welcome at the dinner table. I think half of my sound was ruined by my giggling or movement from trying to suppress the laughter.
Wearing headphones brings you closer to the action than you might realize, and sometimes it feels like you have a front row seat even when you’re hidden in the shadows. While filming ‘Urban Elk’ in Banff, Alberta we needed the bugling and the sounds bulls make when they fight so many early, frosty mornings were spent at the golf course where the bulls made the ground managers’ lives miserable. Besides herding their cows on the greens, they tore up wallows where they urinated and rolled, plus ran after each other to push away intruding bulls.
Surprisingly, the more difficult sound to achieve during this project was the bulls going after vehicles and people, mostly because I was often busy grabbing film equipment or trying to watch the action. But during the year working on that particular project, as well as other years in Banff and Jasper, watching the bulls chase people and things was a spectator sport. There was one particular bull that the photographers dubbed Mr. Nasty who had no tolerance for humans or white vehicles. It didn’t matter if it was a small car or a bus, he went after all of them. And we stood on the sidelines watching in anticipation sounding like we’re watching a football game (yes, you tend to have a twisted sense of humor when you’re out too long) when he made a run at a vehicle.
Other days, the challenge was keeping the gear running at all. Not surprisingly, electronics don’t operate well in -30 degree F., but that’s what we had to deal with during the bighorn sheep rut in November in Jasper. It was a beautiful blue-sky day, but brutally cold. I had to keep the DAT recorder zipped up in my parka as best as I could, and placed the pocket heaters around it, or it would shut down in protest. Despite the conditions, I managed to sit down among the herd watching the rams chase and push the ewes, as well as shoving each other. There were a few half-hearted head butts, but those usually happened on flatter ground where they could get a good run at each other. Unfortunately, it was also so close to the road that it was difficult to capture without the sound of approaching traffic.
The challenge of unnatural sounds was a constant source of frustration. When the wind wasn’t blowing, many sessions were ruined by distant traffic or aircraft. It was maddening. During one excursion into the backcountry to Amethyst Lake in the Tonquin Valley near Jasper, my hope was to record the sound of the woodland caribou’s foot bones clicking as they walked. I had attempted it on numerous other occasions in the front country but was always skunked by vehicles.
We rode horses in roughly 12-14 miles to the Tonquin Valley Backcountry Lodge where we stayed for the week, and I was happy to see the caribou on the other end of the lake. After rowing the boat to the other side, and slowly and carefully sneaking up on the two bulls who weren’t paying much attention to me at all, I thought for sure I was close enough to record this unusual sound. Just as I turned the mic, someone back in the camp fired up the chainsaw. The noise reverberated through the landscape. There was no clicking of foot bones to be heard that day! Sadly, that population of woodland caribou has declined precipitously and may soon be extinct.
The following video, from Gates of the Arctic National Park and Preserve in Alaska, includes the sounds of clicking caribou feet, a sound which allows caribou to keep in auditory contact with each other. The National Park Service is at the forefront on acoustic monitoring, and the audio for this video is probably from one of their remote monitoring stations, and it illustrates how difficult it is to be at the right place at the right time to collect both video and audio.]
Recording sound for National Geographic was an enlightening experience, and I learned much more than if I focused on only what we could see. There’s really no better way to truly immerse yourself into the world around us besides closing your eyes and listening. Even better, wear a head set and amplify your hearing. To this day, sitting quietly (with or without recording equipment) is my best form of meditation, and I’m grateful for the profession that introduced me to the wonder of it all.
Although her years working on natural history films were memorable and highly educational, Amy Grisak is having far more fun with her family and friends hiking the trails of Glacier National Park and the other public lands of Montana while working on articles for regional and national publications. Her goal is to inspire people to want to learn about Glacier National Park and other wild areas so they are more inclined to protect and preserve them for future generations. Besides her writing, she does this partly by leading activities in a local nature club to help kids and their families step out into nature. You can find much of her work, as well as write-ups on some of her adventures, on her website, amygrisak.com. Feel free to reach out to her with questions at [email protected].