Life in the Wild: ‘I would be in this cage for at least 12 hours’

Siraj Boati led the way in the dark with a torch held behind him allowing followers to see. With an armed guard behind him and one at the rear, we walked silently in single file. In between was Rubai, my tour guide and fixer, Craig Hunter, my camera assistant from Scotland, Ali Hossian, the speedboat man and master machan builder who had saved my life more than once and me.

It was four in the morning and pitch black inside the dense Sundarban forest. Walking in the dark was extremely dangerous, not recommended and had never been done before. The year was early 2000 and the only comforting fact that I clung to was that nobody in this part of the Sundarbans had been eaten by tigers, at least not for some time.

I tried to avoid the aerial roots of the mangroves and with poor night vision stumbled and tripped over them in the dark. The mud was slippery and the last thing I wanted to do was fall onto the upturned spikes.

I had instructed that no one should speak while we made our way to the cage so that any tigers nearby wouldn't be scared off, however, we were the ones that were scared. I also said that under no circumstances would a tiger be hurt or killed in the making of the film Swamp Tiger. I felt that since we were the ones in its territory we should take that risk. Whether or not my instructions would have been obeyed had we been charged, I don't know.

Photo: Courtesy

We reached the camouflaged cage on the forest floor that seemed to be a lot closer to the target area than I remembered. The cage was a makeshift collection of wired panels roped together that was tied to a small tree. I opened the hatch and climbed in followed by my tripod camera and rucksack lowered after me. The hatch closed and a guard made a comment.

"What did he say Rubai?" I whispered.

"He said that's the last time we'll be seeing you."

With the aid of the torch, I emptied the rucksack, fixed the camera to the tripod, and laid out two spare batteries, two film magazines, the black bag and several rolls of film, water, a flask of black coffee and a plastic box with lunch. I placed two marine flares, the switched-off walkie-talkie and the starting pistol in a strategic place hoping they wouldn't be needed. Then I waited a moment memorizing exactly where everything was.

"Ok I'm ready," I whispered and switched off the light.

The crew melted into the night leaving me alone.

Being inside a makeshift cage on the forest floor to film tigers had never been done before and I didn't know what to expect. My protection against attack was purely cosmetic. It was an emotional crutch giving me some semblance of perceived security. I tried not to imagine what it would be like if I had to set off one of these marine hand flares in the confines of a hide. The starting pistol would have made a noise but to what effect, I didn't know.

I got the idea of protective flares while filming grizzly bears in the Kamchatka volcanic peninsula, in Eastern Russia but I was less than impressed over the practicality of using pepper sprays which I didn't bother to bring on the trip.

Dead bait was tethered behind a tree and I had cleared a small area of aerial roots hoping that if any tigers came, they would use that spot for resting. The outside and top of the cage were heavily disguised with thick long fronds of Golpata. I leaned back resting against the metal mesh waiting for daylight, hoping it would come quickly and listened intently for any sign of approaching animals.

The nightjars that had accompanied our walk into the forest continued with their plummy single note echoing in the dark. I had tried guessing which direction the prevailing winds would be before fixing the exact location of the cage but now there wasn't even a breath of wind and the stillness of the forest was unnerving. A single out-of-place metallic noise and it would all be a waste of time.

Every movement I made was slow and deliberate. I lightly touched the various bits of equipment to remind me where they were.  It was an uncomfortable feeling being so close. I knew I would never hear them walking in and strained for any sign of their presence. I had a leather padded cover to reduce the camera noise and just to be sure put the black film changing bag over it as well.    

I took nothing into the hide that would be distracting, no books, no radio or stills camera, the priority was the film.

Photo: Courtesy

I would be in this cage for at least 12 hours which was a normal shift. I could only see out of the hide with one eye at a fixed and very limited two-dimensional view. I would imagine it's not unlike being sentenced to solitary confinement in prison without the sounds, the smells and the excitement.

The first thing to say is that the state of being constantly alert is very tiring and the mind does wander but even in that state of limbo, an unusual noise or lack of birdsong or an unfamiliar smell will immediately alert you to check outside. Micro-sleeps more commonly known as nodding off played an important part and I have felt genuinely refreshed afterwards.

The Swamp Tiger production had been fraught with danger, far more than in any film I had worked on in the past. Usually, risks were always calculated but were occasionally unpredictable. The risk assessment forms I would be obliged to sign were merely disclaimers.

Of all the exotic places and animals I have filmed in, I was more likely to die in a mundane way, falling from a height, drowning or having a road accident. For example, while sitting in the back of an early morning taxi on a busy motorway from Heathrow to Gatwick I glanced over at the driver. His head was nodding forward, he was falling asleep. I grabbed him by the shoulder and shook it. He apologised and wound down the window to let the cold air wake him up. I had just come back from a lengthy and tiring shoot and could easily have dosed off in the back. However, the incidences of wildlife camera persons being killed by wild animals are thankfully rare. And as it so often transpires, people are far more dangerous than animals. This film was different to anything I had experienced before.

Darkness retreated, giving way to the dawn. I listened and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Time passed very slowly in the forest cage. I yawned and looked at my watch. It was still early. There was a tiny hole just big enough for me to look out. My back began to ache and I leaned against the cage again. This was going to be a long day.

I made a mental note not to look at my watch again. Annoyingly, small fiddler crabs found their way in through the netting. Someone once described them as marine cockroaches. I gently guided them out as best I could with the extended aerial of the radio. Near the end of the day with no luck, I promised myself that rather than stay in the hide all the time an easier option would be to get the bait checked regularly.

Sitting alone in the cage gave me time to reflect on the past. The Sundarbans was the culmination of a lifelong journey that began all these many decades ago with a fateful encounter that would change my life forever.