A lot of people ask me questions about my encounters with wildlife, about the adventures and dangers. On this trip I’ve blogged about this a lot. But traveling abroad and working in the jungle, the creatures that cause us the most problems aren’t the big, beautiful animals—it’s the microscopic ones you don’t see that really get you.

A few days back, I woke up with “Delhi belly”, throwing up at 2 AM, stomach pains, legs and arms aching, fever. Luckily, this scourge coincided with three days of intense, thundering downpours, so we were only able to work part of each day—and I could rest up and hope to get better.

The next day, Gabe woke up in the middle of the night shivering uncontrollably, so cold that he put on a hat, gloves, layered himself in blankets. Even so, he couldn’t stop shaking for an hour. 102 fever.

We have no idea what we have.

Gabe in bed with fleece, hat and 2 pairs of gloves. It is hot tropical climate but he has the chills—bad. He has been up with fever and chills for 2 nights.

Photograph by Steve Winter

Up at 4 AM, into the park by 5:00. The cloudy, wet weather has persisted long beyond what is normal: a climatologist told us that this is the rainiest it’s been this time of year in a century. Today, an anemic sun barely broke through the haze and mist as we drove into the park. So we decided to go to check a trap we’d on a small island in the middle of a beel—a spot where otters sometimes pull out to eat a fish meal.

As we approached we saw that an animal had hit the trap—and had bent a ¾ inch bolt. When we checked the camera we found that a drooling water buffalo had come to investigate the alien box. So had an elephant, making good and unusual pictures. We repaired the damage, and headed off into the western part of the park where the largest animal groups sometimes congregate.

In the distance, we spotted a tiger laying in the road, and a herd of 15 elephants feeding upwind. After 20 minutes, the tiger rose, slinking towards the herd, and disappeared into the grass. The elephants drew into a tight circle around the young ones, trumpeting and stomping. The tiger returned to his resting spot briefly, then slipped back into a crouch, muscles tense, stalked back, and ran at them. The elephants held their ground, and the tiger gave up. End of excitement, but it was great to be in the right place at the right time. It can be frustrating shooting here, especially trying to document animal behavior other than feeding because you can’t be on foot, or wait in a blind—it’s too dangerous. My photos all have to come from camera traps, shot from the Jeep, or very occasionally—from elephant back. But we’ve identified the most promising areas, and circle through them day, after day—and sometimes our persistence pays off!

A tiger slinks through the grass near a herd of elephants.

Photograph by Steve Winter

For the past several days I have been in Tokyo, having left Hokkaido and the frozen north behind. My next underwater location is Toyama Bay where I will try to photograph the strange Firefly Squid, however my research indicates that the optimum time for these animals is during a new moon, which begins in a few days. So since I had to wait for the squid, I decided Tokyo was the best place to be between locations. 

I have used my time here to catch up on business with NGM, work on some equipment and get a very much needed haircut. It is cherry blossom time in Tokyo and the city is beautifully in bloom. Being in this second largest city in the world is quite a change from rural Rausu, where I could walk the streets and only sometimes see a car. Unlike that sleepy, quaint fishing village up north, Tokyo is bustling at a fever pace, with subways, Shinkansen trains and lighted elevators flying up through transparent, glass skyscrapers. For a photographer, Tokyo is also a great place to be should you need a few odds and ends. There are camera stores four city blocks long, with every imaginable gadget on the shelves. A very dangerous place to be with a credit card indeed!

Photographer Brian Skerry (at right) and Mac get "much needed" haircuts in Tokyo. 

Photograph by Steve Drogin 

Things have slowed considerably over the last week. My hope was to get offshore several days in search of ribbon seals, however I only made it out once and we found no seals. The pack ice has moved in very thick and is preventing any boats from leaving the harbor on most days. Seki-san told me that a plankton bloom has occurred underwater, reducing visibility greatly. I feel lucky to have been diving when I did, since now photography would be far less productive. The weather has also been highly variable in recent days, from rain to snow to thick fog to crystal clear skies and lots of strong wind. I have used the down time to continue packing my 20 plus cases of gear and organizing shipping. I will ship some cases to Tokyo, where I will spend next and several cases to Toyama Bay where I’ll begin diving and shooting again in about a week.

Pack ice prevents boats from leaving the harbor.

Photograph by Brian Skerry

I drove to the west coast of the Shiretoko Peninsula a few days ago to the town of Utoro along with Mac Nagata and Steve & Hiro Drogin to shoot some landscapes or rather seascapes of the pack ice there. Historically, Utoro has much thicker pack ice that comes in right to the shore and it tends to be more solid than the drift ice I have seen off Rausu. From Utoro, tourists can go on ice walking tours, during which they wear survival suits and hike over the ice fields. In just what I have seen during my three weeks on the Shiretoko Peninsula, I know that I could spend a lifetime here photographing the magnificence of its wilderness. I have barely scratched the surface or the depths for that matter and would love to do so much more during winter and all the other seasons.

During the last week we have shifted gears from beach diving and returned to ice diving offshore. I chartered a boat to take us to the drift ice, so that I could get back to making pictures beneath the ice canopy. The drift ice is transient, and continually changes with wind and tide, so every day can be vastly different. We search for the best ice conditions and then slowly push our way into the pack ice with the boat. The boat’s hull is steel and the captain is very experienced in these conditions. It can be a little unnerving at times however, when you feel the thud of ice hitting the hull, but clearly the captain knows what he is doing. Once we get nestled in to a good location, we secure the boat with bow and stern anchors on to the ice.

According to Seki-san, it has been at least 5 years since they last had ice conditions this good. In recent years, very little drift ice formed near the east coast of the Shiretoko Peninsula, perhaps a result of climate change. But this year is a throwback to the “old days” I’ve learned, where cod fishing boats battle the ice to make their catch and undersea explorers like Seki-san venture below.

Seki-san exlporing the ice.

Photograph by Brian Skerry

With Seki-san as our guide, Mauricio and I slide off the boat’s swim step into the water, pushing floating ice out of our way and slip downward and under the canopy. The bottom here is about 1000 meters deep and dropping my camera is one of the concerns foremost on my mind. Another concern is what I would do should my drysuit begin taking on a lot of water. The drysuit system I am using has attached gloves, which is great for keeping my hands warmer than wet gloves. But being the paranoid type that I am, I think about what would happen if a glove ever pulled off. I know that freezing cold water would pour into my suit, adding tremendous weight, causing me to sink. After over twenty dives here and countless dives elsewhere using this system, I’ve never had a problem, … but I do think about such things.

"You can make many pictures, but you cannot make life." — Konwar

Here in Kaziranga, I need to show what it is like for the forest guards who patrol on elephant through the high grass and unexpectedly come upon a rhino. I also want to show the intimate view of the animal through both high grasses and amidst the newly-burned grasses with faces black from grazing. I knew this would be a dangerous picture to get—and that riding an elephant would be the only successful way.

Being atop an elephant is quite a restrictive way of shooting – always looking down on the animal you’re shooting, which takes away its power. From experience, I always try to place my camera traps low to shoot at eye level, or up at an animal. The other day I was laying on the ground photographing a big tusker elephant – this is a much better way of showing this majestic species as long as you can get up and away safely and quickly!

So, in this instance we mounted a clamp with a tripod head on a 13-foot long bamboo pole and put a camera on it. I used a radio receiver to trigger the camera. We had ourselves a “polecam” which would allow me to shoot from more of a “rhino’s-eye” view.

Our elephant, Gavvar, is a Ganesh (meaning single tusk) tusker. Back in February, when Doug Chadwick (the writer on the story), took part in an elephant census, Gavvar was chosen especially for him. This elephant is known to be fearless around rhinos, directed by a great mahout who Doug reported would instruct Gavvar to charge any rhino that posed a possible threat, frightening the troublemakers back to their grazing.

Over the past few days I’ve continued to work off the shores of Rausu photographing a variety of marine life. During my research prior to arriving here, I learned about two animals that are unique within the underwater world of Hokkaido and are considered rather special by the people of Rausu. One is a deep-water species of fish that the locals call the Abachan. It usually lives in very deep water. In this location, it’s right offshore, since the underwater topography drops off very quickly. In wintertime this fish can be found within diveable depths, generally around 100–120 feet deep. The Abachan is small; adults generally measure no more than six inches and are pinkish in color and somewhat translucent. They have a sucker disc on their ventral side and can usually be seen firmly attached to something on the bottom, like rocks or sea stars. Their posture is most often a curled position, with their tail bent around nearly touching their mouth. Off their chin, tiny barbels protrude. Their eyes are somewhat catlike with a golden color. To me they perfectly illustrate cold-water ocean animals, a fish that is right at home in this frozen wilderness.

We headed off to the Difalumukh camp to stay for a few days; it's located deep in the far reaches of the park. I wanted to stay here because of its remote forest location and close proximity to many open beels (lakes surrounded by grassy areas where many animals graze), but also to be close to the forest guards and learn more about what it takes to protect this awesome place.

The guards have a hard, lonely, and dangerous life. Living with them gives me a more intimate view of their lives. One way to do this is by going on patrol with them as they survey their designated area of the park looking for poachers or otherwise unusual behavior.

On our first morning in camp, we set off at dawn in large canoes with three rifle-toting park guards, paddling through an estuary all the way to where it met up with the miles-wide Brahmaputra River. There we beached the boats and walked along the sandy shoreline. Around a bend in the river, we were confronted by a group of wild water buffalo – which the guards dispersed by grunting and waving their rifles. Then we moved into the dense, incredibly beautiful forest, where we came upon a beel with four rhino feeding. We watched the rhinos do what they do best, and I was partly disappointed but also very grateful that they paid no mind to our presence.

We met up with some guards from another camp who followed us back to our canoes as we made a big loop—but found no apparent signs of poachers. Back at camp they made a big midday meal for everyone, Assamese vegetables, rice—and “jungle greens.” Although it smelled good, I skipped it. Have been sick too many times in too many countries, so I’m really careful about what I ingest!

March 9th-11th—The pack ice that had been right up to the shoreline here in Rausu has moved farther offshore. Its movement is affected by wind and currents, and it can move quite a distance in a day. With the ice offshore, I decided to shift gears and concentrate my photography on the winter marine life of Hokkaido. Seki-san has told me that in winter, when the ice forms, many of the animals found here during other months move into very deep water. But there are still plenty of interesting creatures to see and photograph.

So for three days we dive from the beach in search of the critters that thrive in these frigid seas. A typical dive takes us over a smooth stone bottom in shallow water, and gradually we move deeper, over sea grass and kelp, then drop off to dark volcanic sand. We usually go down to about 80 to 90 feet and search a wall covered with invertebrates for tiny fish and other small animals. One of the species I am especially interested in shooting is an animal called a lumpsucker. At this time of year babies can often be found at depths of 60 to 90 feet. They are very small, about the size of a thumbnail, and usually seem to be orange or red in color. We have found several during these three days, and I absolutely love these little guys. They remind me of Picachu in the Japanese cartoon PokeMon, with expressive little faces. The one’s I’ve been trying to photograph, however, have not been very cooperative, as they always seem to be facing in the wrong direction. I can spend only about 20 to 25 minutes at the deepest portion of the dive, so I keep hoping I’ll find a lumpsucker just sitting pretty on a starfish or colorful piece of seaweed. Hasn’t happened yet!

March 8th—Up at 4 a.m. today. Grabbed my surface photo gear and headed down to the harbor to get aboard a boat that would take Mauricio, Hiro, and me offshore to the ice floes in search of Steller's sea eagles and white-tailed eagles. During winter these beautiful birds can be found here off Rausu, where they come to feed on herring. Still dark outside. We climbed on to the boat and made our way through the harbor and gradually out to sea, searching the ice for eagles. When we were about a mile or so offshore, we began to see the birds, several sitting atop small peaks on the ice.

By about 5:45 a.m. the sun began to rise, creating a nice orange glow on the eastern horizon. The eagles sitting on the ice in silhouette against this backdrop were beautiful, but there wasn’t really enough light to shoot. We slowly repositioned the boat, inching our way closer to the birds and waiting for the sun to lift a little higher in the sky. The air temperature was about 20 degrees Fahrenheit, but the wind was light, and the sky was clear, so it was a perfect morning to be out here.