Robert J.
Flaherty, F.R.G.S. (1922)
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In August 1910, Sir William MacKenzie whose
transcontinental railway, the Canadian Northern, was then in the
initial stages of construction, commissioned the writer to undertake
an expedition to the East Coast of Hudson Bay to examine deposits of
certain islands upon which iron ore were supposed to be located.
All told I made four expeditions on Sir William's
behalf, during a period of six years, along the East Coast of Hudson
Bay, through the barren lands of the hitherto unexplored peninsula
of Ungava, along the west coast of Ungava Bay and along the southern
coast of Baffin Land. This work culminated in the discovery of the
Belcher Island archipelago in Hudson Bay -a land mass which occupies
5,000 square miles- upon this land mass were discovered extensive
deposits of iron ore but all of too low a grade, however, to be of
economic importance. As a part of my exploration equipment, on these
expeditions, a motion-picture outfit was included. It was hoped to
secure films of the North and Eskimo life, which might prove to be
of enough value to help in some way to defray some of the costs of
the explorations. While wintering in Baffin Land during 1913-14
films of the country and the natives were made as was also done on
the succeeding expedition to the Belcher Islands. The film, in all,
about 30,000 feet, was brought out safely, at the conclusion of the
explorations, to Toronto, where, while editing the material, I had
the misfortune of losing it all by fire. Though it seemed to be a
tragedy at the time, I am not sure but what it was a bit of fortune
that it did burn, for it was amateurish enough.
My interest in films, from then on, grew.
New forms of travel film were coming out and the
Johnson South Sea Island film particularly seemed to me to be an
earnest of what might be done in the North. I began to believe that
a good film depicting the Eskimo and his fight for existence in the
dramatically barren North might be well worth while. To make a long
story short, I decided to go north again- this time wholly for the
purpose of making films.
Mr. John Revillon and Captain Thierry Mallet of
Revillon Freres became interested and decided to finance my project.
It proved to be a happy arrangement, for among the Revillon Freres'
vast system of fur posts which lie scattered through northern Canada
I was enabled to use one of these posts as the nucleus for my work.
This post was on Cape Dufferin on northeastern Hudson Bay and about
800 miles north of the rail frontier in northern Ontario. The
journey thither began on the eighteenth of June, 1920. With Indians
by canoe, I followed the Moose River to Moose Factory on James Bay.
From thence northward a small schooner was taken to my destination
where I arrived in the middle of August. The resources of the
Revillon Freres fur trade post at Cape Dufferin were at my disposal.
One of the two living quarters which comprised the Post was mine as
living quarters and film laboratory combined.
My equipment included 75,000 feet of film, a
Haulberg electric light plant and projector and two Akeley cameras
and a printing machine so that I could make prints of film as it was
exposed and project the pictures on the screen so that thereby the
Eskimo would be able to see and understand wherever mistakes were
made.
Of the Eskimo who were known to the Post, a dozen
all told I selected for the film. Of these, Nanook, a character
famous in the country, was my chief man. Besides him and much to his
approval, I selected three younger men as helpers. This also meant
their wives and families, dogs to the number of about twenty-five,
their sledges, kayacks, and hunting impedimenta.
As luck would have it, the first film to be made was
the walrus hunt. From Nanook, I first heard of the "Walrus Island"
which is a small island far out at sea and inaccessible to the
Eskimo during the open water season since it is far out enough so as
not to be seen from land.
On the island's south end, a surf-bound beach, there
were, in summer, Nanook said, many walrus, judging from signs that
had been seen by a winter sealing crowd of Eskimo who, caught by a
break up of the ice, had been forced to live the until late spring,
when, by building an umiak of driftwood and sealskins and by digging
out the open water lands of ice which had not yet cleared from the
coast, they succeeded in getting on to the mainland. Nanook was very
keen about my going, for, as he said, "It is many moons since I have
hunted the summer walrus."
When I had decided upon taking the trip the whole
country-side was interested. There was no lack of applicants for the
trip. Everyone gave me some particular reason why he should be
included in the expedition. With an open-seas boat twenty-five feet
long rigged with a leg -o'-mutton sail we started, a throng of
Eskimo, their wives, children and dogs assembled on the beach to see
us off.
A few miles from the Post we reached the open sea
when for three days we waited on the coast for easy weather in order
to undertake the crossing. We finally reached the island one day at
nightfall, and landed on what was nothing but a low waste of bed
rock and boulders a mile and a half long and the whole of its
shoreland ringed with booming surf. Around the luxury of a driftwood
fire (driftwood is rare on the mainland) we lounged far into the
night, speculating mainly on what chances there might be for walrus.
As luck would have it just as we were turning in, from Nanook
suddenly came an exclamation "Iviuk! Iviuk!" and the bark of a
school of walrus resounded through the air. When early the next
morning we went over, we found much to our disappointment that the
walrus herd had gone into the sea again but presently one after
another and near the shore the heads of a big school of walrus shot
up above the sea, their wicked tusks gleaming in the sun. As long as
they were in the water no films could be made and we returned again
to the camp. For the next two days we made almost hourly trips to
that beach before finally we found them- a herd of twenty- asleep
and basking in the sand on the shore. Most fortunately, they lay at
a point where in approaching, we could be screened from their view
by a slight rise in the ground. Behind the rise, I mounted the
camera and Nanook, stringing his harpoon, began slowly snaking over
the crest. From the crest to where they lay was less than fifty feet
and until Nanook crawled to within half that distance toward them
none took any alarm. For the rest of the way, whenever the sentinel
of the herd slowly raised his head to look around, Nanook lay
motionless on the ground. Then when his head drooped in sleep, once
more Nanook wormed his way slowly on. I might mention here that the
walrus has little range of vision on land. For protection he depends
upon his nose and so long as the wind is favorable one can stalk
right in to them. When almost right in amongst them, Nanook picked
out the biggest bull, rose quickly and with all his strength landed
his harpoon. The wounded bull, bellowing in rage, his enormous bulk
diving and thrashing the sea (he weighed more than 2,000 pounds),
the yells of the men straining for their lives in their attempt to
hold him, the battle cry of the herd that hovered near, the wounded
bull's mate which swam in, locked tusks, in an attempt to rescue-
was the greatest fight I have ever seen. For a long time it was nip
and tuck- repeatedly the crew called to me to use the gun- but the
camera crank was my only interest then and I pretended not to
understand. Finally Nanook worked the quarry toward the surf where
he was pounded by the heavy seas and unable to get a purchase in the
water. For at least twenty minutes that tug-o'-war kept on. I say
twenty minutes advisedly for I ground out 1,200 feet of film.
Our boat, laden with walrus meat and ivory- it was a
happy crew that took me back to the Post, where Nanook and his
fellows were hailed with much acclaim. I lost no time in developing
and printing the film. That walrus fight was the first film these
Eskimo had ever seen and, in the language of the trade, it was a
"knock-out."
The audience- they thronged the post kitchen to the
point of suffocation, completely forgot the picture- to them the
walrus was real and living. The women and children in their high
shrill voices joined with the men in shouting admonitions, warnings
and advice to Nanook and his crew as the picture unfolded on the
screen. The fame of that picture spread through all the country. And
all through the year that I remained there every family who came
wandering into the Post begged of me that they be shown the "Iviuk
Aggie."
After this it did not take my Eskimo long to see the
practical side of films and they soon abandoned their former
attitude of laughter and good-natured ridicule toward the Angercak,
i.e., the White Master who wanted pictures of them- the commonest
objects in all the world! From that time on they were all with me.
When in December the snow lay heavy on the ground the Eskimo
abandoned their topecks of sealskin and the village of snow igloos
sprung up around my wintering post. They snow-walled my little hut
up to the eves with thick blocks of snow. It was as thick walled as
a fortress. My kitchen was their rendezvous- there was always a
five-gallon pail of tea steeping on the stove and sea biscuit in the
barrel. My little gramophone, too, was common property. Caruso,
Farrar, Ricardo-Martin, McCormick served their turns with Harry
Lauder, Al Jolson and Jazz King orchestras. Caruso in the Pagliacci
prologue with its tragic ending was to them the most comic record of
the lot. It sent them into peals of laughter and to rolling on the
floor.
The difficulties of film development and printing
during the winter were many. That convenience of civilization which
I most missed was running water. For instance, in the film washing,
three barrels of water for every hundred feet was required. The
water hole, then eight feet of ice, had to be kept open all winter
long and water clotted with particles of ice had to be taken, a
barrel at a time, from a distance of more than a quarter of a mile
away. When I mention that over 50,000 feet of film was developed
over the winter with no assistance save from my Eskimo and at the
slow rate of eight hundred feet a day one can understand somewhat
the amount of time and labor involved.
The walrus hunt having proved so successful Nanook
aspired to bigger things. The first of the bigger things was to be a
bear hunt at Cape Sir Thomas Smith which lay some two hundred miles
northward of us. "Here," said Nanook, "is where the she-bear den in
the winter. I know, for I have hunted them there, and it seems to me
that there we might get the big, big aggle (picture)."
He went on to describe how in early December the
she-bear dens in huge drift banks of snow. There is nothing to mark
the den save the tiny vent or air hole which is melted open by the
animal's body heat. He went on with a warning that one should not
walk there for one would fall in, in which case the she-bear might
be angry! His companions would remain at either side of me, rifles
in hand, whilst I filmed (he was going to make sure of my safety in
the affair at least). He, with his snow knife, would open up the den
block by block. The dogs, in the meantime, would all be unleashed
and like a circle of wolves would gather around him howling to the
skies. Mrs. Bear's den door opened, Nanook, with nothing but his
harpoon, would be poised and waiting.
The dogs baiting the quarry- some of them with her
lightning paws the bear would send hurtling through the air- Nanook
dancing here and there (he pantomimed the scene on my cabin floor
using my fiddle bow for harpoon) waiting to dart in for a close-up
throw- this he felt sure, would be a big, big picture, (aggie
peerualluk). I agreed with him.
After two weeks' preparation, we started. Nanook
with three male companions, two sledges heavily laden, and two
12-dog teams. My food outfit comprised one hundred pounds of pork
and beans which had been cooked in huge kettles at my post and then
put into a canvas bag and frozen. These beans chopped out with an
axe from the frozen mass along with dried fruit, sea biscuit, and
tea comprised my food supply.
Nanook and his companions' diet was seal and walrus
augmented by tea and sugar from my supply and, most important of
all, tobacco, that most valued of the white man's treasure.
We departed on a bitterly cold day- the 17th day of
January- every profile of the landscape blurred with drifting snow.
For two days we made good progress for the travelling ground was
hard and well packed by the wind. After that time, however, a heavy
gale with falling snow wrecked our good going. Day after day we
slowly made our way along. Ten miles or less was an average day's
travel. We had hoped to cover the 200 miles to Cape Smith in eight
days but, when twelve days had elapsed, found we were only half way.
We were discouraged, the dogs all but worn out, and to make matters
worse the supply of seal and dog food was near the point of
exhaustion.
The low coast line off which we travelled for days
on end- was the confusing mirage hanging in the sky, so that Nanook
could not locate himself and our position in relation to Cape Smith.
Constantly as we travelled along in that monotony of days, our
nearness to Cape Smith became the subject uppermost in our minds.
"How near are we?" was the hourly question that became the plague of
poor Nanook's existence. The few times he tried to predict, he was
invariably wrong. Finally, we had travelled to a point where the
Cape, Nanook was sure, was no more than two days on, for he was
certain that he had spied through the haze and rime old hunting
country of former years. Within the day, his companions found hat he
again was wrong. They could not contain their impatience and
irritation. Poor Nanook became disgusted and as we continued he kept
his head averted and steadfastly refused to ever look upon that
confounding mainland again.
We were on our beam ends the day we finally reached
Cape Smith. Our brown leader dog, that for the last three days we
had been carrying on top of the sledge in the attempt to save her,
was dying of starvation. Nanook ended it all with his harpoon and as
he held aloft the carcass said: "There is not enough left for dog
food."
Well, anyway there were seals at the Cape, that we
were sure of, and moreover we would be there within the day, so we
continued cheerfully enough. The great land mass of the Cape rising
a sheer 1,800 feet stood out boldly before us. By nightfall we
reached our treasure land of bear and seals and plenty. We halted
before the rise of an old camp ground of Nanook's, and, abandoning
sledge and dogs, climbed eagerly to a vantage for the welcome sight
of the seal grounds. We gazed there a moment or so before we
realized that the seal ground we looked out upon was like all the
barren ground we had travelled- a solid white field and not a
seal-hunting lane of open water anywhere. We forgot about bear
hunting; for two and half weeks we tried for seals wandering from
day to day along the broken ice foot of the Cape. In that interval
two small seals were killed and they were just enough to keep the
dogs alive. For four days, at one time, we had no seal oil and our
igloo was in darkness. The dogs were utterly weak and slept in the
igloo tunnel. Whenever I had to crawl out of doors I would have to
lift them to one side like sacks of flour for they were too weak and
indifferent to move away. The irony of it all was that bears there
were everywhere; four of them had passed within a thousand feet of
our igloo one night but the dogs were too weak to bay them or bring
them to a stand. My own food supply was nearing its fag ends. For
days past I had been sharing it with the men.
I will never forget one bitter morning when Nanook
and his men were starting off for a hunting day on the ice fields at
sea. I suddenly discovered that none of them had touched my food at
breakfast time. When I remonstrated with Nanook he answered that he
was afraid I might be short!
Our luck turned that day at nightfall, however, when
Nanook crawled into the igloo wearing a smile from ear to ear, and
shouting the welcomed words "Ojuk! Ojuk!" (the big seal). He had
killed a big seal that was "very, very large" and enough for us and
dogs for all the long trail south to home again.
What a feast those men had through that memorable
night! When it was over, said Nanook in deep content, "Now we are
strong again and warm. The white man's food has made us much too
weak and cold." The flesh of seal is certainly warmth giving to the
greatest degree. When I awakened the next morning all of them were
still asleep, their bodies were covered with hoar frost and vapor
lay floating over them in the cold igloo air.
Though the problem of our food supply was now solved
we were still not able to travel, for the dogs needed feeding up.
During this interval we hunted along the gigantic flanks of the cape
for signs of bear dens. Tracks there were everywhere, but of dens
only one and that one had been abandoned. Had we had the time to
spare it would have been only a matter of days before we would have
found one, but I had a great amount of filming to do at my winter
post and more time could not be spared, so reluctantly enough we
left the Cape and started off on the down trail for home.
We arrived there on the tenth day of March and so
ended the six hundred miles and fifty-five days of our Nanook's "big
picture" journey. But it was not all loss: I was richer by a fuller
knowledge of the fine qualities of my sterling friends, the Eskimos.
photo captions
NANOOK AND HIS BROTHER ESKIMOS LANDING A WHITE WHALE
Mr. Flaherty, immediately after taking a moving
picture of these hunters when they harpooned and landed a walrus,
developed the picture and projected it for the Eskimos who had seen
and taken part in the hunt. So realistic did it seem to them that
they shouted and cheered, and yelled advice and encouragement to
each other, just as they had done when the hunt was in progress
NANOOK AND HIS FAMILY BUILD AN IGLOO
Using an ivory knife they cut out blocks of snow and
start a circular wall, laying the blocks spirally, and making each
turn more restricted than the one below, somewhat similar to a snail
shell. When the igloo is finished a small hole is punched in the
roof for the escape of heated air. A door is cut in the side, the
chinks are closed with snow- perhaps a window of clear ice is added
and the habitation is complete
NANOOK'S DAUGHTER AND A PUPPY THAT WILL ULTIMATELY
BECOME A BEAST OF BURDEN
Robert J. Flaherty, "How I Filmed 'Nanook of the
North'," World's Work, October 1922, pages 632-640.
© 1998, David Pierce, on editing and revisions (if
any)
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