The Art of Photographing Birds

The Art of Photographing Birds

by A. Hyatt Verrill

From Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly, Vol. LII., September, 1901. No. 5. Photographs by the author.

Researched by Dennis Lien; digitized by Doug Frizzle, May 2012.

ALTHOUGH still in its infancy, bird photography has become so general and its uses and applications so manifold that it may almost be considered an art in itself. To secure good bird photographs one must not only be a master of photography, but, in addition, must possess considerable knowledge of ornithology and woodcraft, and, most important of all, untiring patience and perseverance. Even then do not be discouraged if many plates and much time and labor go for naught. One good negative out of a dozen exposures is a fair average, while as to time and labor none is wasted, for is it not recompense enough to wander through sunny field and shady woodland, the while watching and studying the birds at home?

When once you have won a bird's confidence and feel on intimate terms with him, it will surprise you to find what a wonderfully interesting little chap he is. The plainest and commonest kind has a multitude of strange and interesting habits you have never dreamed of, and even the despised English sparrow will exhibit traits of intelligence and affection which will at once win for him a warm corner in your heart. Bird life is not all pleasure and sunshine, by any means. Tragedy and drama there is in plenty, and many a wee bird finds life just as serious a problem as we humans. Comedy and humor there is, too, and some species seem actually to appreciate a joke. On one occasion, while watching a busy downy woodpecker industriously boring for grubs, a sharp-shinned hawk dashed by my face straight for the little drummer. Even quicker was the woodpecker as he slipped behind the protecting limb, while the bold marauder, baffled, veered off, perched on a neighboring birch and, after staring with savage hauteur for a moment, disappeared among the trees. No sooner was his enemy out of sight than Mr. Woodpecker bobbed out from his shelter and, perking his head on one side, appeared to wink in such a knowing manner that I half expected to hear him exclaim: "Didn't I fool him neatly?" Many a like glimpse will you have of private life of the woods when you are afield with camera, and for each such situation you should be prepared, for often the most opportune moment for snapping wary birds or animals is when they are suddenly surprised and for a second or two remain motionless, apparently considering the wisest course to pursue.

If one possesses a horse and carriage much may be accomplished which otherwise would be well-nigh impossible. Many a shy bird will permit you to drive within a few feet, whereas the same individual, if approached on foot, would not remain within gunshot. That bold winter visitor from the North, the northern shrike, is one of these. Last winter the shrikes were very numerous, and many a long drive I took with the hope of securing their portraits. Finally, while driving along a narrow sapling-bordered road, the long-looked for opportunity arrived, and as the butcher bird perched on a twig by the roadside I drove slowly by and snapped him from the carriage. A few moments later I returned, and although he was somewhat more suspicious and perched on a barbed-wire fence a little farther off, he stood his ground bravely, and I secured a second negative.

Usually, however, it is best to win a bird's confidence by other means, and if they have young this is an easy matter to accomplish. To secure a photograph of the chickadee feeding its young I visited the locality of the nest daily for over a week, ere the little mother felt sufficiently sure of my good intentions to feed her big baby in my presence. Many birds, and especially the migratory species, seem always too busy to bother about making human acquaintances, and must be induced to come within camera range by fraud and deception. The best way of doing this is to sit quietly among the underbrush and imitate the cry of a young or wounded bird, by sucking the back of the hand. Almost instantly a number of previously invisible songsters will appear as if by magic, and gather excitedly around. Nine times out of ten the first to arrive will be the well known catbird. Although these queer fellows spend the greater portion of their time imitating catcalls and cries of distress, apparently merely for the joy of teasing other birds, yet they are the most readily deceived species I know of, and always seem to be in a great fret for fear some casualty has actually occurred. They are first-class subjects, owing to their tameness and soft gray dress. Towhees, thrashers, vireos, tanagers, grosbeaks and warblers of a dozen or more species will also be attracted by the "cheeping" sound, and it is often possible to make half a dozen exposures before the excited creatures become convinced that nothing is wrong, and betake themselves once more to their various haunts.

In the breeding season one may secure many beautiful pictures of birds on their nests, and as the majority of our birds are very close sitters it is often possible to focus on the brooding bird, and even give a short-time exposure without disturbing her. This I have repeatedly done with various species of warblers, vireas and thrushes. When the bird shows signs of alarm and glides off the nest as you approach, other methods must be employed. The best and simplest is to arrange and focus the camera on the vacant nest, and after concealing it by freshly-cut branches, or a green cloth, retire to a safe distance and spring the shutter by means of a long tube and bulb when the parent returns. It was in this manner I secured a photograph of the bobolink on her nest, and the thrasher near her nest. In the former case I lay for two hours motionless in the damp meadow-grass before Mrs. Robert returned and settled comfortably on her neglected treasures.

Sometimes a nest will be discovered which seems impossible to take, but where there's a will there's a way, and few indeed are the nests actually beyond the reach of the bird-photographer and his camera. Quite recently I found a rose-breasted grosbeak nestled in her frail home on the slender, horizontal limb of a young beech, full twenty feet above the ground. To obtain a picture seemed at first out of the question, but the very difficulty of the feat made me more anxious to accomplish it. Climbing a nearby oak, I cut two long branches, and binding them together placed one end resting within a few inches of the nest, the other on a branch by my side. Focussing my camera at eight feet, I set the shutter, drew the slide and pushed it slowly down the extemporized bridge towards the grosbeak's home. A leafy oak branch concealed the suspicious looking contrivance, and a slender string, dangling below, served as a means to spring the shutter when the parent at last returned. Altogether the operation occupied fully three hours, but the result well rewarded me for my time and labor. A little later I obtained the mother grosbeak's portrait in much the same manner.

Strangely enough, it is not always the more rare and shy birds which are most difficult to photograph, but, on the contrary, very common and usually unsuspicious species, when approached with photographic intent, are exceedingly wary. This is the case with our familiar robin, and also with the kingbird or bee-martin. Time and again have I spent an entire afternoon endeavoring to photograph this saucy flycatcher, but without avail, and it is only very recently that I succeeded in inducing one to sit for his portrait, and even he condescended to do so only when his fatherly solicitude was aroused and I disturbed the peace of his young family. On the other hand, blue jays, which are notoriously wild, I have had no difficulty with, provided the time chosen was late summer or early autumn. I find that at this season they readily approach within range of my lens if their cries are imitated while in hiding. Many birds have habits which greatly facilitate matters once they are learned.

While in Bermuda, I endeavored to photograph the beautiful long-tailed tropic-birds, but met with many difficulties. These birds nest in deep holes in the rocks and cliffs, and while the birds are very tame and will permit themselves to be pulled off their nests without trying to escape, the deep shadow of the holes renders anything but long-time exposures impossible. I had almost despaired of getting any satisfactory pictures when I happened to discover that they had a habit of dozing during certain hours of the day. At these times they appeared so excessively drowsy that when disturbed they merely fluttered about for a few moments ere resuming their siesta. Once this peculiarity was discovered my task was simple, and in the end I felt fully repaid for the many days spent studying them.

It is practically impossible to win the confidence of many species of birds. This is particularly noticeable in the case of game birds, as woodcock, quail, grouse, etc. Such birds become so thoroughly imbued with fear of man during the hunting season that their one idea at sight of a human being is to keep as far away as possible, but even these may occasionally be photographed when some lucky chance favors. During midsummer the quail (especially the fully grown young), are frequently quite tame, and by a little judicious use of grain in the spots they frequent, a person may somewhat overcome their inborn fear. Many nocturnal birds, as the nighthawk and whippoorwill, are seldom seen except when on their nests, or rather eggs, for neither species constructs any nest whatever, the nighthawk laying her two gray eggs on a bare rock in field or meadow, while the whippoorwill deposits her glossy, white and lilac treasures on the fallen leaves in open woodland. When flushed from the eggs these birds simulate lameness or injury and flutter about in a very distressing manner as they endeavor to attract your attention from their eggs. If you remain quietly in the neighborhood they return very soon, and seem to have but little fear of a camera placed near their home. Young birds in their nests are charming subjects after they have their eves open and their tender skin is hidden by budding feathers. They are not so easy as they would seem, however, for they are wriggling, palpitating little creatures, and their fuzzy down fails to give the sharp outlines and distinct lights and shadows of the adult birds.

Perhaps no birds afford better opportunities to the bird photographer than the owls, owing to their well known habit of dozing during the day. At this time they resort to the heavy shade of evergreens, and can usually be approached without difficulty. Quite often they are so drowsy that a short time-exposure can be given, which is frequently a necessity in the situations they frequent. Whereas, some species—as the little screech-owl—are often to be met with in orchards and in the vicinity of farmhouses, others inhabit only the heaviest forests, while still others are wanderers from the wilds of northern Canada, and to be found only during the coldest winter months. The tiniest of all our species—the sawwhet or Acadian owl, although a resident in New England, is most abundant in cold weather. They are unsuspicious little fellows and seem to enjoy posing. An individual of this species allowed me to secure ten different portraits, and then, apparently considering he had done enough in the interests of science, dropped off to sleep, whereupon I completed the series with a picture of my obliging model wrapped in slumber.

Often when afield in search of feathered subjects you will meet with mammals, reptiles and even insects well worthy of a photograph. Squirrels, both gray and red, are far easier to take than any bird, owing to their habit of standing motionless for a moment to stare at the intruder. Our little cotton-tail rabbit has the bump of curiosity well developed, and will often stand stock still for minutes at a time if some odd noise is made, as for example, a low whistle.

Snakes, too, make interesting pictures, and are fairly easy to secure, while nothing is more beautiful than some large, handsome butterfly resting on a wayside wild flower.

All seasons of the year are harvest time for the bird-photographer, but spring and autumn are the most favorable. Then, not only are the residents more numerous, but a host of migratory species on their way north or south afford many a chance for valuable and interesting pictures. The Peabody-bird or white-throated sparrow, the fox-sparrow, the jaunty winter wren, the hermit and the olive-backed thrushes and many others fill the woods with life and music, and coming from a region undisturbed by man, are fearless and sociable. Even dreary winter must not be neglected, for only at that season can one expect to find snow-buntings, crossbills, siskins and others from the Arctic regions.

Photographing the Human Voice by Radio

Photographing the Human Voice by Radio

A. Hyatt Verrill

The Photographic Journal of America, Apr 1, 1923; 60, 4; researched by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle May 2012.

How would you like to sit in a darkened room and see a moving picture of your voice thrown on the screen before you?

At first such a question sounds highly ridiculous, and you may say or think it's nonsense to talk about such an impossible feat. But modern radio has made many seemingly impossible things not only possible but simple, and among others it has made possible the actual photographing of the human voice and other sounds.

When we come to think of it, it is not so very remarkable either, for light rays, radio waves and sound waves are all vibrations of the ether: and while radio waves and light waves are inaudible and sound waves and radio waves are invisible, yet we know that sound waves can be made visible by means of certain arrangements of mirrors that reflect light rays varied by sound, and we know that radio waves may be made audible by the radio telephone and that light waves may be rendered audible by the selenium mirror as arranged by Professor Bell. So it is only a step to arranging delicate mechanism in such a way as to render the voice visible and then photograph it with a motion picture camera.

But it was not until the invention of the vacuum tube or audion bulb that radio telephony became really practicable, and the little tube—which is perhaps the most remarkable of man's inventions and the most delicate instrument ever devised—is what made it possible to reproduce the human voice and other sounds on a motion picture film.

The discovery of how to do this—and there are several methods—has opened up a wonderful field. First, there is the possibility of having talking pictures—motion pictures in which we see the various characters and also hear them talking, exactly as if we were really seeing and listening to them. Perhaps this may never be very popular, for many people prefer to imagine what the actors and actresses are saying. Then, again, it is very hard to find actors and actresses who can act before a camera and are also able to carry on a speaking part well. But there are many pictures where the new invention will be of the greatest value and will add immensely to the realism and enjoyment of the pictures. We will be able to hear the thunder of storms, to hear the boom of surf, the roar of cataracts, the rush and sweep of gales, the ringing of bells, the reports of guns and artillery, the clatter of horses' hoofs, the sounds of battle, the songs of birds, the barking of dogs, the music of bands, the notes of musical instruments, and the puffing and snorting of locomotives, not to mention the clanging of fire engine gongs and the screech of motor horns. All these will soon be as much a part of motion pictures as the titles and headings and all because of the vacuum tube.

And now, perhaps, you wonder how this seeming miracle can be accomplished. It is really very simple. In the motion picture camera is a small, brilliant light—or in one process a specially designed mirror—operated by electricity and connected with a vacuum tube in such a way that every variation of the current flowing through the tube increases or decreases the amount of light. That is, instead of the variation of the current through the tube causing vibrations on a diaphragm in a phone, so the currents reproduce sound, the variations in the tube cause the light or the mirror to fluctuate.

Then, connected with the tube, exactly as in a sending set, is a microphone and horn, which catch the voice or other sound. Thus, when the camera is taking the pictures and the person is talking, the little light flares up and down; and as the pictures are recorded on the film, a little wriggly, irregular line of light is cast on one edge of the film at the same time. Then, when it is wished to reproduce the sound, the positive printed from the film negative is run through another projection machine, with a small powerful light arranged so it will shine on the mark made by the light that was varied by the sounds. In the negative, of course, the mark made by the light was black, and in the positive, therefore, it will lie clear or transparent, so that the light falling upon it will shine through. Back of the strip of film is a mirror and a vacuum tube receiving set, which in turn is connected with an amplifier and a loud speaker. The beam of light striking through the transparent line on the film and hence on the mirror varies the flow of the electric current through the tube and thus causes a vibration in the ‘phone diaphragm which is magnified by the amplifying tubes and the loud speaker.

And not only does this invention open a new field for motion pictures. Perhaps it has even a greater value as a means of reproducing songs, music and other sounds on the phonograph. For in this way records may be made on strips of films, and then, by running the film through a special form of phonograph, the sounds will be reproduced without the least scratchy or buzzing noise, which is so troublesome with ordinary records. And there is still another use for this method of reproducing sounds which has already been tried out with the greatest success. This is in broadcasting music, songs, speeches, etc. by radio. Instead of having the performers talk or sing or play into a horn and a microphone, their voices or the music may be recorded at any time convenient on a strip of film and then broadcast whenever desired. Already some of the big stations have done this, and no one who listened in to the concerts and the entertainments realized that, instead of listening to the voices of the singers and the sounds of the orchestra, they were listening to sounds which had been made visible on a film.

And now we get back to my first question about seeing a motion picture of your voice. That is the simplest thing of all; for once the sounds are recorded on the film, it is only necessary to run the film through a projection machine, and we can see exactly how a song or a sentence or a speech or music or any other sound looks. Perhaps, some day, these zigzag lines recorded on films will take the place of writing; and instead of reading books and papers and magazines, and even letters, printed in type on paper, we will read wavy lines, the real words made visible without the clumsy, roundabout method of writing and spelling and printing. Who knows?