By Texas has a lot of things, but grand scenic overlooks do not appear to be one of them, at least in this recent resident’s limited experience. However, not too far beyond the clandestine corner where Texas sneaks a perpetual kiss to Arkansas lies the Ouachita National Forest. A few minutes of digital map investigation of the area a few weeks ago revealed a location that matched what I had in mind for my latest video project, “For Anyone that Hasn’t Seen an Angel”.
I surmised that a five hour drive on pavement, an extra 90 minutes on dirt, and a short hike on foot would be worth it. The vista did not disappoint. Rolling shades of green stretched as far as the eye could see. A rocky ledge seemingly positioned by God himself provided not only optimal viewing, but the perfect perch for a person to recite a poem. And I was alone. No fellow landscape lovers to bargain with over sharing the space. No park rangers to ask if I had a filming permit.
It was windy though, cloudier and colder than the Weather app had promised. I unpacked my gear, assembled my camera rig, and instructed my tripod on where to stand to properly capture the view, the sky, and me, without falling off the cliff. I did the same for my little drone, except for the cliff part – its instructions were instead to not run into it, nor venture too far away that it couldn’t find its way home.
With ears and fingers turning redder as the sun valiantly fought through breaks in a murky firmament on its way down, I filmed what I could. It’s difficult to be on both sides of the camera. There are several technical requirements on the cinematography side, the mismanagement of any one of which can render footage useless. Then there’s the performance side – remembering all the words, saying them at exactly the right time to sync up properly with how I recorded them back in the studio, and generally trying not to look terrible in doing so.
I quickly ran out of light trying to juggle both roles. To wrap up, I decided to film a time-lapse of the sunset, which meant another hour and a half in the cold. I found a rock face to huddle under and thought of those that might have huddled there hundreds of years ago when the same wind blew through. With the heavens empty of light, I’d now have to pack up and hike down an unfamiliar mountain by myself in the kind of darkness that can only be pitched by remote wilderness. I did have the flashlight on my iPhone – I imagined it just powerful enough to illuminate the eyes of a hungry mountain lion. Or the blade of a crazed backwoods machete murderer. I reckoned that my tripod would have to be my defense, but also reckoned that it wouldn’t be a match for either foe.
The panic of losing the trail once for several minutes proved to be my most perilous trial on the way down. I made it back to my car and was relieved an hour and and half later to finally see asphalt again, along with the occasional set of indifferent but reassuring white eyes speeding by in a light fog.
Looking at the footage the next morning I saw what I already knew – it wasn’t good. Things were misframed and out of focus. The sky was not friendly enough for the subject matter. The cold temperatures and wind were apparent and it was not the vibe I was looking for.
Fortunately though, my wife had wanted to see Arkansas too. And my kids are always up for adding to their “states I’ve been to” lists. So they drove separately and we met up in a town called Hot Springs, which is apparently more famous for early 20th century gambling and gangsters than geysers. I told my wife about my production troubles and we discussed how she might be able to help. That afternoon we headed back into the high woodlands.
Though I wouldn’t necessarily recommend Forest Road 55 to anyone with a minivan, her Odyssey successfully completed the odyssey up to the lookout. The terminal hike was a bit more laborious with the extra equipment necessary to ameliorate three children, including carrying one of them. But at the top the wind was calm and the sun was shining. After briefly savoring the view, we set the kids up with some sleeping bags, snacks, and a previously downloaded movie on my laptop.
As they learned how to train a dragon, I trained my wife on a few quick camera tips. But we didn’t have long. Golden hour was upon us and we would have at most 90 minutes to execute the shoot.
She started rolling, one eye on the camera monitor, and one eye on the kids’ camp to make sure the two-year-old didn’t get up and wander toward the cliff’s edge. I said my piece a few times from a few different angles. I positioned the drone against the sky and signaled when she should have it fly. Soon enough the two-year old was restlessly wandering into shots and the sun was bidding farewell, its disciplined duty fulfilled for another day. We packed up in the remaining photons that it tossed softly our way, retraced our path back down through the trees, and safely secured the kids in their seatbelts for the kind of sweet slumber that only comes in a car ride home from the mountains.
The footage was better this time, and so was the company. I’m thankful for a family to roam with through these forests and deserts and mountains, and with whom to share the views. Especially for a wife that supports my endeavors. I hope you enjoy her videographer debut. Some shots were still not perfectly in focus (my fault, not hers), and that’s okay. We did our best with what we had. This life is not always perfectly in focus, and that’s kind of the point of the video.
I’m also thankful for a Creator that painted these beautiful murals that we get to move through. For the sun he set in the sky to light the day, and for the son he set in our lives to light the way.
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New video poem “For Anyone that Hasn’t Seen an Angel” coming May 2.
