Cinematographing the Antarctic HERBERT G. PONTING, PEARSON’S MAGAZINE, 1914
Captain Scott decided to establish winter quarters on Ross Island, and when we arrived at the appointed spot, there was a wonderful wealth of subjects for my camera, for the ship was moored to the ice about a mile from the shore, and there were magnificent bergs and ice cliffs close at hand. … I soon began to reap a rich harvest of negatives. I was, however, most vividly impressed with the dangers of photographing in these regions during the 48 hours following our arrival at our base .… The morning after our arrival I was just about to start across the ice, with a sledge well packed with photographic apparatus, when eight ‘killer’ whales appeared, heading towards the ship, blowing loudly .… The whales dived under the ice, so, estimating that they would rise again from under it at a certain place near at hand, I ran for the spot, and got to within 6 feet of the ice edge, when what was my consternation to find the ice suddenly heave up under my feet, and split into fragments all around me; whilst the eight whales, lined up with sides touching each other, slid their heads up from under
the ice and blew, one of them within only a few feet of my face. … By good luck I was thrown backwards instead of being precipitated into the water, or I should never have lived to tell this story. When the whales rose from under the ice there was a loud ‘booming’ sound – to use the expression of Captain Scott, who was a witness to the incident – as they struck the ice with their backs; and immediately they had cleared it, a rapid movement of their flukes made a great wave, which set the floe, on which I was isolated, rocking so furiously that once more I had all I could do to keep my feet. Then the whales turned about with the deliberate intention of attacking me. My friends were watching within 50 yards of me. I heard frantic shouts of ‘run,’ but I could not run, it was all I could do to keep my feet as I leapt from fragment to fragment of the rocking ice, with the whales a few feet behind me, snorting and blowing among the ice blocks, in close pursuit. I heard later that not a man on the ship thought I could escape. I remember my own sensations at this time very well – they were of disappointment of having failed to secure a photograph, and of conjecture as to whether or not I could reach safety before the whales got me. The ice had already started to drift away with the current, and as I reached the last fragment I saw that I could not jump to the firm ice, for the ‘lead’ was too wide. I stood for a moment or two hesitating what to do. Frantic shouts of ‘Jump, man, jump,’ reached me from my friends.
a huge ‘killer’ pushed his head out of the water and rested it on the ice, looking around with his little pig-like eyes to see what had become of me. As he did so, he opened his jaws wide, and I then saw what Captain Scott has described in his journal in writing of this incident – ‘the most terrible array of teeth in the world.’ There can be no doubt that this was an organised attack on me. It is the only instance known of these whales having deliberately attacked a human being.
how deeply he felt the responsibility for life, which he thought rested so largely on himself. He was deadly pale as he said to me: ‘My God, old chap, that was the nearest squeak I ever saw.’ Above & Left: Ponting (seen here posing proudly with his camera and its ‘novel telephoto apparatus’ in 1912), lectured daily in London with a combination of film and slides when he returned from the South. His photographs were first exhibited by the Fine Art Society at their fashionable gallery in New Bond Street – the ‘final perfection of the photogra-
Just then, by great good luck, the floe on which I stood turned slightly and lessened the distance. I was able to leap across, not, however, a moment too soon, for as I reached security and looked back,
I shall never forget Captain Scott’s expression as I reached him in safety. During the next year, I several times saw that same look on his face, when he thought someone was in danger. It always showed
pher’s art’ according to Country Life. His celebrated shows in 1914 at London’s Philharmonic Hall were, by all accounts, a huge success and within two months he had performed over 100 times to an estimated audience of 120,000 people.