"The thing about tigers" said the guide, leaning forward conspiratorially "is that they have great powers. If they do not wish to be photographed, they will not allow it."
I nodded understandingly, whilst enjoying a vaguely colonially-tinged internal smirk. What were they going to do- refuse to sign a model release form? Put blankets over their heads?
How little these rangers knew of the wonders of modern photographic equipment, still clinging to their quaint camp fire stories and legends. 'Paf!' I thought, again internally. (Paf! is an expression that should only ever be used internally). 'Wait 'til the tigers get a load of me....'
I'd been in Ranthambore national park, India, for 4 days, and had as yet failed to see a single pug mark, let alone a tiger. But I'd put this down to bad luck and the ravages wrought by poachers, rather than camera-shy big cats.
And then, as our jeep of 3 happy travellers, driver and ranger bounced along the dusty road, all that changed as an enormous male tiger came slouching out of the bushes straight towards the vehicle. Head down, perfect light, great background. This was it.
With visions of the Wildlife photographer of the year award playing through my mind, I composed the shot, waiting as the tiger got nearer. It still hadn't appeared to have noticed us, as it padded along closer and closer. And finally, the shot was just about perfect. All that was needed was for the tiger to look at the camera. Which it obligingly did.
Now, I don't know if you've ever been unfortunate enough to be tasered. I have, and it's not an experience that I'd be keen to repeat. But I'll tell you what, looking directly into the electric blue eyes of a wild tiger just feet away from your unprotected jeep has a similar effect. I'm seldom nervous on safari, even around big cats. But a lazy lion or irritable leopard doesn't even begin to compare with the gaze of a tiger.
A physical jolt went down my spine as we locked eyes. They are utterly hypnotic, and you can almost read the animal's mind. Which in this case was 'if I could be bothered, I could turn you into finger nibbles. And right now, I'm giving it serious consideration'.
I swallowed, and prepared to press the shutter...
At which point, the photographer behind me swore, and I heard the unmistakable (and to a photographer, nightmarish) sound of photographic film ripping on its guide sprockets. His film had jammed. Almost at the same time, the guy with the point and shoot compact in the front seat dropped it. Not only dropped it, but bent the little telescopic lens.
2 cameras were down. It was up to me to get the shot. And I was up to the task. I quickly reassessed the shot. If anything, it was better. And for the second time, I squeezed the trigger and....
.....nothing. All systems down. I squeezed again, with the same result. I continued, harder, as if I could somehow bully the camera into co-operating. And then I saw the flashing light on the top of the Nikon F5.
Dead battery.
Now, that battery had been charged the previous night. I'd sat there and watched it.
10 minutes before the tiger arrived, it had been reading fully charged.
But Nikons seem to have an erratic flaw that causes this effect, particularly if you use them with a teleconverter. My D3 and D2X have done it since. Turning it quickly off and then on seems to solve the problem. It's irritating, but not a disaster. But this was the first time it had ever happened to me, and by the time I'd discovered how to fix it, the tiger and with it, the shot of a lifetime had sauntered past and was disappearing into deep cover, probably flicking me the stripey finger as it did so...
I was eventually to get other tiger shots on that trip, but none as amazing as that particular shot would have been.
The guide looked round with a cheery smile at 3 devastated and mechanically unsound photographers, all in a state of shock at this unheard-of simultaneous triple breakdown.
"Ahhh, naughty tiger" he said, beaming happily. "He doesn't want to be filmed today".
And you know what?
I believe him.
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