Louie, Take a Look at This!

by Luis Fuerte

  One of my favorite themed shows (and one of Huell’s favorites as well) was called “Big Things in the Desert.” I’ll just say that “Big” was an understatement. I shot Huell by the sky-high windmills at a wind farm off the 10 Freeway near Palm Springs: Huell with the massive dump trucks that hauled 190 tons of boron at a time out of a vast pit mine dug deep into the desert floor; and Huell standing on the two hundred-foot-wide cradle of an antenna at Goldstone that searched deep space. Each segment took a whole day to shoot, but it was so much fun that Huell didn’t mind at all.

  That’s an amaaazingly big truck!

  These were big toys for big boys: huge wheels, massive hunks of metal, and gigantic whirling blades. What more could a man ask for? The immense size of the trucks especially floored Huell. I heard “Oh, my gosh!” again and again as he approached one of those monsters and crawled around it. The colossal antennas at Goldstone also produced an abundance of “Louie, look at this!” and “Oh, my gosh, this is amaaazing!”

  Over the years, I shot countless themed show segments on so many subjects at so many different locations that it’s hard to remember them all. But plenty still seem like it was yesterday. One favorite memory is when Huell and I were driving past a big cactus farm in bloom in the Salinas Valley. It caught his eye and we pulled over. I told him that Mexican people called that cactus nopales and they enjoyed eating it. He said he’d been thinking of doing a show called “Bits and Pieces,” and he thought this would be perfect for it. So he went out among the cactus and talked with some farmworkers in the fields. I got the equipment out of the car and shot Huell interacting with the harvest workers. The cactus segment fit perfectly in the “Bits and Pieces” show, and it happened entirely by accident.

  Luis in the fog at Morro Rock.

  Many times we’d purposely go out to shoot things at their optimum time, like the wildflower fields in the spring at peak bloom. Or Huell would learn of an annual parade somewhere and we’d go out and shoot it. If Huell saw an opportunity to shoot something that was timely and interesting, we’d jump into the car and go.

  Most of those segments went hand in hand with other segments in a themed show, but sometimes, his idea of what the segments had in common hung by a thin thread. One of the theme shows that tested the bounds of commonality was “California’s Tallest, Prettiest, and Rockiest”—I’m not sure what “tallest” had to do with “rockiest,” and I just thought of it as the superlative show. We shot it all over California, usually when we were en route to or from a shoot for another episode.

  For the “Tallest” portion, we traveled to the Eureka area, where I shot a grove of redwoods. I was awestruck at the majesty of those giants.

  The “Prettiest” segment ended up being about the poppy preserve near Lancaster. It had been a great rain year when we visited, so the poppies were particularly prolific and glorious. We were just winging it, shooting the flowers with Huell walking among them and talking to whomever he found. I don’t know if Huell had the “-est” show in mind that day, but he knew he could use the footage somewhere, and besides, he adored poppies and wanted to be among them.

  The third segment of the superlative show was about Morro Rock, with Huell proclaiming that it was the “Rockiest.” That was a messy shoot. Countless birds use that big hunk of rock as their outdoor restroom—big time—and I had a heck of time keeping my footing and holding the heavy camera as I slipped and slid on the stuff. But I managed without falling, and that eventually became the final segment of “California’s Tallest, Prettiest, and Rockiest.”

  Those opportunity shoots were essential to the success of California’s Gold, and the only reason they worked is because Huell was so bold and fearless in his quest to get something great on camera. He was always watching for an opportunity, and I never knew when he’d suddenly stop the car, walk up to anyone and everyone on public or private property, interrupt whatever they were doing, and charm them into letting us interview them and shoot the location. They just couldn’t resist Huell’s big smile and Southern warmth, and in no time flat, we’d have a great segment.

  THE CALIFORNIA MISSIONS

  It was Huell who came up with the idea to do a series about the California missions. We were down in Loreto, Baja California, doing a shoot for another program that wasn’t part of California’s Gold. Our guide took us sightseeing and showed us an old Spanish mission nearby. He explained how the Spanish padres started building missions in Baja first and then worked their way north. Huell was interested and said in passing that we should shoot the California missions. That was the last I heard of it for some time, until one day in 1997 when he announced, “Guess what, Louie? We’re doing the missions—all twenty-one of the ones in California!”

  I said, “You gotta be kidding me, Huell.”

  He said, “Nope, we’re going to do the missions—all of them.”

  The cost of the mission series was outside of the usual budget that Huell had for California’s Gold, so he got a sponsor for those shows and announced to the world that we were going to do a series of shows about the missions, and that’s exactly what we did.

  In retrospect, I don’t think he quite understood at first what a great undertaking the task of shooting all the missions on such a short schedule would be. There’s a heck of a lot of them, and California is a big state. Huell figured that we could shoot two to three a day, starting early for the first shoot, breaking down the gear and driving to the next one at about midday, where we’d set up, shoot, and break down, and then hustle to the next mission, where we’d repeat the process before dark. I thought it would be extremely challenging, just from the logistics end, without even taking into account the scouting and shooting of each mission. The show’s producers did a great job of providing materials, photos, and interviews, so we weren’t flying completely blind. But both the schedule and the hundreds of miles we had to cover made me uneasy.

  Our schedule of seven to eight shooting days was ambitious, but we committed ourselves to it. We added travel days and overnight stays for the far-flung missions and came up with a schedule we could hang our hats on. We didn’t shoot the missions one after the other, day after day: it actually took about three weeks to visit them all. In between we had other California’s Gold shoots to do, so we covered the missions here and there until we had all twenty-one in the can.

  Mission San Luis Rey de Francia.

  We began with the first and southernmost mission built in California, San Diego de Alcalá, just off the 8 Freeway in San Diego. That morning, Huell was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. Our host was a docent who cheerfully took us on a tour, dropping lots of facts on the equally cheerful Huell. We got good material and finished in a quick two to three hours. We were on schedule and we were happy, so we wrapped up and hit the road.

  At noon, we arrived at Mission San Luis Rey de Francia, thirty-nine miles from San Diego. Our guide, a brother who lived at the mission, took Huell on a walking tour of the grounds, and the two eventually found themselves in front of a huge tree. The brother told Huell that the tree, planted in 1830, was the first pepper tree planted in California and was, in fact, the mother of all California pepper trees.

  Huell was taken aback. He put his hand on the brother’s shoulder and said, somewhat apologetically, “Not that I’m doubting you, but how do you know it’s the oldest pepper tree in California?”

  The priest eyed Huell directly, a scolding look on his face, and said, “What a question.”

  That didn’t settle well with Huell, who was fixed on this quest for truth. He asked, “But how do you know this tree goes back to 1830?”

  The brother’s stern look dissolved and he broke out in laughter, pointing to the nearby lawn sign. He said, “Haven’t you read that sign over there?” Huell realized he’d gotten all the answers he was going to get about the tree, and the rest would have to be taken on faith.

  He laughed heartily with our guide, and off we went to Mission San Juan Capistrano, famed for th
e swallows that return year after year to nest in its eaves and crannies, although nowadays there are few swallows left. The mission is a very active church, and Huell spent most of the show talking with people and covering the events that the parish children put on just for him.

  We’d done it—we shot the first three missions in one day on schedule, and everything went well.

  The next time out, two of the three missions were pretty close to each other: Mission San Gabriel in the San Gabriel Valley and Mission San Fernando in, well, the San Fernando Valley. The third was Mission Buenaventura up the coast in Ventura, which meant a pretty good drive north on the 101.

  We were at Mission San Gabriel at eight in the morning. The church’s Moorish-style architecture is a copy of a church in Spain, and it’s impressive to see up close. The morning was gray and overcast, and the colors were muted so the shots came out flat. But Huell got to ring his first mission bell, which made his day.

  We got to Mission San Fernando by noon. It’s off a busy street, which throws off plenty of traffic noise that you hear in the show—I tried, but I just couldn’t get away from it. Governor Pico lived at the mission in its early, quieter days, and it has the distinction of being the largest adobe building in California. Huell went through it pretty fast, as we were anxious to get on the road for the long ride to Mission San Buenaventura, the last mission built by Junipero Serra.

  It was a highlight because of the excavation next door of the old foundation and Native American sites. Huell loved to get in on that kind of stuff. At the end of the day, we had six missions under our belt in just two shooting days. We were pleased and optimistic about the upcoming ones.

  The next shoot day started at Mission Santa Barbara, in the heights above the city. We arrived just after the sun came up, as the other two missions for the day were some distance away. A gregarious brother wearing a robe of the early era met us out front. The mission is called the Queen of the Missions, and indeed it is gorgeous. Huell loved it and insisted that I capture all of its beauty, so we took our time exploring and shooting it. This, of course, put us behind schedule. So we had to really hustle to the next location, Mission Santa Inés.

  Mission Santa Inés.

  As we pulled into the mission’s parking lot, we saw a plume of smoke shooting up from behind it. Huell got out and helped put out the small fire that was working its way through wood chips on the ground. I taped his good deed, but it put us even more behind schedule. Because we were so late, Huell decided that we’d only shoot outside, as the church was located in such a lovely setting. It was a shame that we didn’t have the time to shoot inside, and we both felt badly about it.

  We hurried off and arrived quite late at Mission La Purisima Concepción. Thankfully, our hosts were understanding and patient. The striking, architecturally significant mission is inside a state historical park, and costumed actors/docents reenact life during its prime. We shot inside first to make sure we’d have visuals this time, and Huell loved the pastoral setting so much that we spent the remainder of the day in a field full of farm animals. He asked me to shoot an actor dressed in a traditional Native American costume feeding carrots to a big ox. And when I say big ox, I mean a really big ox. It had been rubbing its head up and down on the actor’s body, trying, I suppose, to urge him to speed up the snacks. Suddenly, it lunged and almost crushed him. He wasn’t hurt, but it was intense to see an ox’s way of telling you it wants more carrots—now.

  Many more animals in the pasture were looking for handouts, including a rather large horse behind Huell. While he was interviewing people about their roles, he kept glancing over his shoulder at the horse. I could hear the concern in his voice—he was obviously worried that it was going to give him a dose of what the ox had given the actor. Mostly, though, Huell loved the animals, and even though we’d made sure to shoot inside the mission, the edited show was mostly about the animals. Check it out and you’ll see.

  Our fourth day of mission shoots took us up the coast to the missions San Luis Obispo, San Miguel, and San Antonio de Padua. The first was Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa, which we’d visited before for one of the first California’s Gold shows. Huell’s guide was an outgoing history professor from Cal Poly San Luis Obispo who regaled Huell with engaging stories. Although we shot inside the church, Huell edited the program so that only the outside was shown.

  Mission San Miguel.

  We then drove the thirty-six miles to Mission San Miguel, far off the beaten path halfway between Los Angeles and San Francisco. Built as a quadrangle in 1797, the old mission, one of only a few that are National Historic Landmarks, had not yet been restored. (It has since enjoyed a significant restoration that is nearing completion.) The docent told Huell that it looked as it did in 1820, a fact that captivated him. He was thrilled about its originality and in awe of its original structures and frescoes. He kept asking exuberantly, “This is the original color? The original paint?”

  The third mission on that shoot, San Antonio de Padua, is in an undeveloped, pastoral part of the Fort Hunter Ligett Military Reservation, so our producers had gotten us permission to shoot there. Huell got caught up in the wonder of it all, and how its isolation helps visitors get a sense of what early mission life would have been like. At times, like when he touched the old adobe walls, Huell’s joy and awe seemed to almost overwhelm him.

  Twelve missions down, nine to go.

  The next batch were Nuestra Señora de la Soledad and San Carlos Borromeo del río Carmelo, and we tacked that shoot day onto the same road trip that took us to the three previous Central California missions. Like San Miguel, Mission Soledad is isolated. The mission had to be completely reconstructed, as over a century and a half it had decayed; its roof tiles had been removed and rain and wind had eroded the structure into piles of adobe soil. There was a feeling of melancholy surrounding the place, and Huell was unusually quiet, not the high-energy guy he’d been the day before.

  Seventy-four miles later, we arrived at the mission known simply as Carmel Mission. We shot both the inside and outside, and I got some good shots of the great Moorish tower that reflects Spain’s Arabic history, as well as Father Serra’s burial site, which really affected Huell.

  We shot Mission San Juan Bautista on a different day, so we could spend more time there. This mission particularly fascinated Huell, and he had a lot of fun with it. The seemingly haphazard construction—a combination of old Spanish and nineteenth-century New England clapboard—doesn’t look like any of the other missions. Our guide explained that the original church had been damaged heavily in an earthquake along the nearby San Andreas fault and was rebuilt by New Englanders who had settled the area. They rebuilt the damaged parts in the style they were familiar with, and the result is a rather goofy hodgepodge. On the serious side, Huell toured the graveyard and experienced deep sorrow about the four thousand Native Americans who are buried there. He told viewers how it had helped him understand the devastating toll that the missions and colonization had taken on California’s native population.

  Next was Mission Santa Cruz, which Huell learned is nicknamed the Hard-Luck Mission. It was utterly destroyed in the epic 1857 Fort Tejon earthquake on the San Andreas fault, and the building that Huell and I surveyed was a replica of the original. Huell was clearly disappointed that there was nothing left of the original building to show his viewers. We discussed our options with our host; perhaps we could follow him as he led Huell through the grounds and the replica mission. Or, our guide said, maybe we could shoot the small adobe buildings nearby that had housed Native American neophytes, the new converts to Christianity.

  Not surprisingly, this piqued Huell’s interest. The little adobes had withstood the earthquake that had taken down the mission, and Huell found their history to be particularly meaningful. He decided to build most of the show around them, which is why there was so little about the mission itself in the final show.

  The shoot at Mission Santa Clara de Asís was very difficult fo
r Huell. Located on the campus of Santa Clara University, it has been ruined and rebuilt six times. He was terribly disappointed and struggled to find a way to make a show around a mission that had no present sense of history. But he’d pledged to shoot all the missions. And so, being the trouper that he was, he created a show on the fly, and I followed him around and shot it.

  Next was Mission San José, only seventeen miles away. Huell was energized again, because at least some of the original mission had survived. The original bells, for instance, were in the tower, remnants of the first tower, which had been destroyed (along with the rest of the mission) by an earthquake in 1868; the current mission is an exact replica of the original. It was here that Huell finally understood that rebuilding these relics of California’s history was a necessity, given the state’s succeptibility to damaging earthquakes. He was impressed with the pre-earthquake art that had survived, along with the hammered, copper baptismal font that had been used to baptize more than 6,500 Native Americans. Huell was liberal with his declarations of “Gee!” and “Oh, wow!” and he ended our visit by proclaiming, “This is the most amaaazing story of all the missions!” Now that was saying something.

  Three final missions—San Francisco de Asís, San Rafael Arcángel, and San Francisco Solana—marked the end of our mission-shooting journey, and we covered them all on the same day. That morning, Huell was as lighthearted as I had ever seen him. He was positively radiant! I was happy, too, and we laughed and chattered like little kids on the last day of school. This was going to be a fun day.

  When we arrived at Mission San Francisco de Asís, widely known as Mission Dolores, Huell set the mood and significance of the day by telling viewers that it was “the last day of our mission quest.” We began shooting the curiously small and skinny main mission building, which our guide said was the most original, intact, and narrowest of all the missions, as well as the oldest structure in San Francisco. Huell went on and on (as only he could) about how this mission was the best preserved one we’d seen. He loved everything he heard from our guide, and he was amazed that the narrow construction was the reason it had withstood even the violent 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake.