The Shot

by Gary Ramage

  Just in case you need further proof that the photojournalist life is not necessarily glamorous, even as I was embarking on this epic journalistic road trip I was taking calls from Ali, in the UK; she was telling me off for forgetting to have the cats fed while I was away. I’d also torn down the back fence and left to do the assignment before I could erect a new one. So I was on the road, taking flak from the wife and not exactly feeling like an international glamour-puss photojournalist.

  The ‘Ice Nation’ project became a monster because we decided to really get to the bottom of what this thing was about and do a thorough job, which meant interviewing all the people affected by the drug. We went from the criminal side of it to the user side, and of course to the families, the healthcare professionals and the police. In one of the most powerful series of images I’ve ever taken, we found an addicted Aboriginal boy in the Royal Perth Hospital emergency department, handcuffed to a gurney with a team of large security guards having to hold him down. The drug gave this small, skinny kid superhuman strength, and they were all wearing splatter masks because the kid was HIV positive and he was known to be a spitter when he was on ice.

  The entire policing and healthcare system is changing to adapt to ice addicts. The Royal Perth Hospital now has a ‘code grey’ alert which calls the security guards and expert nurses and orderlies to an ice admission. The ice users are usually in a psychotic state and have to be handled in a way that is pushing many good people out of the hospital system. The police have also had to develop protocols for apprehending ice users: they don’t just spit – they bite and scratch, and with diseases like hepatitis and HIV always a concern, police put themselves in danger dealing with it. Doing a long-form piece, with a photo-essay component, was a first for me, and I really liked it. It gave us the chance to tell a bigger, more complex picture story.

  When you’re on the road, with one story to do, you have to find a way to make the two talents work together. So Paul would get someone talking about their child being addicted, and I’d do my stills shoot.

  The journo has to get the talent to open up and then the photographer has to capture it, sometimes on two formats.

  I don’t just run a video camera in the corner while I take my stills; I have the camera mounted on a tripod, frame the shot, adjust my lights and run broadcast audio through radio microphones. This all takes time to set up.

  PHOTO BY GARY RAMAGE; COURTESY NEWSPIX

  I asked if we could go over it again for the video camera.

  If I’m shooting for an online production, I don’t put my name to crap. So when the stills shoot was done and Paul had completed this extraordinary interview with a mother who was at the end of her tether, I asked if we could go over it again for the video camera.

  I have the utmost respect for Paul as a serious journalist and I enjoy working with the bugger!

  28

  Three Days in the Hide

  I’m seeing the prison so close that I can peer into the enclosed exercise yard and pick out the faces of the inmates. I’m dressed in a sniper’s ghilli suit and hidden under a sniper’s cammo netting, so the dog-walkers in the nature reserve don’t bust me.

  The gig started when I was at my desk in the Press Gallery one morning. The Network managers wanted me in Sydney for a confidential chat. I got up there and they told me they wanted to commemorate twenty years of Martin Bryant being behind bars at Tasmania’s Risdon Prison. Martin Bryant murdered thirty-five people and injured twenty-three when he went on a shooting rampage at the Port Arthur tourist attraction in 1996. They wanted something special, on the twenty-year anniversary. They wanted Sarah Blake for the writer but they wanted Ramage to get an image of Bryant, now forty-eight.

  When you do these special jobs you have to start with what’s wanted, overlay it with what’s possible and then explore all options to get what’s wanted without anyone losing an eye. It’s not for everyone, but I find this work exciting and interesting, which is probably why they continue to tap me for it. The initial design of the operation had to account for the obvious: Bryant was not only in prison, but the Tasmanian government had a policy to not mention him or comment on the murderer – the worst in Australia’s history. In the first instance there wasn’t going to be a helping hand from the government.

  Secondly, Bryant was in the maximum security section of Risdon Prison. The Network team provided me with a location as seen on Google maps and we decided on a location based on the topography opposite the prison as the best advantage point. I searched every image I could of Risdon. I also spoke with Sarah because she was down in Tasmania and she had an idea of the lay of the land and we had to know exactly where Bryant was to get the picture. Without Sarah’s hard work prior to my arrival this picture would not have happened, because where he was in the prison would dictate where he could exercise; and his exercise spot would dictate where I would be able to shoot from and the quality of the shot.

  In early September, Sarah worked out where Bryant was in the Risdon system. Risdon is made up different sections, dealing to varying prisoner-types. Bryant was in the maximum security section. I flew down to Tasmania and we found a bushy knoll almost one kilometre from the side of Risdon that housed a semi-outdoor exercise yard, that joined with the Tamar pod – Bryant’s pod. It would give me a line of sight – across heavy bushland – into that exercise yard.

  The shot would have to be taken through an outer chain- link fence, through the inner chain-link fence that delineates maximum security, and then there were thick bars enclosing the exercise yard. My biggest concern was the yard itself: yes, it was technically outdoor but the inmates milled around in an enclosed area that was dim in comparison to the real outdoors. To make the shot, I’d have to have a head-and-shoulders of Bryant. And it would have to be taken from around 900 metres. I would need a really special piece of glass to make it work. And given the angle, I’d need to shoot in the late afternoon so the sun was pushing as much light as possible into the exercise yard. The Sun Seeker app on my iPhone showed me where the sun would be through the afternoon, and which angle at every minute of the day, superimposed on an aerial shot of Risdon, my position and my line of sight.

  I worked it out and came to a conclusion. I rang my manager in Sydney, Steve Moorhouse, and said I needed a 1200mm lens to make this shot. A 1200mm is a Black Swan lens; you hear mention of it, but no one ever sees or touches one. There are ten known 1200mm lenses in the world, and only one in the Southern Hemisphere. I knew News Corp had access to it, via its long commercial relationship with Canon. But that lens is worth $150,000 and Steve had to make sure the insurance was covered.

  So I did my sums and came up with a converter kit for the lens, and we went down to Hobart.

  You don’t get one of these things immediately. In Sydney there were negotiations with Canon, discussions with insurance brokers, and undertakings given by News to Canon. The first one was that the 1200 lens would be accompanied, and the second one was that it wouldn’t travel on a plane as freight. So Steve Moorhouse traveled to Canon, picked up the 1200, and went down to Qantas where they had to put a team of engineers on the case. The Canon 1200 travels in a special padded box which looks like a filing cabinet and the lens alone – without the case – weighs 25kg. Steve had a seat on the flight to Hobart, and the 1200mm lens was rigged into the seat beside him, hence the engineers and their strapping that complied with air safety and with Canon’s demands.

  I met Steve at the airport because this lens really needs two people to manhandle it.

  The next morning, we had to first park in the car park of what is a nature reserve and walking track. The park closes at 4.30 pm and the maximum security prisoners exercise between 1 and 4 pm. We got out of the car and as I was hauling all this gear out, the first person we interact with just walks up, points at my tripod case, and says, ‘I hope that’s not a gun.’ I told him I was a bird watcher and I was looking for the rare Tasmanian yellow-throated honey eater. I am just lucky there is such a bir
d.

  So we decided to lay low for a day or two. A few days later, Steve and I hauled all of this stuff back to my secret spot. Getting the right spot is crucial: if you have to spend a few days waiting for the shot, it needs to be secure and comfortable. I walked along looking for what I thought would be a good position to shoot from. I put on my ghilli suit as worn by Australian Army snipers. I draped woodland cam netting across the camera and the lens. Once I was in place, I was hard to spot. I was disguised in the same way as a sniper would be in the field.

  We got the tripod into place and fully adjusted the legs so it could be used on sloping and uneven ground. The tiniest vibration or movement would wreck a shot made on a 1200 lens so I took my time adjusting the legs and getting it absolutely level. When I attached the Canon camera to the lens, I used a 1.4x converter attached to a 2x converter to almost treble the focal length of the lens. This reduced the amount of light in the frame so I had to make adjustments to the ISO, shutter speed and aperture. I’d also need to shoot, from that angle, in the late afternoon so the sun was pushing as much light possible into the exercise yard. The Sunseeker app on my iPhone showed me where the sun would be through the afternoon, and which angle at every minute of the day, superimposed on an aerial shot of Risdon, my position and my line of sight. So I found the ground-to-ceiling grill that gave access to the exercise yard and focused on it. With the converters giving me as much performance as possible, I was still going to capture Bryant in a way that would make him about one-eighth of the frame.

  We got more intel on which exercise yard Bryant was in. Turns out he was in a maximum security unit that houses the inmates who are a danger to the staff, to other inmates and to the good order of the prison. That would be Bryant, who Sarah discovered had attacked prison staff, broken someone’s jaw and attacked nurses. We looked at the aerials of Risdon and I knew the yard Bryant was in. I’d scoped it with my lens. It was another 200 metres away from where I’d initially shot. But now I knew where I was shooting.

  With all of the converters on the camera, the distance to the subject and movement on the tripod this all added up to being a very difficult shot to make. That’s why it was crucial for me to plan the sun’s angle, so we had as much available light into that darkened enclosure as possible. The Sun Seeker app said 3.20 pm was my optimum time.

  When I sat down behind the camera to begin, I realised the merest touch of the camera body was enough to adjust where the lens was pointing. That’s how I would follow Bryant as he walked behind the bars of his cage. One millimetre of movement at my end behind the camera resulted in a few feet of movement at the other end of the lens where Bryant would hopefully be.

  I sat in my hide for three days while the park was open to the public, on each day having a window of maybe ten to twelve minutes before the light in that enclosure was no good. I sat and waited and on the third day, at 3.22 pm, a balding behemoth dressed in prison greens wandered to where the bars separate inmates from the outside world, and I started shooting. I’d seen him through my lens in the preceding two days, and I’d decided that must be him. Sarah had briefed me on the state of the guy; her story would reveal that Bryant’s weight was spiking to 160 kg, and his famous blond curls were gone, replaced by a chrome-dome. So I knew I was looking for fat and bald, and I’d tracked him from afar, but always seeing him deep inside the enclosure where there wasn’t enough light to get the shot – certainly not enough for a front page pic.

  PHOTO: BY GARY RAMAGE; COURTESY NEWSPIX

  Almost as soon as Bryant appeared, he was gone again. But I had my shots.

  Almost as soon as Bryant appeared, he was gone again and then the light faded and my moment was gone. But I had my shots.

  The story ran big and Sarah’s story was a cracker. It was a great piece of journalistic work considering the Tasmanian government had a ban on government employees and contractors discussing Martin Bryant.

  From my perspective, I’d finally had a go on a 1200mm lens, a bit of gear so rare that most people’s standard reply is, ‘no such thing exists.’

  In October I received a raucous phone call from my mate Craig Greenhill in Sydney, screaming down the line that I had won the Walkley. I had no idea what he was talking about at the time. I’d forgotten that the finalists of the most prestigious media awards were announced that night in Sydney. Craig was now yelling, ‘Fuck me, you have just been nominated for two more Walkley awards as well.’

  Adam Taylor, a photographer and another Telegraph mate, then rang and said it was confirmed, I had won the Hero Image of 2015 with my ‘Ice Nation’ picture and had also been nominated as a finalist in the Feature category and for Photographer of the Year. My phone started ringing off the hook. I was a finalist for three Walkley awards!

  In November Ali and I travelled to Melbourne for the awards gala dinner ceremony. Just as we got to the top of the escalator the sole of my old Army high-shine boot caught in the moving bits and was 99 per cent ripped from the upper. I couldn’t believe it. It was 6.50 pm and only ten minutes before the ceremony started. I went into Ramage mode, and ran down the stairs of the Crown Casino to a shoe shop. I asked the young guy for a pair of black shoes. He said they would cost $559. I declined and asked for the location of another shoe shop. There was one about a kilometre away, he said. I bolted there, running through the casino in my tux with the sole flapping as I ran. I got to the shop, sat down and bought the first pair of shoes I tried on. Running back to the dinner, I was seated by 7.02 pm. A pretty good effort, if you ask me.

  I was presented with two out of three awards: the Nikon- Walkley Press Photographer of the Year and the Photograph of the Year. It was a great moment.

  EPILOGUE

  I have a little voice at the back of my photographer’s head, and from time to time the voice reminds me, Sins of the photographer.

  The role of the press photographer is a privileged one: your access can be immense, your power in many cases is limitless and the insights you enjoy are ones the average person is not exposed to. So with this privilege comes responsibility, but how to exercise that? Do you impose your own morality? Your own aesthetic? Do you have a hard-and-fast set of rules?

  I’m not the first photographer to ponder this, because when we shoot for media outlets, we don’t do it for ourselves. We’re professionals, we work for employers and, mostly, we work for the readers. The job is to record what happened – to tell the story to people who weren’t there. So we’re constantly pushing beyond our own bounds of taste and ethics just to do our jobs. Very few people can pursue a family from the airport terminal to their car, shooting pictures of them in their faces. It’s not a pleasant job. Yet millions of people will look at those shots on the front page of the newspapers, because they’re following the trials of Schapelle Corby and they’re interested in the fact her father has flown in to Denpasar. It’s easy to call me a vulture, but you’ll consume my pictures and not think about the abuse I had to endure to get those shots.

  It doesn’t concern me too much. It’s my job.

  But I do have a limit and I do exercise it. On that Dust- Off helicopter in Afghanistan, I did my utmost to ensure that the American soldier shot in the lung did not appear in my photographs in ways that could identify him. He was basically deceased – his body instinctively trying to go on – but I didn’t think it right that he lose his dignity as well by having his naked self published in newspapers. In the end my main rule is the dignity one. Let me illustrate: during the 2007 federal election campaign, we followed Kevin Rudd to a primary school in Queensland where a bunch of awards was being presented for high achievers. It was a warm day and one of the girls fainted. She fell right in front of Rudd, and unfortunately, she fell so her skirt was up around her armpits. I refused to shoot the picture as I saw there was no story to it. I put down my camera, and told the other two photographers to do the same. The government photographer started to argue with me so I put him in his place. Why he thought the government needed a photo of a young
girl in distress was beyond me.

  I felt the same way about Peter Slipper in that bar in Canberra and I felt the same way about Lance Corporal Shannon McAliney in Somalia. The actors in the drama provide us with the pictures and the story, and we put them on the front page and feel closer to the story. But once they’ve given us most of themselves, everyone retains something that no one else owns: their dignity.

  I’ve gone over that line on occasions and kicked myself for it. I’ve also taken myself way too deep into a subject, a long way beyond the bounds of objective observer. That awful day in the Role 3 hospital in Kandahar and the morning on the Dust-Off helicopter stand out as times when I was too deep in the subject and I had the opportunity to stand back, but didn’t. I’ve paid a price for this instinct, and as I get older it’s a price I hope will not sabotage my marriage or my significant friendships.

  In the end, we’re telling stories. We can enlighten, educate, titillate, entertain and outrage. But if we don’t tell a story, no one looks at the picture or reads the words. We use all of our skills, talent, access and experience to make you stop and look. And if I do my job right, you’ll get the flavour of where I’ve been, and what I’ve seen, but endure none of the turmoil I endured to make that picture.

  As all photographers know, with the power comes the responsibility … and if you can’t get that right, at least file a picture that runs on the front page.