Sometimes we tread out into the ocean water safe in knowing that we can dig out feet into the

sand and it will anchor us. Other times, we move forward and feel the floor disappearing into the sea and discover that we are in way in over our heads.

That is how I felt during my first conversation about filmmaking. The desire to make a documentary started way, way back in my head I’d say about ten years ago. I am not a “techie” nor a “techno-phobe". I’ll plunge in, try things. It’s just those warning flashes, beeping sounds and foreboding terms like “abort code” that give me the sensation I have just connected a lit match to a stick of dynamite and in that moment, I am capable of knocking the entire planet off its pins.

Given such angst, why on earth would someone like me ever want to make a documentary? I have pondered this question, fully analyzed my reasons and the conclusion is this: I don’t know. I just do.

I listen to the techno wizards around me and feel like I am trying to swim with robots. “Let’s catalogue the combined equipment we have,” Ryan says to the crew one day at lunch. They nod in agreement. “Uh-oh”, I say to myself, “What equipment? I have no equipment. Was I supposed to have equipment?” I wear the look of someone who has just gulped down a cup of fire.

“I have a Sony High Def 1080i HDR-FX1,” one robot announces. The curious one beside him asks, “How is the low light on that?” I am sooooo busted. Round and round the table it goes until the spinner lands on me. “Well!” I begin, then reach for a drink of water, clear my throat, take yet another sip, “I have a camera phone if any one would like to see it.”

Nobody wanted to see it.