NETFLIX Our Great National Parks - Eps. 5 Mt. Leuser: Salt Lick

Each shoot offers unique challenges and rewards, and the salt lick shoot was no exception. This particular expedition lasted just a month, much shorter than the tiger shoot I had completed earlier. Located deep in the forest, the salt lick area was a natural gathering spot for wildlife, where animals come to consume salts found in the soil. The lack of minerals in the surrounding earth meant this spot was a vital source of nutrients for many species. To get there, we set out on a two-day journey from the nearest village, passing through secondary forest. The track, though hilly, wasn’t too difficult, and the remnants of logging activities were still visible in the man-made rivers used to transport timber decades ago.

When we finally arrived at the main camp, built by a clear river surrounded by dense trees, the sense of isolation was unmistakeable. From there, it was another hour’s walk to the salt lick itself, where the previous team had already placed trail cameras on a scouting trip. These cameras had captured some fascinating footage—orangutans, elephants, and deer, all visiting the salt lick. Knowing that the location was ideal, I started setting up my hide.

The trees and vegetation around the Salt Lick.

The salt lick was like a bald patch in the forest, surrounded by thick tree canopy but strangely open in the middle. The salt lick itself was an incredibly pristine area. One of the main reasons for this was its remote location, deep in the jungle, far from the nearest village. While some villagers rely on the forest for their livelihoods, harvesting its resources, this particular spot was relatively untouched due to its distance. Additionally, a civil war had ravaged the area for over a decade until 2004, making the forest inaccessible and, therefore, largely avoided by people. This had helped preserve the salt lick’s natural state, allowing wildlife to thrive undisturbed.

For this shoot, I decided to set up two hides: one on the ground and another in the canopy, 35 meters above. The ground hide was similar to the one I had used for the tiger shoot—an A-frame tent where I could sleep and a small dome for filming. But the canopy hide, a wooden platform with a tree tent, had been built almost a year earlier by the Assistant Producer, Ed Anderson, to give wildlife time to adjust to it. It was a remarkable piece of rigging, securely perched high on the trunk of a massive tree, providing a unique vantage point.

Filming on the ground had its challenges, particularly the heavy rains that drenched the forest. One night, the rain pooled on my tent’s roof, and as I pushed it away, I accidentally let some of the water spill inside. Nearly everything was soaked, but thankfully, I had kept my camera equipment wrapped in waterproof bags. Despite the weather, I managed to capture footage of Thomas leaf monkeys, monitor lizards, and some general shots of the forest. At one point, I heard the territorial roar of a tiger, which echoed through the forest for almost two hours. The forest, usually teeming with life, fell silent as the tiger asserted its dominance, though it never came into view.

A picture of me descending using a rope access system.

Once I had enough footage from the ground, it was time to move up to the tree canopy hide. Climbing 35 meters into the treetops was thrilling, even though I was new to tree climbing. With the help of professional riggers, Arwind and Ano, I settled into the tree tent. Filming from the canopy was unlike anything I had experienced before. The light was much better up there, unimpeded by the forest canopy, and I had an uninterrupted view of the salt lick. From this vantage point, I filmed hornbills, more Thomas leaf monkeys, and some fantastic shots of the mineral-rich bubbles emerging from the ground.

Living up in the tree came with its own set of peculiar challenges. Using the bathroom was a memorable one—after some laughter from the riggers, I was told to simply cling to the rope and “give it a go.” It was awkward at first, but soon became part of the routine. The constant need to wear a full-body harness, even while sleeping, was another adjustment, but it was a small price to pay for the incredible view and the opportunity to film from such a unique angle.

Sony FE 24-70 GM on a Sony FX6, mounted on a Sachtler Cine 30 HD and a 150 hi-hat.

My gear setup for this shoot was crucial to capturing the wildlife footage I needed. I used the Sony FX6 paired with a Canon CN20 50-1000 lens for long-range shots, giving me incredible reach and clarity. For wider shots, particularly for general views (GVs), I switched to an FE 24-70 GM lens.

Instead of using standard tripod legs, I opted for a 150mm hi-hat with a Sachtler Cine 30HD. The reason for choosing the hi-hat was that I wanted to get as low as possible when filming from the ground hide, allowing me to capture intimate, close-to-ground shots without the bulk of a taller setup. In the tree hide, space was even more limited, and bringing standard tripod legs would have been impractical. The hi-hat offered a compact solution, perfect for the confined space while still ensuring stability and versatility.

Though the footage we captured didn’t end up as a standalone sequence, it was used to enhance other scenes, like the shots of the Thomas leaf monkeys and for opening and closing sequences. In the end, it didn’t matter. This shoot wasn’t just about the final product—it was about the experience of being in the wild, adapting to the environment, and capturing nature from angles I had never tried before. The salt lick shoot was a reminder of why I love what I do, offering new challenges and perspectives that continue to shape the way I see the natural world.

NETFLIX Our Great National Parks - Eps. 5 Mt. Leuser: Sumatran Tiger

This was the longest shoot I’ve ever done in a single stretch—10 weeks straight, up in the mountain. The journey to our filming location alone was a challenge. It took us 10 days of trekking from the nearest village to reach it. The route was relentless, taking us up and down steep hills, across wide rivers, under tangled roots, and over precariously thin branches that hung above creeks.

Marching alongside me were 35 porters, each carrying at least 30 kilograms of equipment. After those ten exhausting days, we finally arrived at the location. We decided to establish two camps: one for filming, which we called the filming camp, and another, about an hour’s walk uphill, as the supporting camp for the rest of the crew. The choice of location wasn’t random; it was based on a previous trip where we deployed dozens of camera traps to identify tiger hotspots.

At the filming camp, I set up a small, 1.5-meter square dome tent designed specifically for filming. It had four zippered windows for the camera lens and one door at the back. Behind this tent, I pitched my sleeping quarters, a tiny A-shaped tarp tent, just big enough for one person with a small space under my feet to store food and supplies. Everything was camouflage-coloured to blend into the surroundings. I scattered grass and shrubs around my tent for added concealment.

A picture of my filming tent taken by the trail camera I set up next to it.

An A-shaped tarp tent for me to sleep in, including everything I need to stay for 10 weeks.

I had a very simple living setup yet functional. A folding cot to sleep on, lightweight cooking equipment, a folding table, and a duck-down sleeping bag to keep warm. The elevation of our camp was around 3,200 meters above sea level, where everything was wet and freezing. Even during the day, the temperature barely reached 15 degrees Celsius, and at night, it would drop to 3 degrees or lower. I had to wear layers at all times to stay warm. Some mornings, I’d wake up to find everything frozen, including a thin layer of ice on the windows of my tent, which I had to scrape off just to get out.

My daily routine was monotonous but focused. I’d wake up at 5 a.m., prepare a simple meal and coffee, then settle into the camera tent. I’d spend the next 13 hours or so sitting there, camera ready, waiting for a tiger to appear. By 6 p.m., as the last light faded, I’d wrap up, prepare supper, and get some rest. Meals were nothing fancy—just porridge and dried mixed fruits, the same for breakfast and supper.

In addition to the main camera (RED DSMC2 Gemini, Canon 50-1000mm CN20 on Sachtler Cine30HD) , I had a few camera traps nearby that I checked weekly to monitor the area. These provided crucial insights into the activity around the camp. The supporting crew, stationed at the camp on the other side of the hill, would come by every three or four days to deliver fresh batteries and supplies. Communication between us was minimal, relying on radio and satellite phone only when necessary.

A zipper window that I used to point my camera out of while filming. Canon CN20 50-1000mm on RED DSMC2 Gemini.

A camera trap setup that I used to film the tiger, strapped to a tree trunk and facing a potential animal track. Inside is a Sony A7S II with a Nikkor lens. There's also a small trail camera below it as a safety backup.

The first week was one of adjustment. My filming hide was situated near a hiking trail that led to Mount Leuser, but due to pandemic restrictions, the track had been closed for nearly a year by the time I arrived. The area was eerily deserted, which only added to the sense of isolation. During that time, I made several trips back and forth to the support camp, ensuring everything was in order. I also spent time setting up basic amenities, such as finding a suitable spot for a toilet and working out how to shower using a 25-litre water bag filled from a nearby pond. Despite the solitude, I felt a mix of calmness and nervousness, especially knowing I was completely alone in the jungle.

By the second week, I was in total isolation, with no sign of other people. The reality of my situation began to sink in. I found myself on edge, constantly looking over my shoulder whenever I left the tent to relieve myself or check the camera traps. Even the rustling of leaves or the sound of a branch snapping would send my heart racing. To cope with the overwhelming sense of solitude, I began to personalise my surroundings, giving names to the stones, trees, and bushes around my tent—naming them after friends to create a sense of familiarity. Surprisingly, this helped ease my anxiety, and I began to feel more at peace with my environment.

During the day, while waiting in the hide, I occupied myself by reading a book I had downloaded before the trip. This helped stave off boredom, but I always kept my ears open, as I could often hear animals approaching before I saw them. For the first four weeks, I managed well enough until I encountered a group of illegal hikers who stumbled upon my filming area. They even took selfies in front of my tent, completely unaware that I was inside. At first, it was amusing, but as their visits became more frequent, it started to irritate me. I reported the issue to a national park ranger, but given the vastness of Leuser, it was nearly impossible to stop them. The constant human disturbance was not only annoying but also potentially driving away the tigers I was there to film.

A mesmerising sunset view from the hill where I set up my filming tent.

What it looks like from inside my filming tent.

As if the hikers weren’t enough, a severe thunderstorm hit, lasting seven days without respite. The storm made it impossible to charge my devices, including my satellite phone, and the strong winds nearly collapsed my tent. I spent one particularly harrowing night holding the tent up, protecting my camera equipment, and hoping it wouldn’t all come crashing down. When the storm finally subsided, I found my filming tent had tipped over, and the camouflage we had carefully constructed was scattered everywhere. The ground had turned swampy, and the cold was biting. With the help of the support crew, who arrived after a treacherous hour-long trek, we spent an entire day rebuilding the tent and restoring the camouflage.

During the storm, I received a satellite phone message from the basecamp in the village, which was about a week’s walk away. They informed me that a team was being sent to deliver much-needed food supplies, as I had been in the jungle for a month and was running low. I let them know about the severe storm that was still raging in the mountains, and it delayed their arrival by two days.

Despite the setback, the team eventually reached the supporting camp location safely. After dropping off the supplies, they stayed overnight at the supporting camp before beginning their five-day journey back to the village. Having those fresh provisions felt like a lifeline, especially given the relentless conditions I’d been facing.

Packs of mixed nuts and dried fruit.

A few days after the storm had passed, I resumed my vigil in the hide. I sat with my camera ready, staring out of the filming window for hours in the drizzle and mist. My attention was caught by movement to the left, where I had a small window that allowed me to peek outside and view one of my camera traps positioned near the bushes. Initially, it was too obscured to make out, but as the movement became clearer, I discerned a black and yellow pattern emerging. My heart raced—there it was: the tiger!

I was both thrilled and paralysed with excitement, unsure of how to react. The tiger lingered behind the trap for a few seconds before vanishing into the bushes. I hoped desperately that the camera trap had captured something. Once the drizzle had lessened, I cautiously approached the trap, moving slowly and staying alert.

To my dismay, when I reviewed the footage, it showed nothing but a clip of rain and dense vegetation. The tiger had triggered the trap, but it had merely sat behind it for a moment, relieved itself, and then disappeared. It was incredibly frustrating to come so close yet end up with no footage of the tiger.

After five weeks in the jungle, I still hadn’t seen a tiger. The only evidence of their presence was from the camera traps that we got from the first trip, which captured images of a tiger roaming near my tent. Encouraged by this, I decided to stay longer, hoping for a sighting through my filming window. However, the weeks dragged on with no success. The constant disturbances from illegal hikers and the aftermath of the storm made me question whether the tigers had been driven away from the area.

As we approached the seventh week, the team and I decided to move to a new location, hoping for better luck. The move was challenging, taking almost a week to complete, and I soon discovered that the support crew had left me alone on the mountain without notice. Apparently, some internal drama had caused them to walk out. I was now truly on my own, waiting for the replacement crew to arrive.

The new location, though slightly lower in altitude, offered a more open filming window and was free from the disturbances that plagued the previous site. The landscape resembled a mountain savannah, with low greenery and plenty of animal tracks. I set up my tent on a hill with a clear view of my surroundings, hoping this would be the place where I would finally capture footage of the tiger. Despite the promising environment and fewer disturbances, the tiger remained elusive. The pressure was intense, knowing I only had two weeks left to get the footage we needed. Every morning, I convinced myself that today would be the day, but the rain and constant drizzle made it difficult to stay optimistic.

Determined to improve my chances, I worked hard on being completely silent. I even practised zipping my tent as quietly as possible. Despite these efforts, the tiger remained out of sight. As my filming period came to an end, there were no new tiger tracks around, and my trail cameras showed no signs of the animal either. The quietness was palpable and somewhat disheartening.

In the end, we wrapped up without capturing any footage of the tiger. It was disappointing, especially after such a long and challenging expedition. But I understood that finding a tiger in such a vast and wild place was always going to be a matter of luck. The producer reassured me over the phone, emphasising that the safety of the crew was more important than getting the shot. Despite the outcome, I was proud of what we had accomplished. The experience was invaluable, teaching me about resilience, the unpredictability of nature, and the importance of being prepared for anything.

Ten weeks is a significant stretch of time to spend in such a remote and isolated location. When I finally emerged from the jungle, I was floored to discover how much had happened while I was cut off. I hadn’t even realised that COVID vaccines had been rolled out, let alone that my mum had already had her two doses. It felt like a whole world had moved on without me.

And let’s not even get started on the food situation. After ten weeks of nothing but mixed nuts and oatmeal, I was about ready to trade anything for a decent meal. It felt like I was on the verge of seeing chicken become an endangered species in my diet.

A few months later, I was sent to a different location where I finally managed to capture footage of a tiger, albeit only three minutes’ worth. It wasn’t a zero-sum game after all. Reflecting on the entire experience, I’m grateful for the opportunity to be part of such an extraordinary expedition. It was a privilege to attempt to film the Sumatran tiger, and though it took more than just luck, it’s a journey I wouldn’t trade for anything.

NETFLIX Our Great National Parks - Eps.5 Mt. Leuser: Sumatran Orangutan

I’d say the Orangutan shoot was the most challenging of all. Just to reach the location, we had to take a two-hour boat ride after nearly two days of driving from the main base camp the day before.

Waking up at 3 am and returning at 5 pm became our daily routine. We aimed to follow the Orangutans from nest to nest to capture their natural behavior. The area we worked in was a swamp, which added to the difficulty. There was a single slippery wooden plank to walk on from the camp to the forest, but most of the time, we had to go off the track where the plank ended—leaving us with nothing but water.

The only way to transport the kit to the camp was by crossing the river in a small boat.

A wooden plank stretched across the middle of the research transect, with only enough space for one foot in front of the other.

I fell into holes countless times, barely seeing them as they were covered with water and thick layers of leaves. Wearing rubber boots seemed almost pointless since we often had to wade through swamp water that could be as deep as my knees.

In this environment, a hammock was essential—without it, we had nothing to sit on. Whether resting after running around to find a good angle to film the orangutans or taking a lunch break, we did everything in the hammock. We avoided sitting on the swampy ground, especially if there were cemengang trees nearby. This fruit, a favorite of the orangutans, has tiny hairs that can cause severe itching and even infection if they touch your skin. Sometimes, we’d see the fruits drop into the swamp, their hairs drifting in the water—once those hairs made contact with our skin, the itching and rash were unbearable.

Despite the hardships, we had a very successful shoot after weeks of hard work in the swamp. Although I wasn’t there to film the entire sequence, I had the opportunity to capture some shots and the pickup shots of GVs.

The setup I had to carry all through the jungle while filming orangutans. RED DSMC2 Gemini, Canon CN20 50-1000mm, Sachtler Cine 30HD

NETFLIX Our Great National Parks - Eps.5 Mt. Leuser: Sumatran Slow Lorris

I'd say I'm incredibly lucky to have landed this gig, especially since it's my first in the wildlife film industry. I started out as a camera assistant, working alongside the legendary Indonesian camera operator Alain Compost. This all happened thanks to a call from one of my best friends, Kelvin Morris, who was working for ASA Film as a camera assistant/fixer on location back then.

The team during the first phase, December 2020: me in a yellow coat, alongside the porters and Loris trackers on the last day of filming.

We conducted the shoot in two phases with almost 7 weeks in total. It was because we wanted to capture the unique behaviour of the Sumatran Slow Loris during their breeding season. Although the contract said that they brought me on board as an assistant camera, it was only last for a week. The Producer/Director decided to put me as a main camera for some reason after given me a chance to film for the rushes.

The first phase took place in early December 2020 and lasted about three weeks. And it was quite mental because I had never filmed a Loris before. So I had to observe their behaviour, which took me about a week to understand. It was during the rainy season, and the area we worked in was mostly on a muddy slope, which made everything much more difficult. Moreover, since the Loris is a nocturnal animal, we had to adjust our circadian rhythms accordingly. We went out to film at 5 PM, stayed out all night, and then went to bed around 6 AM every day. We essentially became the Loris ourselves.

We returned in April 2021 for the second phase of filming. This phase felt easier and more relaxed because we started the shoot with clarity about our priorities: getting the shots, capturing specific behaviours, and improving our approach. We had earlier discussions with the teams which helped set this direction. Despite encountering a few days of rain, the weather eased towards the end of the shoot. We also had a couple of rest days due to Eid Al Fitri, though this coincided with the peak of the Covid-19 pandemic in Indonesia. Road blockades were in place nationwide as the government sought to minimise mobility and reduce cases. This prevented our teams from returning home to celebrate Eid, so we opted for a mini celebration by cooking Eid meals at our base camp and continued filming.

Canon CN20 50-1000 on a Sony FX6 against a beautiful dawn sky.

Mariadi (who's holding the light) and Farid (in the blue shirt holding the ladders) were trying to set the light as high as possible to mimic the moonlight.

Talking about the kit, I mainly used the Sony FX6 for this sequence because its low-light capabilities are just incredible. I also had a RED Gemini as my second camera. To get the perfect shots while keeping a safe distance from the lorises, I paired it with a Canon CN20 lens (50mm-1000mm).

The biggest challenge was the lighting. This sequence tells the story of lorises living near a village, so we had to replicate the light reflections from the moon and nearby houses. Using direct spotlights wouldn’t work—they’d look fake and could disturb the lorises, which have super sensitive vision. That would ruin any chance of capturing their natural behaviour, which was essential for the story.

I teamed up with two others to set up the lighting equipment. We had two small Godox lights and a 5-meter-tall light stand, powered by a bunch of V-lock batteries. To replicate the moonlight, we had to position the lights high up and tilt them down towards the trees. The uneven ground meant we often had to hold the light stand ourselves to get the right angle. We also had to keep our voices low to avoid spooking the lorises. It was a constant process of adjusting because the lorises sometimes came from unexpected directions. We also had to make sure everything was waterproof in case of sudden drizzles. Working at night was challenging since the lights attracted swarms of insects. Despite all these challenges, we made it work, thanks to our amazing team.

Reflecting on this journey, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for the incredible experiences and personal growth it brought. From the initial chaos of filming in unfamiliar, challenging conditions to the eventual smooth operation of our second phase, each moment was a profound lesson in patience, adaptation, and teamwork. Working with such a dedicated team made it possible to capture the captivating behaviors of the Sumatran Slow Loris, despite the myriad obstacles we faced. I'm glad that some of the shots from this sequence that I took made it into the trailer.