Leave your camera at home!
ROSIE BROWN DISCUSSES WHY SOMETIMES IT IS BEST TO LEAVE YOUR CAMERA GEAR AT HOME WHEN OUT EXPLORING YOUR LOCAL LANDSCAPE.
Porthtowan. Image: Saskia Sichermann
For many nature and wildlife photographers, the thought of going outside without a camera strapped round your neck is somewhat alien. Why risk missing the perfect shot simply from not wanting to take your camera? Personally, I find there is a lot to be gained from going out without one.
A number of years ago, my camera would accompany me on nearly all of my outings. It was glued to me. I was constantly looking through the eyepiece and envisaging images in my mind. This still holds true to an extent, but a few years ago I watched the ‘The Secret Life of Walter Mitty’ (2013).
There is a scene towards the end where Walter (I won’t spoil too much) speaks to the photographer, Sean O’Connell. A snow leopard steps out from behind a rock and Sean, surprisingly, doesn’t press the shutter. Walter asks, ‘When are you going to take it?’ To which, Sean replies, ‘Sometimes I don’t. If I like a moment….I don’t like to have the distraction of the camera.’ This little quote niggled itself beneath my skin and often came to mind when I was out with my camera.
Without realising it, I began to spend less time looking through the viewfinder. My camera began to spend more time nestled in my bag, very rarely to be taken out. After a while, for a few of my walks, I began to leave it at home completely. Now it has become a habit of mine – for every outing with my camera, I’d go outside without it.
….
A few weeks ago, I was stuck inside. Rain was lashing against my bedroom window, relentless. Everywhere in the house I ventured I could hear the consistent drumming. The wind howled through the walls and cracks, itswhispers were cold and made me shiver, despite being wrapped in layers of clothing and blankets.
This weather seemed to go on for days, the dark clouds looming across the sky blurred night and day together. So, when the day came when the sky was a clear, hazy blue, I discarded my blankets, shoved on my walking boots and headed to the beach. I left my camera tucked away in its bag, at home.
There was a soft breeze, one that made your hair tickle your cheek. Spring had started to appear, with skylarks singing high above the fields and ferns unfurling from the hedgerows. As my steps led me closer to the beach, I could smell the salt in the air.
My senses drank it all in like a sweet nectar, quenching my thirst. Without the distraction of the camera I noticed these little details. My mind did not wander about potential shots, or what settings to use, or what I wanted to photograph; it stayed in the present. I felt grounded.
Bissoe. Image: Saskia Sichermann
As I kept walking, a distinctive chirruping song came from a blackthorn bush. The wind stirred the branches and the blossoms fell like snow, swirling in the air. The bird song continued, rising and falling in a melody. Eventually, the bird hopped into view – a blue tit. Perched amongst the blossom with petals floating by, it was a picture-perfect scene.
By now, my eyes would have been pressed to the viewfinder and I would have fired of a few shots, looking back down at the screen to check I was happy with the exposure - then firing off more. I would be focused on capturing the moment, not enjoying it and letting it be.
Instead, I watched the bird preen, its beak gliding through its feathers before it shook itself. It sang for a while longer before taking flight, delving further into the blackthorn. I walked on, the sound of its shrilling song following me.
Not taking the camera with me on all my outings has led me to be more selective with my photographs. In hindsight, I knew that although it was a pretty shot of a bird, I would have not been satisfied with it and would have deleted it once home. All that fussing about with the camera in the end would have sullied the memory.
Porthtowan. Image: Saskia Sichermann
The sea was now in sight. I walked down the valley, emerging onto the pebbled beach to the sound of the breaking waves. The tide was in and the sun glimmered on the rolling waves, turning them into liquid gold before they crashed into white froth and foam. I found a seat on a large rock and sat, perfectly content.
The salt spray dampened my skin and my clothes. I licked my lips, tasting it. The breeze was stronger here, making me shiver and huddle into my coat. A pebble caught my eye – I picked it up, pressing it into my palm. It was perfectly round, smooth and cool to touch. It had a tiny white fleck to it on an otherwise slate grey surface. I pocketed it, a memento of the day. A gull soared above, silhouetted against the sun.
Although the scene was beautiful to see, it was not an image to be captured by a camera. If anything, taking the photograph would had taken some of the magic away. I knew if I was focused on taking pictures, I would have focused on the waves, the stones and the gull as separate subjects; not as part of the same landscape. Instead, I was quite happy to watch the world go by and admire my surroundings.
Porthtowan. Image: Saskia Sichermann
By getting to know your local environment and spending time in it simply observing, you can begin to learn about the land and its local inhabitants. By doing this, when you decide to venture out with your camera it can often lead to more intimate photographs that become more than just an image, but a narrative of the landscape and the wildlife within it.
Walking through the woods, across the cliffs and besides the riverbank without your camera gives you the chance to just take notice of what is around you. To take a step back and not worry about capturing the perfect shot, but to simply enjoy nature. Which is why a lot of us do what we do, really – we take photographs of nature because we enjoy spending time in it. But we shouldn’t forget the enjoyment we have from being immersed in nature. Too often we get distracted by capturing what we see before us on camera, whether it’s on a DSLR or on our phone. As a result, we don’t always take in what we are seeing.
Perhaps, when you next venture outside, leave the camera at home. See what you can observe by not focusing on getting the perfect shot. But, if you must take your camera with you, maybe begin to practice choosing when to press the shutter.
And when to let the moment be.
Swanpool. Image: Saskia Sichermann