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MEMBER TO MEMBER
O
n the last dive of a recent trip to Cozumel I did
something I rarely do. I left my camera on the
boat. Why rarely? I’m an amateur underwater
photographer trying to become the next David
Doubilet. Toward that goal, I shot thousands of images
over my last seven or eight dive trips. Underwater, my eyes
would whirl to find some interesting thing, and I would play
with strobe settings, camera controls and positioning to get
the “money shot” that would kick off my professional life.
In time, though, I realized something. While I was gaining
photographic ability, I was losing my joy of diving.
During that last dive I realized I had left something besides
my camera on the boat: my fixation on creating images. Before,
I felt like a hunter searching for a target; now I felt freedom
and peace. Without the distraction of photography, I slowly
approached a large school of blue tangs. The spectacle of 150
loosely packed tangs moving in unison through clear water,
eight feet above rolling, white sand aprons dividing low-slung
coral ridges was incredible. Not threatened by a camera’s eye or
the hunting behavior I unconsciously assumed when clutching
my housing, the tangs allowed me to close within inches of
them. Their iridescent blue scales and shockingly bright yellow
caudal spines were sublime.
A fellow diver gestured to a coral hollow in which a splendid
toadfish awaited unwary prey. It felt good to simply enjoy the
sight and show it to another diver in our group. Later, the
divemaster pointed to a distant pair of sea turtles leisurely
paddling away into the current. I watched their relaxed strokes
advance them against the water’s stiff flow. Smiling around my
mouthpiece, I thought, “Ahhh.”
Earlier in the trip I had used my camera’s video mode
to record a large spotted eagle ray investigating me. I’m
accustomed to having my camera in manual mode, and
during the excitement of that once-in-a-lifetime encounter,
I was confounded by the camera’s video mode. The ray
completed a full loop around me at no more than 10 feet
away. After it swam into the distance, I reviewed my video
segment and discovered I’d turned the recording off rather
than on when the creature approached. I had only saved
a second or two of its graceful flight to digital memory.
Luckily, because I’d taken my eyes away from the camera and
watched the ray’s swooping orbit directly, I have the breath-
taking experience saved in my mind.
Realizing my good fortune, I considered how often I
focused on creating images of my subjects rather than
seeing my subjects. While that compromise may be
an occupational hazard for professional underwater
photographers, for me it led to forgetting why I learned to
dive in the first place. I still use a camera on most of my
dives and work to improve my skill. But on two or three
dives per trip, I’ll leave the camera topside and focus on
experiencing the dive rather than documenting it.
AD
Unlearning Image Fixation
The upside to leaving your camera topside
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SUMMER 2011
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WINTER 2012
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