As we embarked on our bucket list journey to Alaska’s rugged wilderness, my wife and I chuckled at our shared addiction – cameras.
This was a bucket list trip, one that we should have been striving to experience to the fullest, but the travel writer in each of us struggled with the idea that we need to chronicle it for posterity. Should we capture this extraordinary experience or truly live it?
Amidst Alaska’s awe-inspiring landscapes, our camera conundrum became evident through our compromise between experiencing and chronicling our adventure. I was armed with a professional camera and an array of lenses, relentlessly pursuing the perfect shot, while my wife, settling for her trusty cell phone, reveled in the pure essence of the moment.
The contrast was vivid at calving glaciers. While I fumbled with camera gear, adjusting settings and battling the rocking boat, my wife lived the experience. She whooped and hollered as massive ice chunks thundered into the frigid waters, her laughter unburdened by my photographic stress. She got rained on while I worried about water on the lenses. She held on tight as the boat bounce d in the aftermath of the calving while I had to manage the camera and pray I didn’t go overboard.
Throughout our Alaskan odyssey, the camera hung around my neck like an albatross. It was constantly in the way, taking up space, stealing my attention, and at times irritating those around me. But I was afraid to leave it behind in case I saw something to take a picture of. Frustration welled as I pursued elusive perfection through the viewfinder and the sense of failure at getting the perfect shot overwhelmed the joy at having the perfect experience.
Just packing for this adventure was an ordeal.
My camera gear, with various lenses and accessories, dominated my luggage. Ther wasn’t room in the carryon bags for a tripod, which made the telephoto lenses almost useless. As we worked our way through airport after airport, I envied my wife’s minimalist approach, her cell phone effortlessly tucked away.
Trekking on the glacier later in our trip was no less challenging. My camera, dangling from my neck like an albatross, seemed determined to remind me of its presence. While my wife gracefully traversed the ice, I wrestled with the camera, nearly toppling over.
The true test of my camera addiction came when nature intervened. A bear darted in front of our car, a magnificent blur of fur and muscle. There was no time for cameras, and barely enough time to slam on the brakes and avoid being labeled a “bear murderer” for the rest of my life. It was an experience that no camera could have caught, but I was frustrated that I couldn’t show everyone a picture of the majestic wild creature that almost became our new bearskin rug.
These moments were poignant reminders that the camera couldn’t capture Alaska’s heart-pounding thrill. It was a tool, often an obstruction, that repeatedly threated to keep me from fully embracing the untamed beauty around us. Lens caps. Batteries. Straps. Flash attachments. Memory cards. Backup drives….
At some point it should be experiences, memories, and being in the moment.
When it comes to bringing your camera on your travels, consider the unique contexts that might warrant its presence despite the aggravation. At cultural festivals or ceremonies, your camera becomes a gateway to preserving the essence of local traditions, offering you the opportunity to revisit these cherished moments for years to come. In the presence of awe-inspiring landscapes like the Grand Canyon or the enchanting Northern Lights in Iceland, don’t hesitate to have your camera ready to immortalize these natural wonders.
But do you need a professional camera if you’re not a journalist? For that matter, do you even need a camera at all? The post cards at the gift shop will outdo almost everything you can catch yourself, except that selfie of course. And if you do manage to get a thousand wonderful pictures of the experience, they will likely stay on a memory card the way your grandmother’s trip to France remains on the slides you store in the basement, neglected and without an audience.
In the age of smartphones and advanced cameras, it’s easy to get lost chasing the perfect shot. However, my journey through the wilds of Alaska has taught me that the true treasure lies in fully embracing the journey itself, beyond just snapshots.
So in your travels, consider the wisdom of leaving your camera behind occasionally or letting it be a silent observer. Engage with your surroundings, immerse yourself in the atmosphere, and connect with the people and cultures you encounter. Let your senses guide you, relish the feeling of being truly present.
As you embark on future adventures, take a deep breath, pack your bags, and set forth with open eyes, an open heart, and perhaps slightly lighter luggage. Your extraordinary travel experiences await, camera or not.
Bon voyage!
About the Author
PAUL PENCE not only writes many of the articles in the pages of this magazine, he is also the publisher and editor of all of the magazines in the Amygis Publishing’s family of travel magazines.
He loves exploring, traveling the back roads, experiencing the world, and finding what is unique and memorable about the places he visits.
And he loves writing – poetry, short stories, essays, non-fiction, news, and. of course, travel writing.
For over 20 years, he has shared his explorations with readers in a wide variety of outlets, from groundbreaking forays into the first stirrings of the dot-com boom to travel guides, local newspapers, and television, including Runner’s World, Travel Lady, Providence Journal, and Northstar Travel Media. He currently publishes and writes for Amygis Publishing’s magazines Jaunting, Northeast Traveler, and Rhode Island Roads.