When I talk about my photography, I often try to emphasize the importance of minimizing expectations and being open to what the landscape has to offer during your visit - be present for the opportunities that exist, not the opportunities you wish existed. I emphasize this lesson both because I think it can be vitally important to creating expressive photographs but also because it is a lesson that I need to learn over and over again. Below, I share how this played out during a photography trip to Vancouver Island, British Columbia and some practical advice if you find yourself in a similar situation.
Before I took up photography, a 2007 article in Sunset Magazine about Port Hardy, one of the area’s northernmost towns, sparked my interest in visiting Vancouver Island. The photos that accompanied the essay were haunting – almost monochrome because such a thick fog enveloped the massive monolithic seastacks, leaving just a faint hint of the dense vegetation that characterizes this landscape visible. I had never seen such a landscape in person and almost couldn’t believe it exists.
TIDAL REMNANTS: Ripples left behind by the outgoing tide catch the last colorful light of sunset on Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
A few years after clipping that article, I took my first trip to the Pacific Northwest and it was like living through a daydream. For the first time, I saw tide pools teeming with sea life, walked through rainforests with trees bigger than I imagined they could be, hiked along the lonely rugged coast, and saw the most spectacular sunset of my lifetime with more than an hour of blood red clouds filling the sky. I also started trying out photography in a serious way during that trip, another thing that probably made it all the more notable in my mind.
A few summers ago, we decided to spend a week exploring Vancouver Island again and I hoped to relive some of the magic of that first trip but bring along better photography skills this time around. I encouraged this choice of destinations, primarily because British Columbia’s provincial parks and Pacific Rim National Park had occupied such a prominent place in my early travel and photography memories. And, the photos from that Sunset Magazine article are still stuck in my head years later.
JEWELS: Small colorful creatures (anemones?) in the sand along a remote beach on Vancouver Island.
From the moment we got on the ferry to Victoria, the tripped turned into a bit of a laborious affair, mostly because we had hoped for a free-spirited jaunt along the coast and instead turned up on a very busy Canadian holiday weekend with no plans or reservations. Finding a place to camp or stay in our areas of interest turned into a tiresome daily task. Places that I remember being characterized by their solitude were now full of people. Unexpected heat and oppressive wildfire smoke combined to make hiking difficult on many days, with heavy haze replacing the fog and mist I had irrationally hoped for (we were visiting in late summer, when such conditions are far less common). And we had to visit two auto dealerships due to car problems. On most days, I felt stuck in my memories and detached from the experience right in front of me, unable to see that despite the challenges, we were still in an incredible place with lots of time to explore.
Now, in finally going through the folder of photos from this trip, the phrase “you can’t go home again” kept on coming to mind. My nostalgia for my first experience in this place (and the one I dreamed about because of that magazine article) got in the way of me finding new interpretations and being present during the return trip. Instead of going with the flow, I wanted to revisit too many of the places that occupied my memories or were cataloged in mental notes even though it was clear that reality was not aligning with those ideas in my head.
CONTORTIONS: Light, sand, clouds, and water meet on a wilderness beach on Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
During a few bursts of time, I let go of those ideas and what I had hoped for the trip and I was a more open to seeing what the landscape had to offer. But, in reviewing my photos and thinking about the places we visited, listening to these lessons came about too late for me and I missed all kinds of opportunities. I had moments of getting out of my own way and created this small selection of photos, all of which I like but still represent the disappointment of knowing I could have done so much more had I started with a different frame of mind.
Since this trip, I have been actively working on minimizing and better managing my expectations for the places we visit instead of just talking about it as an important practice. Here are a few things that have helped me be more open to what a landscape is offering and get beyond my expectations.
ENCORE: A rainbow appears over Vancouver Island's Clayoquot Sound at sunset after a cool, stormy day.
Don’t feed your mind with preconceived ideas that will crowd out more spontaneous connections: I know a lot of photographers who can look at hundreds of photos of a place, visit that place, and still feel like they can find and express their unique connection in their photos. I am most definitely not one of those people, as demonstrated by the fact that I can vividly remember photos from a 2007 magazine article and they still occupy a great deal of mental space in terms of how I think about Vancouver Island. So, to deal with this challenge, I actively refrain from looking at my own older photos or other people’s photos from the places I will be visiting in the next few months. While I still look at guidebooks and do basic research, refraining from looking at my previous interpretations of a place or other people’s interpretations help me bring an open mind when I arrive.
Acknowledge what is happening: If I feel myself getting pulled into ideas of what I had hoped for in terms of weather, light, or subject matter, or I find myself obsessing about someone else’s photo of a similar subject, I immediately acknowledge what is happening. This allows me to give myself a pep talk to help refocus my mind. This sounds simple but for me, the act of catching myself and then trying to hold myself accountable to immediately trying to change my mindset, I can sometimes get beyond my expectations right then and there.
WAVE FORMS: Blue and green reflections swirl on the rippled surface of the Pacific Ocean off of Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
Move beyond expectations by trying to actively connect with the place you are visiting: One step to getting past expectations is to replace those ideas with new ones. For example, we revisited the Pacific Northwest last fall and the autumn colors were disappointing - we were too early or too late in every place we visited. I acknowledged my disappointment that the photos I had in mind were not going to happen and then I actively sought out new ideas. We looked at a map and picked out a few places we knew nothing about. This fresh start helped reset my approach. Instead of fall colors, we found snow, ice, fast-moving fog, fallen leaves, bare trees, lots of mushrooms, and many other interesting subjects.
I also spend time just observing a landscape, which also helps make connections and spur new ideas for photographs (what plants am I seeing, how is the light falling over the landscape, what are the most interesting big landforms in front of me, and what are the most interesting details?). Sometimes, I just pause and spend some extended time observing and distilling what I see in front of me. Other times, I just take a slow pace and wander around to see what I might find. By being a more deliberate observer, I can feed my mind with new ideas to replace ideas that are springing from expectations instead of what is in front of me.
By doing this kind of work in actively seeking to minimize the role that expectations play in my photography, I have been able to let connections and my mood drive my time in the field. By this, I mean that I photograph things that I have a connection with instead of just the thing that I may have intended to photograph when setting out. So, if I go to a lake at sunrise and just am not feeling the big scene but am instead interested in a frosty plant on the shoreline, I photograph the frosty plant because it is the thing that strikes up the strongest connection in the moment. If I am not feeling the connection, I give myself a pass and just enjoy being in nature. By focusing more on enjoying the process of being outside with my camera and not obsessing over my expectations or the results, I find photography a lot more enjoyable when the connections do strike.
SUNSET SKY: Warm colors reflect on rippled water, looking a lot like layers of colorful clouds in a sunset sky. Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
In this collection of photos, one example of how a connection changed my focus in the moment happened while photographing the scene with the rainbow over the cove (the fifth photo in this post). After the rainbow faded, the clouds continued to become more and more colorful. Despite the impressive light, my connection with that grander scene faded so I moved my attention to the clouds reflecting on the rippled water surface. In planning the trip, I wanted to photograph those grand scenes but that is not where the connections were sparking. So, in that moment, I put aside my expectations and hopes for the trip and instead focused on the connection I had with the rippled water instead.
I’d love to hear how you deal with these dynamics in your own photography practice. You are welcome to share your experiences or advice in the comments below.
COASTAL FORAGER: From a Zodiac watercraft, we watched this black bear forage for clams by methodically picking up rocks, eating, and then repeating the process over and over again. Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
BLUE HOUR: Sand ripples and pockets of water take on the cool tones of twilight. Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
UNDERWATER DANCE: Colorful underwater plants in Clayoquot Sound catch direct light, with ripples on the surface lending a more abstract feel to the scene.
TIDAL ZONE: Barnacles growing on a textured rock in the transitional tidal zone. Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
LONELY MOMENT: Ripples and water channels lead to a tiny island on the Vancouver Island coast.