John Miguel Esteban
My wife, Miche, says the best gift she’s ever gotten me is my camera. Because of that, when we go on vacation she’s able to sit by the pool soaking up the sun—important when you live in Seattle—and read, and chill and sip on her mai tai undisturbed. Before she gave me my camera (affectionately called BC), I would be there with her bored out of my mind. I would read for 20 minutes then I'd be pestering her to play volleyball in the pool, throw the football, or go snorkeling.
But now, post camera, things have all worked out and it’s PC. While Miche is at the pool, I’m the guy the security people are worried about. The one who’s staring up into the plumeria tree looking like he’s stoned. (Just trying to get a cool shot of a geko.) The one who is on his hands and knees in the middle of hotel’s huge lawn looking like he’s searching for a missing contact. (Just trying to get down face-to-face with the saffron finches feeding in the grass.) The one who’s flirting with being crushed by a rogue wave. (Just trying to time the surf as it hits the crabs.)
Unfortunately, photography is no longer something I think about every once in a while. It’s a nightmare. I dream of lenses like Nikon’s 600mm f/4 (just $10,000), of a polar bear photo adventure in Churchill, Alaska ($7,000 or so), of Stealth Gear’s One Man Wildlife Photography Chair Hide ($150).
Most of all I dream of getting that one shot—like the Afghan Girl with the green eyes that appeared in National Geographic (priceless). You know the one I’m talking about, don’t you?
A great photo says so much more than what you see. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to snap one tomorrow.
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Seattle, Washington, US