Time: the space between

When I was little my dad, an avid fisherman, would take me with him on his outings. My mum never knew the stuff that went on, we two traversing slimy gorges that would swallow and never disgorge people, the dodgy river crossings that would tumble us into treerootsnag vanishings. A couple of fishermen acquaintances of my dad were ‘disappeared’ by ugly water during my childhood. But we didn’t succumb to those dangers, maybe it was luck, but I’d like to think my dad was smart. He was certainly smart about waiting. We’d go somewhere, and he’d fish, and I’d wait. And wait. And wait. Watching him wait, his rod in hand.

Fishing I realized very quickly was ALL about waiting. It often resulted in a fish, for dad. And for me a thorough exploration of the patch of ground I’d promised not to wander too far away from. And although I did amass a fantastic collection of stones, I wasn’t always sure I’d retrieved anything else from our forays, not like dad with the shiny bars of wrigglesilver he’d often haul from those terrifying gurgling cauldrons of spate.

Well I wasn’t entirely sure I’d retrieved anything until I was older, and started taking photographs. Then I realized.

 

I was a teenager, a novice photographer, sat in Santa Fe watching the world go by, when my gaze alighted on an elderly ‘character’ who was sitting across the square. He was somewhat anxious, as if waiting for someone. I was curious, so watched, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Just watching him waiting.

 

 

Eventually that ‘someone’ appeared and sat with him, and produced a bottle which was shared between them, but very surreptitiously as public drinking is illegal. It was a lovely discrete moment between two friends and some whisky. One little moment amidst the hubbub of the city’s comings and goings, that would have slipped by unnoticed had I not waited. And waited. And waited just a little longer.

 

 

On another occasion, 25 years later, I was leading a group of photographers through Utah, doing all the guiding, driving and entertaining for two weeks. Several days in, and I was exhausted with the traveling and day-to-day tasks of managing a group of people. We’d spent the day driving about, from viewpoint to viewpoint, each more spectacular than the previous. In the mid afternoon we reached Bryce Canyon. It was really spectacular. I got them together and said “I’m quite tired, we’ll spend a good bit of time here, it’ll give me a chance to get my breath back.”

I sat contemplating and taking the occasional photo; the group wandered.

After 3/4 hour one of the group, Larry, came over to me, wondering what I was doing. “Join me, sit” I said “and look over there –  tell me…what do you see?”

“Er..um…canyon, canyon, more canyon, lots of canyon” came the reply

“Yes, but the light, what about the light?” I prompted

“Light?”

“Yeah, the light….”

“It’s nice….er….am I missing something?” said Larry

“What’s it doing?” I asked

“Eh?” a perplexed Larry responded

“What’s it doing, what’s the light doing?”

“I’m not seeing much to be honest.” he said

“Keep watching….” I suggested “…over there….” pointing to some rock pillars…

 

 

Fifteen minutes pass, and several others of the group have joined us, attracted by the sight of Larry sat with me, and all are curious.

After another ten minutes Larry suddenly proclaims “Wow, that’s amazing!”

“What?” chorus the group “what’s amazing?”.

 

 

“The light, the light, the way it’s changed since I sat here” replies Larry “You need to wait to see it! You need to wait too! Damn I should have photographed that earlier!”

“Photographed what?” the perplexed group responded.

“Over there” says Larry…..“watch those stone pillars….just wait and watch!”

So we wait. And watch. And slowly it dawns on everyone that the light is indeed changing, or to be more precise the shadows are changing, that the magic, sometimes, is in the absence of light. Rock towers once in sun, then slowly darken as time passes and clouds shape-shift shadows over them, only to emerge starkly lit, theatrically so, against a shadowed background.

 

 

The group are enthused. The penny drops……………………

But it’s the slowly…………..tumbling…………..spinning of a coin that takes thirty minutes to hit the ground………..

They get it. All day we’d chased ‘drama’ – the thrill of the immediate – it became a drug, get there grab it, go here grab it, on to the next place, grab more. Now, we wait. Wait and let the magic come to us. Reward us for our patience and observation.

And as we watched, we discussed the wisdom of simply sitting, waiting.  Whether watching people interact, or watching the imperceptibly slow progress of cloudshadow there is always something to wait for. I suggested to them that these gaps between ‘events’ are not ‘nothing’, they’re opportunities to learn by observation, about the evolution of those little ‘moments’ that WILL catch our eye. Moments, which for the most part, don’t just suddenly happen, they have precursors, clues that the observant can take note of, and from which we may just manage to anticipate an outcome. But what you really can’t anticipate is how serendipitous these moments might be. Like fishing in some deep dark spate-river pot, unless you wait you’ll never know what lies within.

“F8 and be there” is a good old maxim. But “F8 and be there, and stay awhile” might be a better one.