Through the Viewfinder

One weekend early in the semester, my class went on a boat tour through the Pacific mangroves. This was my first weekend trip with classmates I still barely knew.

“Crocodiles,” they whispered. I couldn’t wait.

I’d spent the last year becoming a photographer—memorizing the rules, learning the equipment. I bought books, completed their lessons, and built an identity out it. Now, this—taking photos of my adventures here in Costa Rica—was, in my mind, the reason I was here. It was a final exam to all I’d learned, and unlike my Spanish classes, I was going to pass it.

We all boarded a boat and headed into the swamp towards a pack of yellow eyes and jagged teeth rising above the waterline. The tropical air was hot, humid, and unfamiliar to me and my new friends.

We cowered in the shade of the canopy and wished for a breeze, but the air only brought more warmth.

The boat rocked, my friends laughed. Then I raised my camera and the world shrunk. It was just me and the crocodiles, lurking like fierce shadows in the green water.

I hammered on the shutter button, watching as we neared the beasts. Then our tour guide lured the giant crocodiles from the water with scraps of raw meat. When one climb on the land to get it, he then dropped it right into its lunging jaws.

Through the telescopic lens of my camera viewfinder, I was free to focus on my framing. The scene felt fascinating but detached, like a documentary on TV, not something happening right in front of me. My surroundings disappeared, briefly registering, only when they got in the way of me and my shot. The boat became an obstacle, my new friends, an annoyance.

Detached as I was, I hadn’t noticed how massive or how close to me the crocodiles were. My framing got tighter, detail clearer. Then I set my camera down, not to engage but to review photos and check exposure.

The water jumped closer.

The rail felt lower than it should have.

The scaled monsters snapped into focus, close enough to touch.

I stepped back too fast and hit metal—safe but scared.

My classmates looked back.

“Are you okay?” someone said.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

I lowered the camera. My hands were still shaking.

“Hi. I’m Caleb, by the way.”