Capture Emotions, Not Just Scenes

Pattie Harte-Naus
Jul 10
5 min read

Rooted Through Lens & Pen Collab Series with Nicole Webster and Whistleslick Press

The Story

As a photographer in the digital age, I am blessed with the ability to shoot thousands of images in a single session. There is no longer the concern of paying for film or post-processing. One consequence of this remarkable freedom, however, is countless less-than-perfect photographs that never see the light of day, disappearing into the black hole of hard drives.

I was born as a diver in Utila. It is where I took my first breath on SCUBA beneath the salt water of the Caribbean Sea and where I became an underwater photographer. For years, Utila was known around the world for its frequent whale shark visitors—an era I unknowingly experienced only the tail end of during my early days underwater.

I officially moved to my dive home in 2021, four years after that first breath that started it all. The island welcomed me with open arms. Everything felt familiar except for one thing: the whale sharks had largely stopped coming. Theories about why drifted through dockside conversations, but regardless of the cause, sightings had become increasingly rare.

Whale sharks became blue moon visitors throughout the four and a half years I lived on the island.

Naturally, those rare encounters always seemed to happen when I was on the surface. My luck finally changed three years into my island residency.

The old, familiar feeling of anticipation and excitement felt like electricity coursing through my body as I stood on the bow of a sunshine-yellow dive boat, scanning the horizon for any sign of life. The captain had received reliable news of a whale shark nearby. My eyes searched for tuna boils and circling seabirds, the telltale signs of a feeding shark below the surface.

That midnight-blue, starry-spotted guest had indeed come for a long-awaited visit.

I hurried to get my fins, mask, and camera ready as the captain maneuvered the boat ahead of the shark. Sitting on the edge of the stern, as close as I could without falling in, I waited.

“Go, go, go!” the captain shouted.

In an instant I slipped beneath the surface, hastily finding my bearings as the water engulfed me. As the whitewash from my entry dissipated, the whale shark came into view. The largest fish in the ocean glided effortlessly 25 feet in front of me through shimmering sun rays and a small collection of baitfish.

As I pressed the shutter, I remember thinking, What a beautiful scene. Clear blue water, striking sun rays—these shots are going to be incredible.

I was fooled by my own bravado.

The honored guest was suddenly startled by loud engines and movement on the surface. Two other boats had heard the news and rushed into the area. The whale shark I had waited years to meet tipped vertically and disappeared into the depths.

Gone within seconds.

The encounter was over.

Still processing what had just happened, I climbed back aboard, grabbed my camera, and eagerly began reviewing the images. My excitement quickly sank as I scrolled through them.

Beautiful compositions. Rich colors. Baitfish adding scale.

But not one image was in focus.

So what went wrong?

Camera Settings:

* ISO: 100

* Aperture: f/4.5

* Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec

* Focal Length: 16mm

Many people assume that shallow water, sunshine, and good visibility are all you need for a sharp underwater photograph. In reality, those conditions can work against you.

What our eyes perceive as crystal-clear water is anything but. Even in the clearest seas, the water is filled with tiny particles, plankton, and microscopic organisms. Strong sunlight illuminates every one of them, creating what underwater photographers call backscatter. Instead of locking onto a whale shark twenty feet away, autofocus systems can begin hunting through thousands of illuminated particles suspended between you and your subject.

Distance compounded the problem. In underwater photography, distance is your greatest enemy. The farther you are from your subject, the more water—and everything floating in it—comes between your camera and your focus point. Contrast disappears quickly, and autofocus often doesn’t have enough time to recover before the moment is gone.

In a perfect underwater world, I would have had more time with this shark. More time to respectfully move closer and let the camera do its job.

But sometimes time isn’t the gift you’re given.

The Lesson

With social media, action cameras, and smartphones, we’ve developed an almost instinctive urge to document everything. During rare wildlife encounters, it’s easy to become so focused on capturing the moment that we forget to simply experience it; or even consider the well-being of the animal we’re so eager to photograph.

Ironically, underwater photography has taught me that appreciating the moment is just as important as capturing it—arguably more so. There are dives when I have enough time to both shoot and observe the animal before me. Then there are encounters like this one, when all you have are a few fleeting seconds and you must choose between shooting and witnessing.

I chose to shoot.

Today, I look back at this imperfect photograph and smile. Had I been closer, with softer light, it might have become a portfolio image.

Instead, it became something far more valuable.

It taught me more about underwater photography, but more importantly, it taught me when to lift the camera and when to lower it, allowing fascination to take hold instead.

Whistleslick Press’ Reflection

Nicole’s story reminds us that not every meaningful moment arrives with perfect timing or perfect conditions. Sometimes our most treasured photographs aren’t the ones we would frame in a gallery—they’re the ones that transport us back to a feeling, a place, or a version of ourselves we never want to forget.

This is where photography and journaling begin to overlap.

A photograph preserves what was seen. Journaling gives us the opportunity to preserve everything the camera couldn’t capture—the sounds, the scents carried on the breeze, the thoughts racing through our minds, the stillness between heartbeats, and the emotions that often fade long before the image does.

For this week’s reflection, choose a photograph that means something to you. It doesn’t need to be technically perfect or aesthetically beautiful. It simply needs to hold a memory.

Spend a few quiet minutes looking at it before you begin writing.

Journal Prompts

Ask yourself:

What is missing from this image? Why do you think it matters, and what story might those missing pieces still hold?
If this photograph could speak, what story would it share? What memories, emotions, or moments might it reveal?
Step back into the moment this image was captured. What happened just before? What unfolded in that instant? What came after? Describe the experience through all five senses—what you saw, heard, smelled, felt, and even tasted.
In what ways do this image’s imperfections—its blur, fading, wear, or flaws—make it more meaningful than if it were perfect?
Revisit an older photograph. How has the passage of time changed the way you see it? What new meaning, gratitude, or perspective has emerged?
What details have been lost to time and can never be recovered? How does their absence make you feel, and what does your imagination fill in?
What is this imperfect image teaching you about embracing life’s flaws, releasing the pursuit of perfection, and finding beauty in what remains?

You may discover that the most meaningful part of the photograph was never captured by the lens at all, it was captured by you.