"I remembered traveling alone on my first trip to Europe. I'd brought along a camera that was as heavy as a brick. I only took four or five snapshots on that trip and could easily have purchased better photographs from any postcard rack. I voiced my regret for bringing this camera with me to the people of nine different countries. It was cumbersome and unneeded, I said. They only nodded. On my way back to California, I stopped over for a few days in New York City and happened to pick up a copy of the Christian Science Monitor that contained an article by the writer Paul Theroux. It began, "It is my good fortune that I've never owned a camera." . . .

"Many times in my own experience I'd missed a good look at a hawk or squandered a coyote sighting by reaching for my binoculars when I didn't need them. It was purely a reflexive action, and now I didn't want to spoil my chances of seeing a mountain lion by fumbling with a camera case. If I saw a cougar, I would always have the memory, and I wanted to prolong the experience as much as I could, without interruption.

"One can develop the art of looking just as certainly as one can master the art of playing the violin. Theroux compared the freedom of traveling without a camera to the adroitness of riding a bike without using one's hands. And even after all these years, it still seemed like good advice."