F
Field Ethos
Guest
By Vincent Bini
I was born before the digital age swallowed everything. Polaroids felt like magic; fax machines were mysterious boxes that somehow spat out images from thin air (I’m still amazed by this). In middle school, computers were giant, green-screen monitors in the lab. I failed computer class because I treated them like a joke.
Boy, was I wrong.
Now something far more powerful—with a camera—fits in my shirt pocket. And somewhere along the way, I got sucked in too. As much as I try to stay old school, technology always finds a way to creep in.
A little while back, I was scrolling through photos from a trip to the Glades with a friend. Great shots. Good light. But when I tried to replay the day in my head, half the moments were gone. All I remembered was trying to get everything in the frame and telling my buddy to hold the fish just right. I’d been so focused on capturing the memory that I barely lived it.
Another trip—solo—stood out differently: a near–40-inch snook I barely kept out of the mangroves. I remember it vividly—me fighting for my life, heart pounding, line screaming, and just enough praying to keep the fish out of the roots. The picture became cover art for a story already locked in my brain. The redfish shot? It felt flat because the camera had been the mission, not the fish.
That was the moment it clicked. I felt like I had been cheating myself out of my memories—my time.
From that point on, I made a conscious effort to stop treating every outing like a content hunt. If a photo happened, fine—it was an afterthought. Most times, the phone stayed in the console. It’s not like I was going to get a call way back in the backcountry anyway.
I still love scrolling Instagram from time to time, watching other people chase fish, boats, and sunrises. It’s inspiring. But I wonder how much of some folks’ “passion” is really about the likes rolling in. When your job is feeding the algorithm, does the thing you love stay pure?
I’m not judging. I’m genuinely curious. That must weigh on you, knowing your paycheck hinges on people viewing your posts.
These days, I barely photograph my kids when we’re out. Sure, I get some crap from my wife, but I truly feel like it steals the moment instead of saving it. A sunset through a screen never matches the real thing—not the color bleeding across the water, not the salt air, not the quiet. No photo ever will.
I’ve spent enough time in the mangroves and back bays of Florida that a single image of a low-tide island can bring back the smell of exposed mud and oyster bars, the buzz of mosquitoes, the weight of humidity. That doesn’t come from a phone. It comes from being there—eyes open, no filter between you and the world.
I’m trying to pass that on to my kids. They were born into screens, so the “old way” is just stories from Dad. We leave phones behind on the boat, in the woods, at the beach. It’s an uphill fight against everything pulling the other direction, but it’s worth it.
For now, I’m going to put the keyboard down, grab a hard-copy magazine, and step back into real time.
The post Under The Influence(R) appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
I was born before the digital age swallowed everything. Polaroids felt like magic; fax machines were mysterious boxes that somehow spat out images from thin air (I’m still amazed by this). In middle school, computers were giant, green-screen monitors in the lab. I failed computer class because I treated them like a joke.
Boy, was I wrong.
Now something far more powerful—with a camera—fits in my shirt pocket. And somewhere along the way, I got sucked in too. As much as I try to stay old school, technology always finds a way to creep in.
Under the Influence of Tech Afield
A little while back, I was scrolling through photos from a trip to the Glades with a friend. Great shots. Good light. But when I tried to replay the day in my head, half the moments were gone. All I remembered was trying to get everything in the frame and telling my buddy to hold the fish just right. I’d been so focused on capturing the memory that I barely lived it.
Another trip—solo—stood out differently: a near–40-inch snook I barely kept out of the mangroves. I remember it vividly—me fighting for my life, heart pounding, line screaming, and just enough praying to keep the fish out of the roots. The picture became cover art for a story already locked in my brain. The redfish shot? It felt flat because the camera had been the mission, not the fish.
That was the moment it clicked. I felt like I had been cheating myself out of my memories—my time.
From that point on, I made a conscious effort to stop treating every outing like a content hunt. If a photo happened, fine—it was an afterthought. Most times, the phone stayed in the console. It’s not like I was going to get a call way back in the backcountry anyway.
I still love scrolling Instagram from time to time, watching other people chase fish, boats, and sunrises. It’s inspiring. But I wonder how much of some folks’ “passion” is really about the likes rolling in. When your job is feeding the algorithm, does the thing you love stay pure?
I’m not judging. I’m genuinely curious. That must weigh on you, knowing your paycheck hinges on people viewing your posts.
Be Present
These days, I barely photograph my kids when we’re out. Sure, I get some crap from my wife, but I truly feel like it steals the moment instead of saving it. A sunset through a screen never matches the real thing—not the color bleeding across the water, not the salt air, not the quiet. No photo ever will.
I’ve spent enough time in the mangroves and back bays of Florida that a single image of a low-tide island can bring back the smell of exposed mud and oyster bars, the buzz of mosquitoes, the weight of humidity. That doesn’t come from a phone. It comes from being there—eyes open, no filter between you and the world.
I’m trying to pass that on to my kids. They were born into screens, so the “old way” is just stories from Dad. We leave phones behind on the boat, in the woods, at the beach. It’s an uphill fight against everything pulling the other direction, but it’s worth it.
For now, I’m going to put the keyboard down, grab a hard-copy magazine, and step back into real time.
The post Under The Influence(R) appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...