Sometimes a photograph brings back more than a place. It brings back the way we felt while we were there.
We had decided to explore Currumbin Rock Pools simply because we had never been there before.
It was only a short drive from where we were staying, so we took our cameras with us, hoping we might come home with a few worthwhile photographs.
After parking the car, we walked toward the rock pools when a woman noticed our cameras.
“The best place for photos is back down the road a little,” she told us. “Turn right and that’s the spot.”
We hadn’t asked.
Perhaps that’s why we listened.
We got back into the car, drove down the road and turned where she had suggested.
I’m glad we did.
What We Found
My first impression wasn’t really of the scenery.
It was the stillness.
The water was barely moving, reflecting the trees leaning quietly over it. Apart from the occasional sound of distant birds, everything seemed silent.
And, for a while at least, we had the place entirely to ourselves.
Nothing demanded our attention.
We felt no need to hurry, move on, or search for a better view. Standing there felt unhurried, as though this little place had its own rhythm, independent of whatever was happening elsewhere.
There was a table with bench seats on either side. Looking away from the creek, I could see a farmhouse and sheds in the distance.
But there was no activity.
As we moved closer to the water, I began noticing the smaller details.
In places, the shoreline was covered with little rocks of different shapes, sizes and colours. Someone had carefully balanced a few of them into a small rock sculpture.
Sunlight filtered through the trees.
The water held their reflections.
Nothing about the scene was spectacular.
And perhaps that was the point.
When You Stop Looking for the Photograph
We both made photographs as we slowly explored the area.
But there was none of the usual feeling that we had to find the photograph.
We weren’t chasing the best composition or wondering what might be around the next corner. We simply wandered, stopped when something caught our attention, made a photograph and moved on.
Mostly in silence.
I remember feeling peaceful as I stood there.
We stayed much longer than I expected.
There was nowhere in particular to go and nothing in particular to achieve. For a while, being there seemed enough.
Eventually, of course, we had to leave.
But it was surprisingly difficult to walk away from a place we hadn’t even known existed a few hours earlier.
The Advice I Nearly Wouldn’t Have Asked For
I’ve often been reluctant to ask locals where I should go to take photographs.
Partly, I think, that’s because I like discovering places for myself. There is something satisfying about wandering without knowing exactly what you will find.
There’s also the photographer’s question: if someone tells me where the “best” photograph is, am I simply going there to make a version of a photograph that has already been seen?
But this was different.
We hadn’t asked for advice. Someone simply saw our cameras and thought she knew somewhere we might appreciate.
She was right.
And it reminded me that local knowledge doesn’t necessarily lead you towards the obvious photograph.
Sometimes it leads you somewhere you would never have thought to look.
What the Photograph Brings Back
When I look at the photographs from that creek now, I notice something interesting.
I don’t return to them because I want to remember exactly what happened that day.
I don’t need to remember where we parked, what time we arrived, how long we stayed or even precisely where I stood when I pressed the shutter.
What returns is something much simpler.
The feeling of my attention slowing down.
The reflections, the filtered light and the almost uninterrupted surface of the water seem to contain some of the stillness I felt while standing there.
Of course, I know they don’t.
A photograph is just an image.
But memory supplies the rest.
I can look at Peaceful Place now and, for a moment, feel something of what I felt beside that creek.
The silence.
The lack of urgency.
The sense that there was nowhere else I needed to be.
More Than a Record of Where We’ve Been
I’ve come to think that photographs can do something more interesting than simply document the places we’ve visited.
They can become containers for how those places made us feel.
Years later, the details may fade. We may forget what happened before or afterwards. We may even struggle to remember exactly where we were standing.
Yet one photograph can bring back something less tangible.
A mood.
A feeling.
A moment when life seemed to move at a different pace.
Peaceful Place does that for me.
I sometimes return to it when life feels a little too busy.
I look at the still water and the reflections of the trees, and I’m back beside that creek for a moment.
Not remembering everything.
Just remembering how it felt to be there.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
Originally published in Full Frame, The Art of Photography