Doing What Others Won’t –
Going the Extra Mile 

There’s a saying that echoes through the creative world: “I could have done that.” Stand in front of almost any piece of modern art, any striking photograph, any unexpected composition, and someone nearby will say it. And they’re probably right — they could have done it. But they didn’t. That’s the whole point.

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The difference between people who create and people who merely admire comes down to one thing: doing the do. Getting out. Showing up. Committing to the shot even when it’s cold, early, muddy, or faintly ridiculous.

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The Magic Hours

Every photographer knows about the golden hours — those precious windows at dawn and dusk when the light turns soft, warm, and extraordinary. The deer are moving. The mist sits low over fields. Pink clouds gather at the horizon just before the sun breaks through. This is when the magic happens, and yet it’s also when the alarm goes off and the bed feels impossibly comfortable.

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Getting up at dawn is, honestly, one of the hardest things to ask of yourself as a photographer. By the time 8 or 9 o’clock rolls around on a summer morning, the best of the light is already gone. The wildlife has retreated. The magic has moved on without you. It’s a discipline I continue to work on — because the reward, when you do drag yourself out, is almost always worth it.

 

Looking Ridiculous is Part of the Job
 

Going the extra mile in photography often means doing things that look, frankly, absurd. Lying flat in a muddy field to get a low perspective on a hedgerow. Crouching in a stream to frame a waterfall just right. Paddling a kayak with a camera balanced across your knees. Passers-by notice. They look. They wonder what on earth you’re doing.

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Let them wonder. The willingness to look silly, to commit to an unconventional position or an unusual hour, is exactly what separates a memorable photograph from a forgettable snapshot. Different perspectives require putting yourself in different places — physically, not just creatively.

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Always Be Ready

 

Some of the best shots arrive unannounced. On a coastal walk along the South West Coast Path, I wasn’t out to take photographs — just walking. Then a stranger stopped us: “Have you seen the bluefin tuna out at sea?”
 

I hadn’t noticed them at all. But I had my camera and a 200mm lens. While my family and the other walkers moved on, I stayed. I waited. I watched the water. And then — there it was: a tuna launching itself clear out of the ocean. The picture is grainy. It will never win an award. But it’s mine, and I’m proud of it, because I was there, I was ready, and I stayed just long enough.
 

That’s the lesson: always carry your camera. You cannot take advantage of the unexpected if you’re not equipped for it.

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The Commitment to the Craft

 

Great countryside photography is not just about technical skill or expensive gear. It’s about patience, preparation, and the stubborn willingness to be somewhere uncomfortable at an inconvenient time. It means going back to the same wood at dusk to wait for the wildlife to emerge. It means standing in the rain because the light after a storm is extraordinary. It means lying on the ground in a field while strangers stare.

The shots you’re proudest of will almost never be the easy ones. They’ll be the ones you earned — by getting up early, staying late, and doing what others simply wouldn’t.

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By Ben Taylor for Love This View.