Why it’s not always about the perfect camera

We often hear the phrase “the best camera is the one you have with you.” It’s true, but sometimes you only realise how true when the unexpected happens right in front of you.

While on holiday in Scotland, I found myself in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. I was out exploring a quiet glen when the unmistakable roar of a helicopter echoed through the valley. Seconds later, a search and rescue helicopter emerged over the hill, flying low above an old stone bridge crossing a fast-moving river.

And I happened to be standing right on that bridge.

The helicopter wasn’t landing – it was hovering just a few feet above the ground to pick up a mountain rescue team heading to assist two injured climbers. As it approached, the pilot leaned out of the cockpit and, to my surprise, waved me away. I realised then how serious it was. The downdraft from the rotors was intense. Leaves, grit and sticks were flying in all directions, and the noise was deafening.

I scrambled off the bridge, camera in hand, only a small point-and-shoot I’d brought along “just in case”, and rushed to the other side to keep photographing. In my excitement, I started walking backwards to get a better angle, eyes locked on the helicopter, trying to capture the moment.

What I didn’t notice was the large boulder behind me.

I fell. Hard. Right in the middle of taking the shot.

And still, somehow, I managed to come away with this image.

I’ve shot with high-end gear for years, but this experience reminded me: the moment matters more than the megapixels.

There was no time to worry about sharpness or shutter speed. It was about instinct and responsiveness. I wasn’t thinking – I was reacting. And that’s what photography really is sometimes. Not perfection. Just presence.

What makes a photograph powerful? Is it resolution, or raw experience, is it technical sharpness, or storytelling?

This image is far from perfect. But it’s alive. And sometimes, that’s all that matters. I didn’t have my “proper” camera, but I had a camera. That was enough. Because the scene unfolding in front of me, the atmosphere, the risk, and the story was far more powerful than any lens.

This image is one I’ll always remember. Not just because of what it shows, but because of what it felt like to take it. The grit in the air, the sudden urgency, the wave from the pilot, and yes, the boulder I didn’t see coming.

Photography isn’t always clean or convenient. Sometimes it’s chaotic. Sometimes you fall over. But if you’re paying attention, and you’re present enough to raise your camera, you just might walk away with a photo and a story – you’ll never forget.