At one point, my son and I found ourselves in a hide outside which a kingfisher had recently been spotted. The hide was pretty busy, and many of the occupants were sporting considerable amounts of exotic photographic kit. High end full frame cameras were de rigeur, it seems, and the lenses attached to them were huge. Poking out of the window, the hide must have looked from the outside like an 18th Century ship of the line about to fire a broadside. It was pretty obvious, therefore, that the company I was keeping was pretty experienced in photographing wild birds, and I was quite happy that I might be able to pick up a pointer or two.
Imagine my disappointment, then, when the other photographers started up a continual inane chatter. It seemed the kingfisher was what they wanted to capture, and whilst it was somewhere else they weren't interested in the other inhabitants of the lake. Instead, whilst they waited, they preferred to fill their time nattering with each other as if they were down the pub. No matter that other hide users might want to maintain the quiet in the hope that other birds might make an appearance.
Apart from their rather self-centred behaviour, it struck me that these self-styled wildlife photographers were missing out in so many ways. Fixated as they were in capturing a few shots of just one bird, they were blind to all the other beauty that was around them. They were truly looking without seeing and I felt sorry for them.