When I started writing about travel in 2014, I quickly learned that my job involved more than scribbling notes while trekking through muddy tropical trails or rushing through dark alleys to find a chichi new restaurant that could only be accessed by a secret door. Suddenly my camera was just as important as my notepad.

I never professed to be a skilled photographer. I tried to take a lesson in St. Lucia, but unfortunately the instructor explained the workings of my camera through mathematical equations. He might as well have been giving me a recipe for pecan pie in Finnish. I was puzzled, but soldiered ahead. Realizing just how important images are to a story, I’ve sat on airplanes and in hotel rooms reading confusing and dry manuals and guide books.

I learned just how irreplaceable my camera was after going through Niagara Falls on the Maid of the Mist. I knew I’d get wet, but I got wet. My drenched, angry camera refused to function. I felt lost without it. When flying home from Europe later that month, my phone (with hundreds of unbacked up photos), slid between the armrest and seat cushion. With a swift recline, I heard a loud “crunch!’’ My phone was reduced to shards of glass and bits of wires and chips. I was reduced to tears.

But I’m not here to prattle on about the photo fails. I want to share some of my favorites.