"See that large outcropping of rock off in the distance? The Navajo call that the Monkey King. Not the medium sized outcropping to the left of it, but the large brown one, just there."

They are all some shade of brown, we are out in the in the West Texas desert, and I've done this same song and dance dozens of times, with dozens of different nature guides all over the world -- enough to know that I'm probably not looking at the right thing. I don't see any rock that remotely resembles a monkey.

I truly dread this inevitable moment, on any nature excursion, where the local guide decides it's time to describe for us a very specific, often very complicated thing off in the distance, that we are supposed to "see." The description usually happens in broken or dubious English, and always involves some faraway mountain or cliff face or rock formation that is legendarily supposed to resemble something else. I know we are about to spend an overlong period of time trying to get me to see the thing, I'm never going to actually see it, but eventually will have to lie and say that I do, in order to get us to drop it and move on.

"Okay, I see it. That one there, right? The largest one. Got it."

"No, Amigo. You're looking at the closer, medium-sized outcropping. It only appears to be the largest, because it is closer to us. Do you understand how perspective works? I'm talking about this one to the east. Here, follow my finger."

I understand how perspective works and am hoping our cute guide doesn't stop and attempt to explain it to me, but of course he does. And now the whole group gets to sit on their anxious horses while our guide painstakingly searches for the right words in English to explain how when things are closer in distance, they appear larger in size. It is a tad humiliating, also, now I am confused as to whether we are supposed to be looking at the outcropping that appears to be the largest, or actually is the largest in elevation? I'm certainly wanting to explain to him that you can't point at something hundreds of miles away with your finger and expect me see what it is you think you are pointing at, but my old anxiety has kicked in the second he introduced cardinal directions. I suck at them. Somehow everyone else in the group seems to be following along just fine (even though I secretly suspect that many are just lying sycophants, and don't see a monkey either), when I realize I have an even larger, deeper-seeded anxiety to deal with:

This is "Magic Picture" all over again.

Back in the mid 90s, a phenomenon occurred called the Magic Picture. Suddenly shopping malls were overrun with small kiosks selling large framed optical illusion artwork. I guess for your home? Although I never saw anyone actually purchase one.

These were hideous abstract paintings that -- if you put your eyes in a trance and stared at it for long enough -- would turn into a still hideous piece of art, but now with a sort of 3D ship or other object seemingly popping out from the center.

Or so I’d been told. I wouldn't know.

I was born with a rare condition called Duane’s Syndrome, and as far as I’m concerned, all these kiosks were put here by the devil himself, right during my teenage years, to draw attention to the fact that one of my eyes never developed the muscles necessary to look left. When I attempt to look left with both eyes, I appear positively crazy, as one of my eyes does what it's supposed to, and turns leftward, while the other muscle-deficient eye does nothing at all, and just continues looking forward like a douchebag. I see two different images simultaneously. It is disorienting, but moreover, it makes me look retarded. So, I learned from a very young age that if something was happening to the left of me (and by golly, wouldn't you know it, a bunch of stuff seems to be constantly happening over there), then I simply turn my whole head, and mask the transition with a long blink.

This is the most natural thing in the world for me, and I hardly ever think twice about it in my daily life. However, whatever scientific principles are at work in these "magic" pictures, no matter how long I sat there and stared at them, my eye situation simply wasn't going to let me see that stupid ship. It just wasn't going to happen.

And man, I so desperately wanted to see that ship! I would even sometimes return privately to see if I could force it to happen, without all the pressure; because what would invariably happen in a group, is everyone else would see it -- almost immediately -- and now everyone is just staring at me, watching me stare at a picture. Riveting. They're waiting impatiently on something I know damn well isn't going to happen. And don't we have a lot sexual innuendos to misunderstand, and merchandise to mess with for hours and then not purchase, over at SPENCER'S GIFTS?

"Do you see it yet Ryan?"

Ugh, of course I don't. But I could either go into an overlong explanation about Duanne's Syndrome, and show them my f*cked up eye like a parlor trick, or in the interest of getting over to Spencer's, I could...

"Yes! There it is, I see it! It's a ship, it's so... magical! Let's go."

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The deserts in Texas are insanely hot. I thought earlier our guide might have been flirting with me, but now he just seems irritated.

"Amigo, you're still not looking in the right direction. Am I saying it right? East? Do you know the word East?"

"Yes, I know what East is, I just don't know where it is."

"Oh. Well if you find where the sun is located in the sky, then you can always..."

But I've tuned him out, because like a dumbass, I just looked directly at the sun, and now I can't see anything.

At least I'm off the hook with finding the monkey rock. "Please just continue, I'm going to sit this one out."

"Well the Navajo people called this rock formation the Monkey King. You can see him with his crown right there, standing next to a chest of drawers."

"Hold on, a chest of drawers?" I ask. Even blind, I can't help myself. "Like a dresser?"

"No. Like a chest of drawers. Why?"

"That just doesn't sound right, maybe you mistranslated it?"

"This coming from a guy who doesn't know where East is, and then looked directly at the sun? I thought you couldn't see anything."

"I can't." I still can't decide if we are flirting or not, but is his English getting better? It sure seems to be. "I didn't say it didn't look right, I said it didn't sound right. A chest of drawers is an oddly specific piece of furniture, and an unlikely point of reference for the Navajo people."

"And now you are an expert on the Navajo people? The monkey has a crown and a chest of drawers. That is the legend."

No, he definitely hates me, but I can't stop. I've had an epiphany: "Oh, are you maybe meaning that his actual chest, his monkey chest, is full of something? Like maybe Pride or Dignity?"

"No, like drawers."

"Okay. Fine that just doesn't make any sense, why would a monkey have a chest of drawers."

"Why would a monkey have a crown?"

Ugh. Touché. He's got me there.

"What do you do again? For work?" he asks. "I'm guessing it doesn't involve directions. Or horses."

Wow. Now there's something wrong with my horse-handling ability too? This guy! But I answer him. "I'm a photographer."

"Ohhhhhhhhh." He says it long and drawn out, as if everything suddenly makes sense. "Well, if you're going to take a picture of the Monkey King, hurry up and take it while your horse is shitting. We need to go."

I'm still squinting from my encounter with the sun, but I raise my camera to my eye nonetheless. I then purposefully turn to where I think West must be, completely away from all the monkey business, and snap a picture of something else entirely. "Got it, we're good."

And that's how I captured the photo you see above of Elephant Island.

Haha, no I'm bullshitting. This photo was taken many years later (and many, many, miles away from the Texas desert), from a speed boat off the coast of South Iceland. (I call the archipelago the Mayonnaise Jar Islands, find out why HERE).

My overly-long setup was all to explain why this is one of my favorite photographs that I have ever taken.

No one had to point it out to me, or convince me that it sorta-kinda looked like an elephant, if viewed from a certain angle, in certain light, etc., etc. We came careening around a cove at about 100 miles per hour, and suddenly there in front of me was a 10-story tall elephant made of rock, kneeling down to drink. We were given no preface, no warning, and up until this exact second, I had no idea that such an island even existed. There was no need to trance-focus one's eyes, or look East (or even look left, for that matter) as the elephant was right in front of us and we were barreling towards it at top speed.

"Slow down!" I yell over all the wind noise, "That island looks like an elephant!"

"Yes!" our Icelandic boat driver yells back, in his heavy accent. "That's what people say!"

And that was that. If anything, I'm pretty sure he cranked the motor to go even faster. Suddenly I'm thinking... Is this how I die? By crashing into the very first cool rock formation that I can actually see?

Luckily, I still had the wherewithal to do the math, and realized that if I didn't pull it together and get out my camera in the next 5 seconds, this elephant was going to get away. It's a miracle I got the shot, and it hangs in my house to this day.

(If you want to read about me photographing real live elephants, instead of an elephant-shaped rock, my article about THAI ELEPHANTS might be a fun place to start, or this one about much larger AFRICAN ELEPHANTS).

Another small miracle is that not too long ago, I rounded a corner at an antique store (that was actually more like a glorified thrift store), and there one was, hanging, after all these years: an old Magic Picture from the 1990s. I don't know what changed -- certainly not my eyes, as far as I know -- but can I just say something to all the kiosk employees of yesteryear? Ship, my ass! That is not a f*cking ship, that is a boat, AT BEST! Learn your watercraft, Bitches!

Still, my chest did swell with an unexpected amount of pride, at finally being able to see what everyone else saw, all these years later, even if the stupid boat was pretty pitiful, and much less awesome than what my teenage brain had imagined.

Hold on. "Pride," did I just say? Or did my chest swell with... drawers?

First an elephant, and now this "ship?" Who's ready to go hunt a monkey king with me? I'm on a roll.

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Read more about Iceland HERE.

Or go to an Icelandic public restroom HERE!