When you are not sure where you are going, you are more likely to keep your eyes open.

From Alfred’s journal

Fog came up off the field this morning and I lost the fence line entirely, so I flew low and slow over ground I have crossed a thousand times without looking at it. Found a mouse hole I never knew was there, and a dropped glove gone green with weather, and the stump where the big maple came down three winters ago, which I had somehow filed as farther east. For years I took pride in knowing the route cold; I thought that was what skill was. But a bird who knows the way goes over it asleep. When you are not sure where you are going, you are more likely to keep your eyes open. Switch came by around noon, when the fog had burned off, and asked what I was looking at down there, and I had no good answer except that I could see it.