Meet the Beast: Part II

In this second installment of Meet the Beast we're going to have a quick tour of the Mamiya RB67. For serious photographers who like to work with film there's a treasure trove of professional quality medium format equipment on the used market these days at prices that would have seemed like a miracle in the pre-digital age, and of those the Mamiya RB67 represents one of the best values in terms of price and capability.

Early results from not long after I started using the RB67. No coincidence, this was also right about the time my DSLRs became permanently relegated to utility image duty (mostly involving shots of my film cameras.)

The original model, the RB67 Professional was introduced in 1970 and updated versions were released in 1974 with the Pro S model, and finally in 1990 with the Pro SD model which was available new into the early 2000's. There's actually very little difference between them considering 30 plus years the RB was on the market, so if you know how to use one version you won't have any problems with any of the others.

As a medium format camera the RB67 normally uses the same 120 roll film popular in everything these days from Holga to Hasselblad. As the name suggests the RB67 is designed around the 6x7cm format, which means on a roll of 120 film you'll get 10 exposures. The rectangular format means there's almost no cropping required when making prints on standard size papers like 8x10 or 11x14 compared to the square format you get with many similar medium format SLRs such as the Hasselblad, virtually all Twin Lens Reflex cameras, and most of the “toy” cameras that are so popular these days.

The RB67 is a modular system. Six separate components have to come together to create a camera that's ready to use – the camera body, lens, focusing screen, finder, revolving adapter and film back.

The RB67 broken down into its individual components. Clockwise from the top left are the revolving back adapter, camera body, lens, waist level finder and 120 film back. The focus screen is also interchangeable but has been left in place here.

If we start with just the camera body we find there aren't many controls here. From the photographer's position behind the camera we see there's a large lever on the right that might be tempting to think of as a winding lever, but it's functions are limited to raising the reflex mirror and cocking the shutter. The film is wound using a separate lever that's part of the film back. We also have a large wheel on either side which are linked, and these are for focusing. The RB67 is designed to focus by means of bellows built right into the body. There's a release button up front to the lower right which is threaded for a cable release, and that's it for all the controls on the body. The only other detail of note is the accessory shoe, or cold shoe, on the left side.

Lets move on to the lens because this is where most of the controls are. The RB67 uses leaf shutters integral to the lens, so the lens barrel is where you'll find both the shutter and aperture settings. Shutter speeds typically run from 1/400^th to 1 second plus a T setting for long exposures. The design of the time exposure mode is one of my little peeves with the RB. When set to T shutter stays opened when it is released which is fine, but instead of the usual method of a second press of the release to end the exposure with the RB you either have to rotate the shutter speed ring off the T setting or start rotating the cocking lever, either of requires you to handle the camera while the shutter is still open, potentially ruining the exposure. Admittedly I can't say I've ever actually lost a shot this way, at least not yet, but why the designers couldn't simply incorporate a superior method that had already been standard leaf shutters for decades is beyond me.

Typical exposure control settings on an RB67 lens. The focus distance scale up front is just a reference for depth of field/hyperfocal distance. Working back from there is the shutter speed ring then the aperture ring. The black switch behind that is the X/M flash sync setting. The red markings near the body are for aligning the breach mount ring when mounting and removing the lens.

Since the shutter is built into the lens this is also where the flash sync terminal is, the standard p.c. socket. As with all leaf shutters flash sync works at all shutter speeds so you can use fill flash outdoors on even the brightest days. I don't know if there's an X/M sync switch on all RB lenses but there is on all the ones I own. Another standard feature on RB lenses, one that's easy to miss, is a little leaver on the lower right that closes the aperture to the stop you have dialed in giving you a quick check on depth of field in the viewfinder.

And finally we come to this little receptacle. At the centre is a standard cable release socket but the collar switch that surrounds it probably needs some explanation. You'll find it can be set to one of two settings that may be labeled “Normal” and “Mirror” or simply “N” and “M”. Setting it to Normal mode, or N, disables the in-lens cable release socket and turns shutter release control over to the release button on the body. Pressing the button or squeezing the cable release attached to it activates the usual exposure sequence, lifting the release mirror, closing the aperture and firing the shutter. In Mirror Up mode, or M, the button on the body just raises the mirror, at which point the shutter can only be fired with a cable release attached to the socket in the lens barrel. This nicely provides photographers with the functional equivalent of a mirror-up lever, but for the unwary there's a hidden trap, and yes I speak from experience here. Being the sort of photographer who normally operates from a tripod and shoots non-moving subjects, normal mode for me is anything but. The lenses are used in mirror mode virtually all the time and I just leave them there. Should I decide to go hand-held or simply don't want the shutter to fire immediately when , there's absolutely nothing to indicate anything is wrong should I forget to turn the switch to normal. I once blew the better part of a roll happily firing away, oblivious to the fact nowhere in that satisfying clunk of the mirror releasing was there a soft click of the shutter. It's the kind of mistake that, in theory, you're only supposed to make once, so lets hope those theorists know their stuff.

The unusual Normal/Mirror Up selector found on the barrel of RB67 lenses. Even experienced photographers will need to acquaint themselves with this peculiar switch before using the RB67 for the first time.

Moving to the other end of the camera, like many medium format SLR's the RB67 uses interchangeable film backs that give photographers two important advantage. First an foremost owning more than one back gives you the ability to switch mid-roll from one film types mid-roll simply by loading each back with a different emulsion. Loading a roll of colour film, therefore, doesn't commit you to finishing the roll before being able to shoot black and white. Second, special purpose backs can be used. The RB67 system included backs for shooting 645 and 6x8cm formats, and two backs that accepted different film formats, 220 and 70mm. While 70mm backs are a rarity, 220 backs were almost as common as the standard 120 version so a word of caution may be in order here. There aren't many 220 films still available, in fact to my knowledge Kodak Portra is the only thing available. If you're in the market for an RB67 it can be easy to overlook the fact that the one you found only comes with a 220 back. On the other hand Portra is a fine film and you can probably find some bargains on 220 backs.

The 120 film back removed. Note that the back has its own winding lever to advance the film, a function the lever on the body does not perform. Backs for 220 and 70mm film are also available as well as 645 and 6x8 format with 120 film.

One final advantage that may be easy to overlook – about half of the things that are likely to fail on a camera like this are in the film transport system. At today's prices just replacing a film back is likely to be much cheaper than having the whole camera repaired, and if you have spares after a failure like this you can just keep shooting.

As with any back that is removable there is a dark slide to keep the film from being exposed when it's not attached to the body. While you could pull this out and leave it as long as the back remains attached it's an easy thing to lose so it's good practice to leave it in until you're ready to make an exposure and return it as soon as you're done. There's no need to worry about accidentally leaving it in or out at the wrong time though as safety mechanisms are there to prevent you from removing the back if the dark slide isn't in, or tripping the shutter when it is in.

So far the RB67 back sounds pretty much like standard fare for a ;medium format SLR of this type, but now we're coming to this camera's defining feature, because the "RB" in RB67 stands for revolving back. Most cameras that shoot rectangular format negatives need to be turned on their side if you want to shoot verticals. That's not much of a problem with 35mm cameras but that presents more of a challenge with heavy medium format SLRs that are more likely to demand the use of a tripod. To shoot verticals most tripod heads require the camera to be dangled off to one side where the camera's extra weight can threaten to tip the whole tripod over. This is one reason so many medium format cameras adopt the square 6x6 format as there is no vertical or horizontal while you're shooting, This keeps the camera's centre of mass over top of the tripod, but making standard rectangular prints requires a good portion of the big gorgeous medium format negatives to be lost to cropping. The RB67 however allows the camera to remain on top of the tripod like a 6x6 camera at all times, making the switch between horizontal and vertical by rotating the back alone. This is done by means of the revolving back adapter, an attachment placed between the body an back. Normally this remains attached to the body as there is rarely a reason to remove it so some users may simply assume this is part of the body. It's and important thing to consider when purchasing an RB67 body alone as sellers might or might not include this component. Remember the back can't be attached to the body without one, even if you're willing to forego the revolving back feature.

At last we come to the finder which, it should be no surprise to learn is interchangeable and many types are available. Most common is the standard waist level finder that is similar just about every other WLF on other medium format cameras. There's no release button required to raise it, you simply pull up on top cover, under which you'll then find a small lever on the right that pops up the focus magnifier. While this is the most basic magnifier it's also the one I prefer, though anyone not accustomed to this type of viewer may find the left/right reversed viewfinder image difficult to adjust to. There is also an eye-level prism finder for those who prefer that fully corrects the view at the cost of some weight, but you're already dealing with 2.5 kg or more worth of camera already, so what's a little more? If you want to go a bit further there are also finders for the RB with metering and other special features. Of note finders are one of the few items made for the RB's sister model the Mamiya RZ67 that can be swapped between the two models. Since its the finder that carries the most visible camera model label it's not unusual to see an RB67 that has "Mamiya RZ67" emblazoned across the front.  

Well, that's all my heart can take this week. In future installments I'll be going into more detail with functional basics such as loading the film, changing lenses and so on, followed by a summary and a few final thoughts. I'm hoping to keep things on a semi-regular weekly schedule but apologies in advance if things are late as I'm expecting to integrate a bit more video as well as all the while I'm bringing a new element into my photographic world which... well, you'll see.

Medium Format To Go

In past episodes I've made casual mention of "The Iskra" once or twice as though everyone knows what I'm talking about, a bit of a foolish assumption given that a year ago it would have meant nothing to me either. It occurs to me therefore that a few words of explanation might be in order.

The story begins early last spring with two things I was wishing I had. One was a proper take-everywhere camera, something I could just tuck away in the backpack I take most everywhere so that I'd never be without a decent camera should the unexpected opportunity arise. Having resisted modern notions that ranks portable telecommunications devices right next to shoes in terms of indispensability I don't even have a camera phone to fall back on in a pinch.  The second thing I was after was a medium format camera that would allow me to be a bit more free-wheeling than what I had. The RB67 is a wonderful tool and will remain my tool of choice, but it's not something you take along unless using it is the sole object of the trip, It's no surprise then that a lot of medium format SLR users have something like a twin-lens reflex for those times they need to go lightweight. In place of a camera bag of the kind that keeps chiropractors in business one can simply sling a lighter camera over the shoulder instead while sacrificing little more than lens interchangeability.

An Iskra photo demonstrating the virtue of procrastination. Can you imagine
 how dull this shot would be if I'd ever bothered to paint that door?

I like the idea of having a TLR at my disposal, but a TLR and a take everywhere camera are two different things for most people. In fact the terms medium format and take everywhere camera don't sound like they belong in the same sentence. There is in fact an option that, given a fairly generous space for totin allow both of these desires to be met with one camera - the medium format folder.

Medium format folders were a popular camera style in the decade or so following WWII, but seemed to lose appeal to consumers faster than other styles of medium format camera in the face of the increasing popularity of 35mm during the 60's. It makes sense I suppose as the appeal of folders is their compactness, and consumers who were looking for that would have been the first to switch to the smaller format. I have to say though that on a strict compactness vs. quality basis I think those who went for 35mm got a raw deal. (Of course there's probably more to it, like 3 times as many exposures on a roll.) Personally, I find it far easier to carry a medium format folder than a 35mm SLR, but I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.

As this style of camera had its day well enough before my time a bit of research was in order. There was a whole world of features, reputations for mechanical and optical quality, and of course prices to acquaint myself with. In term of features the only must-have was a rangefinder. Many cameras of this ilk require the user to guess at the subject distance then dial it in to focus, relying on depth of field to cover for any errors. That may be good enough for grampa's vacation snaps, but there's a difference between in focus and covered by DOF, and I need in focus. Also, my strong preference in terms of format is for 6x6 as this is what I end up cropping to most of the time with 6x7 negs anyway.

Features are features, but it gets trickier when it comes to optics and mechanical reliability. Being vintage cameras much of what one can learn about the various models comes in the form of their reputation, and it's been my experience at any rate that it can be difficult to separate what portion of a reputation is earned and what is brand mystique (or in some cases whatever you'd call its opposite.)

There is some objective information to be had in terms of optical and mechanical design. Laying aside things like quality control, mechanically some choice of materials, ways of putting things together, arrangement of parts that make things happen and so on are better than others. Further, leaving out considerations like how well or consistently lenses are assembled, their optical design itself is just a matter of what glass elements are involved, how their arranged and the types of glass used. In this regard cameras of this design and vintage nearly always have either a 3 element Cooke triplet or a 4 element design that is normally a Tessar variant. No surprise here, other things being equal the four element designs will have the more sought after characteristics. There's also the matter of whether or not the lenses are coated.

Finally there was price. I didn't want to spend too much either in absolute terms or in terms of value per dollar spent. If I just wanted the best there are dealers with unsullied reputations who sell the most sought after models, fully refurbished and warrantied  at a fully worth the price premium if you have it in your budget and just want something that will work with no questions. I could have done that but then I would never have been able to afford the 50mm lens for the RB that I don't know how I lived without and would probably just now be getting 'round to being able to buy film again. Also, where's the fun in that?

Instead I followed my usual instinct to find something that was a bit of a sleeper, a camera that performs well enough to be on the most sought after list but due to whatever oversight isn't. My search ultimately lead me to, well I guess you already know, the Iskra. So what's an Iskra?

The Iskra as it looked shortly after it arrived. I've since made a few cosmetic changes,
reskinning it in blue vinyl and restoring the logo to its original fire-engine red.

I'm sure you've already guessed that it's a medium format folder. It has my favoured square format, coated Tessar design lens and fully coupled rangefinder. Not only does the lens have a reputation as a solid performer, the focus mechanism has a superior helicoid design that moves all the lens elements together rather than just moving the front element with relation to the others. Adding to its sophistication is an advanced (for the time) film detection mechanism that obviates the need to line up start arrows or watch through a little red window as you wind. Best of all the Iskra usually goes for a fraction of what similar models on the sought after list do.

So what gives? Well, let's start with the logo on the camera, which if you can't quite make out the script in the photo above reads "Искра". These are Soviet cameras made from 1960-63 at the KMZ factory in Kiev. As such they come with the default reputation attached to all "Russian" cameras as cheaply constructed, mechanically unsophisticated and subject to spotty quality controls. Whether this reputation in general is deserved or the product of leftover cold-war biases and the "knock-off" stigma based on the fact that, unburdened by international trademark or patent agreements, many of these cameras either heavily borrowed from or outright copied from Western designs. A few things there doesn't seem to be much dispute about include the fact that light leaks in the bellows aren't uncommon, thought this would be true of any camera of this vintage that had bellows, and the fact that frame spacing is typically uneven, though I don't know if this is true of the Agfa model this camera is based on that has the same mechanism.

In this last regard the Iskra is no exception as one look at the functionally and cosmetically nearly identical Agfa Super Isolette of the late 50's should convince you. (The Agfa also sold in the U.S. as the Ansco Super Speedex.) Does this make the Iskra an inferior instrument to the Western model that inspired it, enough to account for the fact that it was selling for about 1/3-1/4 the price of an Agfa or Ansco in comparable condition? Opinions I was able to find online seemed remarkably polarized ranging from the notion if any Iskra out there still manages to function at all it's only been kept going with duct tape and rubber bands to those who contend that they're mechanically equal to and optically a bit superior to their Western counterparts. What to make of this?

I had an hour to kill and was parked right beside an old cemetery - perfect time
to remember I happen to have a medium format camera in the backpack with me.

A bit more digging though was enough to bring some sense to these wildly differing opinions. It came from a piece written by a collector of Soviet cameras (sorry, I couldn't find it again to give you the link) who shed a bit of light on the very different journey an Iskra may have taken to get through the past five decades to arrive in 2014 compared to a camera made in the West around the same time like an Agfa. Unlike, say an Agfa that got used regularly for a few years but otherwise spent most of that time on a shelf or in a box, Iskras were made for Soviet citizens who weren't running out to replace them the moment there was something newer and better on the market, and many of them were still in every-day use long after the Soviet Union dissolved and that Agfa had become a curiosity the original owner's grandson found while rummaging through the attic. How much use a particular Iskra may have seen over the decades could vary, but in the USSR a camera like this could represent a professional photographer's bread and butter. Until not that long ago they many of these cameras were used day in and day out and to be kept going at almost any cost. Not every Iskra out there has this kind of history but there are enough beaten up and barely functional to leave anyone who has seen a few that their condition is the result of poor initial construction rather than the fact they're doing the equivalent of comparing two cars of the same model year without considering the odometer on one reads twenty times higher than the other.

It didn't take too much effort to find a well priced Iskra on eBay from an experienced and highly rated seller who included enough good photos to convince me this one hadn't been run into the ground. The package travelled from the Ukraine to Canada and arrived faster than most things I order from the U.S. and for no higher higher shipping cost. Now here it is more than half a year and a good few rolls of film on and time enough to look back and and ask how well it has fared compared to my expectations. I don't have and have never used one the Agfa or Ansco cameras that would allow me to make that sort of comparison, but let's have a look at my actual experiences.

While loading the first roll into the camera I couldn't help but notice the spiked wheel that allows the camera to detect when film, and not just backing paper, is moving from the camera. It looks like a miniaturized version of a medieval instrument of persuasion. The same mechanism with the same spiky wheel is used on the Agfa Super Isolette. As I found it actually does perforate the backing paper and leaves its impression on the margin of the film. It look bad but I haven't seen any evidence that any light at all gets through to the film at any point.

My real concern when I unloaded that first roll was that it seemed alarmingly loose on the takeup spool, and indeed when developed it was obvious that light had leaked in along the edges, though for the most part it had not intruded into the image area. For the next few rolls I kept the film in camera when the last exposure had been taken, waiting until it could be unloaded and wound right onto the developing reel in one go under complete darkness. After a few rolls it was evident though that my first experience had been an isolated incident and I haven't had problems with film I changed in the field since, though there's always the concern it could happen again.

In the absence of issues like that the camera is the kind of capable performer that I'd hoped. I have no quibbles with the quality of the optics and the focus is accurate. Not quite as accurate is the viewfinder which experience has shown requires me to compensate by aiming up and a little to the right regardless of the subject distance. I've had some otherwise good shots ruined because of this. As for the frame spacing, yes it can vary from frame to frame, but only once have I found two frames actually touch and even here there was no overlap so I can't say I consider this a real practical concern.

Though aside from that one loosely wound roll I had no issues with light leaks for the first several rolls, a problem suddenly appeared a few months on. It traced back to a leak in the bellows which is more or less to be expected in cameras of this vintage. I found it easily enough by shining a light from inside the camera and did a spot repair with a dab of plasti-dip, the goop that's used to put a nice rubbery grip on the bare metal handle of tools. It's likely that once one hole appears others may begin to appear so every roll or two I'll have to remember to do a quick check on the bellows.

For the bulk of the summer the camera went largely unused. It was a surprise then that when the roll that had been sitting in it for a few months was developed it was almost completely done in with an entirely different kind of light leak. It might not be a bad idea to do a future post about diagnosing light leaks, but suffice it to say that unlike the blobby patch of leaked light that stayed within the frame area this roll had the linear stripes extending the entire width of the film that indicated light was coming in along the edges of the door in the back of the camera. The door of the Iskra isn't hinged, it comes right off and needs to be hooked over a protrusion that forms a sort of light trap to be closed. It was possible the door didn't seat quite right and it did have a few months to accumulate leaks, but though the next roll spent less than a week in camera a few leaks were visible in several frames here as well. Though the Iskra isn't really designed to employ the sort of spongy light seals found in more current cameras I decided to address the issue by taking some of the material that was left over after replacing the seals in the RB67 and try to place it strategically to prevent future problems. Results of this to be determined.

And so we've come to the part where it would be customary for me to offer some sort of conclusion. I'll take a pass on anything by way of passing judgement as this always involves some measure of foisting my own preferences and expectations to the foreground. By my count on average I've experienced some sort of operational issue with every other toll of film I've put through the camera. I know many out there wouldn't even consider taking that kind of chance with their photos while others would be overjoyed to be able to get the kind of quality this camera is capable of without paying a premium price for a device that, for its age, could be a whole lot less reliable. I'm sure the same could be said for many cameras of this ilk whether the factory they came from was located in the East or the West. I think the experience owes as much to how I bought it as what I bought. I got as good as could be expected from a reputable eBay dealer who was clear and honest about what he was selling. The camera works, the lens in clean and clear, the shutter fires, the film advances and all the rest but there's the occasional glitch. This is entirely different than purchasing from a highly regarded restorer who tests, calibrates, replaces what's not up to snuff and warranties everything. It may be triple the price, but if that's enough to get rid of the glitches I've run into I can't see where there'd be much else to quibble about with this camera.

Managing the Symptoms

Whether it was a rationally justifiable need for another camera or something else, either way it was less than $40 with shipping and at the very least it's kept me amused over the past week.

Nearly every photographer out there knows first hand the unending to add just one more camera, lens or other piece of kit to their arsenal going well beyond what any practical need would dictate. While some might argue this Gear Acquisition Syndrome as it's called can be cured through means such as aversion training with high voltage shocks, spending several months at a monastery in silent meditation and other similar interventions, the majority of us find it preferable to simply manage the symptoms.

Though simply building a couple of cameras has provided some relief for me recently it was only a matter of time before the GAS returned. It was that mother-lode of deeply expired 35mm bulk film that set things off. (Quick update, I relieved myself of the majority of this haul as the 1000' tin of Ilford Mark V has gone off in support of the Film Photography Project's efforts, but that still leaves me with 200' of bulk film and a few rolls from the factory to boot.) My Nikon FE would normally be perfect for trying out new film but it had been acting up of late and with several emulsions to try out I found myself browsing online auctions for 35mm cameras. For someone who already owns eleven cameras of various formats this is a pretty weak justification, but like a struggling dieter who manages to convince themselves that right now their overall goal could be furthered by eating cake, I wasn't going to let a little thing like reasonableness deprive me of my rationale.

Like I said, it's all about managing symptoms. After all, if finding relief to this kind of thing involved unending upgrades for up-to-the-minute technology or tracking down coveted vintage cameras in mint condition I'd be out in the streets by now. Instead I've found I can lead a nearly normal life while dealing with the affliction by taking a different tack. Outbidding the Leica aficionados on an M3 is something I might be able to do once, but knowing the itch will need to be scratched eventually no matter what I get myself into I find I can get better mileage by carefully researching and tracking down a purchase that ultimately may rival the cost of a new pair of jeans.

Over the past several months a bit of general, unfocused research had identified a few members of the Minolta Hi-Matic line as cameras that were worthier than their reputation might suggest. This is possibly due to the widely varied capabilities among cameras that have borne the Hi-Matic name. I remember Hi-Matics from the late 70s- early 80s as decent point-and-shoot cameras, most notable at the time as one of the first consumer models to offer futuristic autofocus technology. A great camera for holidays, family vacation and the like, but nothing you'd consider a rival for an SLR. This is probably the image that comes to mind for a lot of other photographers when they hear the name Hi-Matic, which may in part account for why, while Canon's very nice Canonet line has been growing in popularity on the used market of late, very similar and equally nice versions of Minolta's Hi-Matic line that are in every way the Canonet's rival remain relatively obscure.

I can't remember what it was that piqued my interest in the Hi-Matic line but at some point I found myself sifting through the information available online, comparing the virtues and vices of the various models. (If you're interested the most informative site I found about the Hi-Matic lineup as a whole can be found here.) I determined that any version of the Hi-Matic 7, or preferably the Hi-Matic 9 would be suitable, possibly as an alternative to my Iskra folder as take everywhere camera with the added benefits of a built in meter, the ability to use all that old film I find myself in possession of, and as it turns out is free of the Iskra's recently discovered light leak issue that will need to be addressed.

 And so it was that right on cue a new listing appeared for a Minolta Hi-Matic 9 in pretty reasonable condition with a "Buy It Now" price of less than the going rate and it was even from a Canadian seller, sparing me the extra shipping and import fees. How could I not?

When it arrived a week or so later all seemed to be more or less in order. The lens was a bit wobbly but that's pretty common in these cameras and it's not enough to be a real issue. The shutter speed dial located on the lens can also be difficult to turn if you don't grab it just right but no big deal. A more serious issue seemed to be the rangefinder window image. It was too fuzzy to be of use focusing except in the bottom corner. A quick look at the front of the camera revealed why. If you can't spot it in the photo at the top the detail below makes it perfectly clear. The little rectangular clear spot in the frosted glass doesn't line up with the opening for the rangefinder window. If you've never used a rangefinder this window forms a secondary window in the viewfinder. You focus by turning the focus ring until this secondary image is exactly lined up with the primary image of your subject, Having just this small portion of the secondary image to work with can really make this hard, though I've put two rolls of film through it in this condition and always seem to mange. I'm going to have a go at fixing it though.

These issues aside, results so far have been everything I had hoped. The 45mm f/1.7 lens has a reputation for being as good as any normal lens you're likely to find on any 35mm rangefinder or SLR without paying for premium optics and what I've seen is perfectly in line with that. This lens is one of the chief reasons I was glad to have found a Hi-Matic 9 rather than one of the more common 7s which has a reputation for image flare in some situations, probably due to inferior coating. The only down-side I can is that the Hi-Matic 9 is fairly large for a 35mm rangefinder. There's no real savings in terms of size compared to many 35mm SLRs. Those who prefer rangefinders for the unobtrusive soft click of the shutter will be disappointed by the Hi-Matic 9s hearty pling, but this is of little concern to me. Some have also quibbled about the advance lever which needs to be turned about 2/3rds of a full circle to wind the film but I've found that after the shot I've gone and wound the film without even thinking so how hard could it be?

The one thing I haven't done is put a battery in it. All the vital functions, shutter, aperture etc. are fully mechanical and don't require battery power, but with batteries the camera has surprisingly sophisticated automatic features for something that came out in the 60's. There is of course metered manual, but shutter and aperture can both be set to automatic, either separately or both at once, effectively allowing this camera to be set to Program mode, though apparently that term didn't exist back when these little gems were still being made.

This of course requires battery power and therein lies the rub. Like many cameras of this era the Hi-Matic 9 was designed to work with 1.35V mercury cells which are no longer made for exactly the reason you're thinking. Alternatives include the equivalent sized alkaline battery, but reason mercury cells were used in the first place is their voltage is very steady right up until they die which allowing the meter to be designed with a simple circuit not at all suited to work with alkaline batteries that can drop from 1.5V to less than a volt as they are used up. Silver oxide cells are much steadier but require either modifications to the camera or an adapter costing more than I paid for the camera by half to adjust both physical size and voltage. Finally there are hearing-aid batteries that are close enough to the right voltage not to matter which only require a simple DIY adapter for size. They are cheap, easy to find and have the requisite constant voltage characteristics, their only disadvantage being once activated their lifetime is limited to a few months whether or not they are used. At a buck or two a piece I think I can live with that.

Once I get the rangefinder window straightened out the Hi-Matic will take its place as my take everywhere camera. Whether or not it becomes a permanent spot or perhaps alternates with the Iskra remains to be seen. As always I'll keep you posted.