Sack O' Beans

There are a lot of reasons I gravitate to medium format SLRs and one of the major joys of using them, to me at least, is how naturally they work with waist level finders. I'm not the only fan of the WLF out there of course, but not everyone loves them for the same reason. Some street photographers appreciate them for the unusual chest to waist level perspective, the not so off-putting way it has you looking down rather than directly at your subject, and for some I'm sure just the fact that it's the way Vivian Maier worked is reason enough. As someone who focuses primarily on landscape subjects however merely getting down to waist level is often not good enough. The ideal perspective for me usually has little to do with the standard eye-level view of the world we see day to day, and more often than not I find that means getting low. How low depends on the subject but waist level, knee level, even ground level, I find occasions for them all. The WLF saves me from having to get down in the muck for low level shots as would be needed if I were using a camera with an eye level finder. But just because I can frame and focus down at ground level is only half the battle. Since I rarely shoot hand held supporting the camera down there presents challenges of its own.

My trusty Manfrotto 055 at its lowest.

My trusty Manfrotto 055 tripod with its splayable legs and sawed off centre column is set up as well as it can be for the low perspective. It's just fine for most of what I do, but even at its lowest it only goes down to about knee level. If I chose a different tripod head it could probably go a bit lower still, but not much I don't imagine. I even own an old Manfrotto Super 3D head that would in theory allow me to invert the centre column so it's hanging underneath the tripod then flip the head around to keep the camera upright and go down nearly to ground level. If this sounds a bit awkward I have to say that until you've tried actually shooting this way you don't know the half of it. Even in the normal upright position I've always found this head less than ideal and at any rate it's not really made to handle larger cameras.

I've tried other solutions for getting lower. I have a clamp that attaches to the tripod leg and supports the camera from there but when you add the necessary tripod head to it it's as bulky to carry as the tripod itself and not much more fun to use than trying to invert the centre column. There's other solutions I'm sure, and probably much more workable ones such as more flexible tripod designs, ground boards, and the like but it's going to be hard to justify the price of any of those even if they can match the simplicity, reliability, and portability of something I found lying around the hall linen closet unused and forgotten about for probably over a decade.

My Sack O' Beans (pictured at the top hiding under the RBeast) was never intended by its manufacturers to be a photographic accessory. If memory serves it was made to be thrown into a microwave until suitably toasty then placed against a sore back or some such. The practice never caught on around here and it eventually wound up on a box of things to donate until the notion occurred that there might have a place in my camera bag. I'm sure there are other kinds of equally suitable bean bags sold for other purposes. There are even bean bags made for photographers but for my purposes I'm not sure what if any advantage they would have over my closet find. It's about the right size for the cameras I like to use, neither too light nor too heavy, enough give to accommodate itself to the shape of the camera and whatever surface it's on but firm enough to hold steady once it has. I don't believe it's water tight but it's tough enough to throw in the wash if exposed to any soggy nastiness. For something that would otherwise just have been thrown or given away I could hardly do better.

The Sack O' Beans in use. Results below.

 Now using bean bags as support for a camera is hardly a new idea but most of the ones I see on the market are targeted at wildlife photographers. These usually have a sort of folded over design intended to be thrown over the edge of a window or car door, which is great I suppose if that's how you're likely to be shooting. I don't know that these would be particularly good in situations that didn't involve a window, especially not when the idea is to get right down to ground level. For more general use I don't know if there's a better design than a simple pillow type bean bag. Mine was purchased at a pharmacy originally and I haven't modified it in any way. I don't know what other purposes suitably sized bean bags are sold for these days but I'm sure there are many I'm just not thinking of right now. If you're handy sewing, or know someone who is and would be willing to help, it would be a cinch to make one. I tried this myself years ago by re-stuffing an old decorative pillow with navy beans. Not a bad idea but navy beans are too large in my experience. I'd go with something more pea-sized if I were to try that again. Also decorative pillows aren't very tough when it comes to field use. Just sayin'.

While using a bean bag for support might seem like a step down from the stability of a tripod I have successfully used mine for long exposure photography without issue. Using mine with either the Hasselblad 503cx or RB67, so long as I can get the mirror pre-released without nudging anything and use a cable release for the shutter, there's little chance anything is going to move during a longer exposure. Just pressing the shutter release by hand is a little tricky with most medium format cameras designed around a waist level finder, both of mine included, because the shutter release is at the bottom where it tends to sink into the bean bag if it's not carefully positioned. I tend not to shoot this way and can't really attest to what kind of shutter speeds you might be able to get away with shooting this way.

The image above was shot at 1/2 second using mirror lock and a cable release. (All the "something seems to be afoot here" jokes have been made in advance so let's just move on then shall we.) I imagine I could have made something of the subject if I had to shoot from the tripod but I'd be pretty much shooting down at it, losing the sky, and it just wouldn't be the same. I may not use it every outing but the Sack O' Beans tucks away into a little bottom compartment in my large camera pack where I can pretty much forget about it until needed.

The Sack O' Beans is the most obvious example of a photographic accessory that was never intended to be photographic accessory but there are others, especially in the darkroom. They often offer neat solutions without the price tag associated with specialty photographic items. I'm sure there are plenty of useful examples, maybe some worth devoting a future episode to?

Shooting below the belt.

For most people it seems photography is something that takes place at eye level. It's almost an ideal - the camera as an extension of the eye. So it is that the vast majority of cameras made over the last several decades have been designed to use by being held up to the eye. In this way photographers can expect to photograph the world the way they naturally experience. The thing is, sometimes the whole point of photography is to see the world in new ways, to find in the world of familiar experience aspects of the unfamiliar. While cameras designed to mirror the way we look at the world everyday may be the norm, it doesn't have to be that way, which is probably why I, like so many other photographers, have become a fan of the waist level finder.

These days cameras with a waist level finder, or WLF, are an uncommon enough phenomenon that I should probably take a moment and make sure everyone is clear on what I'm talking about. In the most general terms if a photographer has to look down at the top of the camera to frame up the image this is called waist level viewing. camera is designed such that the photographer frames up the scene by looking down at the camera to view the image this would be a waist level finder. In the years after George Eastman brought photography to the masses waist level viewing was common in the cameras of the day by virtue of mirrored viewfinders such as you will find in nearly any old box camera. These offered a handy reference for roughly what would appear in the image but the straight-through viewing of a view camera or a rangefinder were employed when some aid to focusing was required. The waist level viewfinder photographers from the mid 20th Century on came to know are the natural result of the introduction of reflex cameras, twin lens reflex (TLR) and single lens reflex (SLR). In a reflex camera the image from the lens is redirected by a mirror to a focusing screen at the top of the camera. A TLR uses a separate lens matched to the primary taking lens, while an SLR mirror redirects the image from the taking lens for focusing then flips out of the way during the exposure. A waist level finder is simply an aid to viewing the image on the reflex focus screen directly by providing a shade for the screen that normally collapses out of the way when not in use, and which will often incorporate a flip up magnifier to aid with critical focus.

But while waist level finders are a mainstay of TLRs, they are rare in 35mm SLRs and to my knowledge unheard of in DSLRs (which after all, are just SLRs that happen to have digital sensors). Instead, a special five sided prism, a pentaprism, is employed, redirecting the image to the back of the camera, correcting as it does the mirror reversed image that occurs when a reflex focus screen is viewed directly. Since this viewing arrangement using a pentaprism allows the photographer to bring the camera to their eye, effectively looking right through it from the back, these are often referred to as eye-level finders. Whatever you call them they are a built in feature on the vast majority of 35mm SLR cameras, meaning that despite their reflex design this class of camera adopts a straight through, "extension of the eye" viewing style more natural to other camera designs such as rangefinders.

But while waist level finders are a rarity in the 35mm SLR world, this is not so when it comes to my usual weapon of choice, the medium format SLR. Once the mainstay of professional wedding and portrait photographers these cameras typically feature a more modular design that usually includes an interchangeable viewfinder system, While photographers could opt for a more expensive, and therefore often considered premium eye-level finder, this did not automatically make them everyone's first choice. For a variety of reasons waist level finders are a much more practical option with medium format cameras than is the case with 35mm. To begin with the focus screen is physically larger, matching the negative size, which makes direct viewing much more comfortable. A definite weakness of the WLF is that they are rather awkward when the camera is turned sideways for vertical shooting, but many medium format cameras are either designed for square formats where there is no vertical, or feature rotating film magazines that allowed a switch between vertical and horizontal shooting without the need to rotate the entire camera. Thus while some saw the more economical waist level viewers as an entry level option many photographers stuck with them throughout their careers despite having the option to easily upgrade.

Vivian Maier and her Rolleiflex. The kids today could
learn a thing or two about taking selfies.

There are a few reasons commonly sited for this. In discussions of the work of Vivian Maier for example it's frequently conjectured that her work benefited from the fact that  that the waist level finder of her Rolleiflex camera made it less obvious to her subjects that they were being photographed since she was looking down at her camera, diminishing the sense that they were being observed. That's all well and good for a street photographer but given my bent for landscape subjects it's hardly a reason for me to be a WLF fan. In simplest terms for me it comes down to the way this kind of viewfinder simplifies and encourages the use of lower camera angles, everything from chest level all the way down to the very ground itself.


From our usual eye level vantage point of perhaps 1½ to 2 metres our attention is most easily drawn to things at a similar height, most especially other people which is fair enough, but it does make it easy to overlook what's going on closer to the ground. There's a lot of interesting things to be found near the ground, almost (so the joke goes) as if they were drawn there by some mysterious force; rocks, seashells, sun bleached antelope skulls, creepy old dolls, forgotten and discarded, once loved by a little girl now in her mid thirties. And yes, we could photograph all of these things by standing over them an shooting down as they lay at our feet, but I hardly think I need to explain why this approach is so unlikely to lead to anything that is interesting photographically. It's just a patch of ground with something laying on it.

Get down closer to the level of that whatever it is though and everything changes. There is context, meaning, story. That seashell stands alone against the expanse of sand water and sky from whence it came, the unfortunate antelope amongst the scraggly vegetation struggling up from the cracked dry earth,  a victim of its harsh surroundings. That creepy doll that somehow found its way to the base of a knotted old tree in the sinister gloom of a misted wood where.. my god, did I just see it move?

You could of course photograph all of these things using a camera that has some sort of straight through camera. For the lucky there will always be a spot of dry ground to shoot from, and for the intrepid one can simply endure going belly down into the wet, the muck, the unidentified vegetation that to the best of recollection isn't exactly what poison ivy is supposed to look like and that bit of a mound that, if it's home to fire ants, you'll know soon enough. But even granting such acts of machismo might be your thing that eye level finder is hardly drawing your attention groundward, inviting you to explore the world from a new point of view and encouraging you to explore the visual world from this new perspective. For that, there's the waist level finder.

Of course my weapon of choice is the traditional medium format SLR where this style of viewfinder really shines. There are WLF alternatives for some 35mm SLRs. For vintage aficionados they were sometimes standard in early SLRs of the 1940's and 50's, but if you're after something more recent all but the most current members of Nikon's F series have interchangeable viewfinders and while uncommon there are WLFs for these cameras out there. Alternatively however a right angle finder that fits over the eyepiece of the prism viewfinder is available for a greater variety of 35mm cameras giving many of the same benefits while rotating versions eliminates the limitation of horizontal only shooting. These of course can also be the ticket if you shoot with a DSLR, though you can bet that if I were a digital shooter I'd chose a camera with one of those nifty articulated live view screens.

Admittedly there are times when waist level finders are not the ideal thing. They are good up to about chest level but no higher, and sometimes either to get the needed perspective of just to shoot over a fence this is a severe limitation. Once or twice in a pinch I have turned the camera sideways, standing at a right angle to the subject, just to be able to use it at eye level. For my Mamiya and Hasselblad systems however I have prism finders that can be swapped in for the waist level versions. These might actually get used, if I'm being generous, about 5% of the time and if I leave them in place after using them I inevitably replace them with the usual waist level finder in the next shooting situation because the eye level view just isn't working for me.

The 'Blad with waist level finder attached, optional prism finder to the right is ready when needed.

There are times when 35mm would do just fine but I still bring the medium format gear not because the bigger negative is suddenly important to me, but because I know the eye level finders I have on all my Nikons will almost certainly bring me to a choice between belly crawling on some questionable terrain or not getting the shot I want. And while I'm fully kitted out for 4x5 I'll still nearly always go for the medium format gear bag on the way out no so much to avoid the extra heft (though there's that) or the extra expense (thought there's that) but because, again, there's that straight through viewing. There are things on my photographic horizon (to be discussed in future episodes I'm sure) that have me thinking hard about shooting those big negatives more often. There are right angle viewers available for 4x5 cameras... It seems the wish list never quite ends.

Troika!

We go through life trading youth for experience. It's not a fair trade mind you, but as we've no choice about making it we can only make the best of what we get in exchange. At the cost of a metabolism that allowed me to feast at any opportunity without a care in the world I have at least managed to acquire a greater appreciation for the way in  which things that are better in theory turn out to be otherwise out there in the real world. And while this could be a fitting introduction to any number of topics, today it is about lenses. Specifically it is about the philosophy and practice of building a system of lenses that offers best service within reasonable budget constraints, whatever "reasonable" might mean for any particular budget.

Back when (and it was all about 35mm in those days) I had the notion that at the heart of any lens collection should be a couple of zoom lenses covering every focal length from 28mm (or 24 would be even better) up to 200mm (or 300mm would be even better, with no gaps at any focal length. From there special purpose lenses could be added. Maybe wider wide angles for landscapes or architecture, longer faster lenses for wildlife or sports, and a macro for bugs and the like. Back then I still imagined doing all those things and nearly every imaginable form of studio photography as well. Life has taught me a few things since then, one of which is that specializing in everything is a non sequitur. There were other lessons too, many involving the differences between what sounds like a good idea and what really works. It is here that my notions about the importance of having a continuum of focal lengths got set to the side. Find me on any given day out on a photo walkabout and chances are that, whichever camera system I chose for that outing, I'm carrying three lenses, three single focal length lenses that experience has taught me will almost never leave me wishing I'd packed some other optic. They are my big three, my troika.

Before I get to the nitty gritty of what that means though it's worth taking a step back to see how I went from there to here. There in this case is a time when it would concern me a little if, say I were carrying a 28-70mm zoom and an 80-200mm, that there would be that shot that demanded 75mm's. Not a big deal mind you, but I was careful to plan my lens collection to avoid such gaps. These were the days when the core of my camera menagerie was built around 35mm equipment. At times I owned medium and large format equipment but 35mm remained king for various reasons, one of which was the perceived limitations of the larger kit owing to the fact that I only ever had one or two focal lengths to chose from. Zoom lenses are not that common in the medium format world, and unless there is some optical oddity I'm unaware of, non-existent for large format. It's not that the big cameras didn't get used, just not often enough for me to notice how little difference the lack of an extensive selection of lenses really made.

35mm Troika: 28mm, 50mm and 85mm Nikkors. On any given day I might swap
out the faster 85mm lens for the close focus versatility of my 105mm Micro.

Enlightenment would have to wait for the dawn of what was to become my post digital era when the drastic drop in the price of used professional film equipment made it worthwhile to delay the next DSLR upgrade (still hasn't happened) in order to pick up a Mamiya RB67 to play with. The rest as they say is history so far as my transition back to film is concerned, but the point is that for the first few months when I was pretty much shooting with nothing but the RB I was shooting with just the 127mm lens it had when I bought it. In terms of 35mm equivalent focal length that translates to about 63mm, which seems just a bit to long to be thought of as a normal lens and a bit too short to be considered "telephoto"¹. Suffice it to say that if I had to choose one and only one focal length to use this wouldn't be it. Enamoured as I was by that marvellous beast of a camera I went on shooting anyway and found almost to my amazement that it didn't seem to matter. At times it almost seemed as though the things I wanted to shoot almost magically arranged themselves to be exactly suited to being photographed by that lens. Is there maybe something special about that not quite normal, not quite tele focal length? Apparently not because some time later when I acquired a 65mm lens (32mm equiv.) I found I had the same experience if I used that lens and kept the 127 in the bag most of the time. That need to have a range of focal lengths at my disposal was largely illusory.

Largely. With landscape subjects dominating my work I still found myself craving a wider perspective and the 65mm wasn't quite cutting it. On the other end there were also times when I wished for the reach and more importantly perhaps the compressed perspective of a longer lens. A 50mm (25mm equiv) for the Mamiya quickly became a favourite, I also picked up a 250mm to cover me when something longer is needed. Arguably it's a bit too long but I'm not sure this has ever mattered and considering it was less that $100 with the shipping I can hardly complain. True it's the least often used lens of the bunch, but when I need it, I need it.

It was thus that I completed my first troika, three lenses - wide normal and tele - that keep me covered for nearly everything I consider worthwhile committing to film. Not always, it's true. There are times when something longer, wider or with some other special capability were at hand, but every new piece of kit comes at a premium in terms of space in the gear bag and wear and tear on the vertebrae. Let's also keep in mind that while this combination is what works for me and the way I shoot these days this isn't intended as a general recommendation. Everyone shoots their own way. At the same time what I shoot isn't that unusual in terms of subject matter, and my optical troika could serve equally well were I to branch out into any number of other areas such as portraiture or street photography.

Medium Format Troika: Starting from the left we have a 150mm portrait length tele, 80mm normal mounted
 to the camera and a 50mm wide. This is about perfect for 6x6 square though equivalent focal lengths may vary for
other negative sizes, a little shorter for 6x4.5 for example, and somewhat longer if your camera yields 6x9 negs.

If I could boil the change in the way I approach lens selection down to its essence I think it's best stated thus: while once I imagined that there was some ideal focal length that allowed an image to be framed and composed just so, now it's just a matter of perspective. Literally. In my experience it's enough to note whether making a particular shot look the way I want it to requires the exaggerated perspective of a wide angle, the compression of a longer lens or a neutral normal. Once the need has been matched to the corresponding member of my lens trio the rest is just a matter of framing it all up in the viewfinder. That's oversimplified a little. Strictly speaking perspective is about the relationship between the apparent size of near versus far away objects which is a function of camera to subject distance and the right lens is the one that lets us fit everything in, which is a topic for another day. Out there in the field (or beach or sidewalk...) I don't choose the perspective by selecting a lens, I do it by eye, determining roughly where I need to stand in order to have all the elements in their right proportion and position relative to each other before even taking the camera out of the pack. In doing so I've already chosen the perspective. I'll then attach the lens I think is going to get it all framed up nicely and, truth be told, sometimes I'm wrong about which lens that is. The only really important part is that it's almost always one of the three.

Large Format Troika Starting from the left is the massive 240mm Symmar-S which, at just over 70mm
 in terms of a 35mm equivalent focal length is shortish for the long member of the troika, but less taxing
in terms of bellows draw on the 4x5. Mounted is the very nice 150mm Symmar-S with a 90mm Fujinon
rounding things out on the wide end.

Leaving aside those reasonably rare occasions when I wish I had a lens wider or longer than anything I am carrying, you may be wondering how it is if I pick my spot as I just described, then pull out the camera, how is it that the lens that is just right will always turn out to be one of those three. Or maybe you're not wondering that, I don't know. Thing is it's something I would have worried over in the past. I'd long heard photographers who were as fond of prime lenses as I have since become use the phrase "zoom with your feet". It always struck me as a terrible notion was irredeemably flawed in that it would only work if where you needed to stand to get the subject just so in the frame and where you needed to stand to get the perspective relationships just right happened to be the same spot. The experience of using fixed focal length lenses has taught me that there aren't any such spots any more than there is one and only one valid choice with respect to any of the other myriad decisions a photographer must make. A photograph that might frame up just so with a zoom lens set to 74mm might be slightly different than one framed up equally just so with an 80mm from half a metre further back, but the odds that either one image will contain some elemental brilliance that the other lacks is next to nought.

The take away here isn't that you should ditch your zoom lenses or that that longer telephoto lens you picked up should be relegated to shelf queen status. If you're a zoom lens user you may have been muttering to yourself something along the lines of "but my 28-85 is this whole troika business in one lens!" to which I say fantastic, hope I've given you little a better appreciation of how much can be accomplished within that midling focal length range, now go blow off some film with it. (Or fill up one of those little memory card thingys if that's what floats your boat.) If you're a fan of super wides or maybe longer focal lengths who could blame you. Without a doubt they are part of what gives your work that particular character that makes it yours. If on the other hand you find yourself lustily flipping your way through catalogues of the prestige glass, imagining the experience of cradling high end extreme optics in your hands as you eye blue and magenta glint of the high tech multicoating laid onto a flawless curve wrought into the surface of a piece of exotic optical glass with sub micro-metre precision then I'd suggest a moment's pause to consider whether it just might be the case that some notion of the ideal optical system (with maybe just a hint of avarice tossed in for good measure) has drawn your attention away from what could be accomplished with something much simpler, more common. Don't let the affordability fool you.



1. The photo nerd in me won't allow me simply toss out the term "telephoto" without pointing out that while the word is commonly understood to mean a lens with a focal length in excess of what would be considered the normal range, this usage is sloppy and when it comes down to it incorrect, hence the quotes. When a lens has an optical focal length that is longer than its actual physical length, that's a telephoto. It's generally true that most long lenses have a telephoto design, but not always. The 240mm Symmar-S pictured above for example is not a telephoto. My pedagogical instincts no satiated I'll leave you be. Sorry folks, it's a character flaw I know but I'm working on it.

The Wiggle Wagon - Part I

"Is that really 35mm?" one of the locals piped in, having noticed the Nikon FM I had set down on the table.

The place was Garth's Kitchen which I was told was the only restaurant Killaloe Ontario had since the old diner shut down, at least if you don't count the chip truck permanently located out behind the town post office. It seemed not so much like a dining establishment as a farmhouse kitchen writ large. Your waiter and the chef were the same person. There was no swinging door to insulate you from the reality of how your food was being prepared, just a little nook in the corner with a stove and a refrigerator where he worked. Normally there were three items on the lunch menu but they were out of a few things so donairs it was, made from meat that was sliced and done up in a frying pan fresh, right where you could see it if you weren't sucked into the conversations of the other patrons (as I was) or distracted by the featured wall of mirrors arrayed in an eclectic hodge-podge of picture frames.

Cousin Ken at Garth's Kitchen

The "local", I was to learn, was a musician who went by "Cousin Ken" professionally, and I suspect in just about every other sense as well. He seemed about my age, lean with a wiry Van Dyke beard and hair pulled back into a pony tail. I don't imagine anyone could speak with Ken for long and not get the impression he had a few tales to tell, the nature of which you never would have guessed other than that they likely don't involve time in the employ of a law firm or financial services company.

"Your camera there, it uses 35mm film doesn't it?" He sounded impressed, like just the chance to see it would make his whole afternoon. Well, I thought, let's see if make his whole day.

"Well this one's my 35, but my 120 is just out in the car."

The statement had exactly the desired effect. "Whoa, you have 120 too! What is it, a Rolleiflex or something?"

Rolleiflex was an intriguing guess. It's not what I have but like so many other medium format users I'm more accustomed to hearing the perennial "Is that a Hasselblad?" The interest was obvious and it would have been cruel of me to disappoint at this juncture..

"Why don't I go get it and show you."

His enthusiasm went up another notch. "Definitely! If you bring that in and your Manfrotto I'd love to have a look."

I rose to fetch it from the car, wondering if that last bit had been a lucky guess about the tripod, as though I don't own a Rollieflex, my Manfrotto 055 is the one piece of photographic equipment I still own that's been with me since the mid 80's.

"Hey," he added as I reached to door, "maybe I could get you to do a few shots of my Wiggle Wagon."

I had no idea what he meant, but couldn't imagine anything that went by the name "Wiggle Wagon" on which it wouldn't be worth spending a few frames of film. "Of course," I said.

When I returned Ken and his companion Des (or Desmo in his role as on-air personality at CHCR, the local radio station that adjoins the restaurant) moved in closer while I opened the photo backpack that contains my Bronica S2A kit. I realize I haven't said much here about the Bronica since I got it a few months back, but suffice it to say the same chrome paneled, Raymond Loewy inspired design that attracted me to the camera was a hit with this crowd as well. Ken, it was by now no surprise to learn, was at least semi-acquainted with the world of cameras, at least as it existed twenty or thirty years ago, though I'm not sure he had seen anything like the S2A before. He knew about my tripod, he finally told me, because he recognized the characteristic Manfrotto hexagonal quick-release plate attached to the bottom of my Nikon.

The classic selfie as it was meant to be taken, courtesy of Garth's wall of mirrors.

Once the tour of the camera was complete and conversation broadened I kept the camera in my lap, eyeing the waist level viewfinder, wondering if a candid portrait was in order. The Bronica has no in-camera meter but I guessed that with the lens wide open and the shutter set to 1/30th, the lowest I dare go for hand-held, I'd still be a stop or two under with the window light. I had HP5+ with me, but having accidentally left the dark slide at home there was no way to switch backs and so I was stuck with the slower Acros film I had loaded. Ken said nothing but I'm sure he knew what I had in mind, and perhaps knowingly obliging me turned to the window, throwing himself into the perfect light. Shadow detail be damned, I had to take it.

My initial task documenting the experience complete, curiosity couldn't hold out much longer.

"So, you were saying something about some kind of wagon...?"

Taming the Dragon

Is that dark speck out in the water another pinhole in the negative? Thankfully no, close inspection reveals it is just a duck.

This is a progress report of sorts on the situation I described a couple of episodes back in "Curse of the Dragon". That title refers to one subject, a driftwood log that reminded me of the dragon figurehead on a Norse longboat, of which nearly every image I took seemed to result in a negative plagued to some degree or other by pinholes in the negative, resulting in dark spots on the positive image. It wasn't the subject of course, just a bit of bad luck that somehow on three separate rolls of film that contained images of that log nearly all the spots wound up on those negatives.

Now if the only thing I was ever going to do with these negatives was scan them and put them up on the internet, or even if I printed from scanned files, this would be little more than an annoyance. These black spots are no more difficult to remove in Photoshop than are dust spots, the near inevitability of which I've reconciled with long ago. For me however a finished image is nothing short of a traditional silver print. With Photoshop taken out of the equation retouching dust spots is done on the prints directly using special retouch dyes and a #000 brush. This of course can only make a light spot darker and there is some risk of ruining the print, especially if you're out of practice. Retouching the dark spots that result from pinholes in the negative requires much more drastic measures and a much greater risk of botching the job. After spending hours getting all the printing details down, toning, archival washing and so on (retouching has to come after all of this) the risk of that kind of heartbreak is something I consider unacceptable. Finding solution to this out of the blue problem is therefore a necessity.

A quick review or those of you who haven't read the first part, pinholes in photographic negatives can be caused either by air-bells, which are simply tiny bubbles of air that cling to the surface of the film preventing developer from reaching the emulsion at that spot, or chemical reactions suddenly releasing little gas bubbles that blow tiny holes in the emulsion. Think of the fizz you get when you mix baking soda and vinegar. Developers contain an alkali very similar to baking soda (I start with baking soda to make the alkali for my home mixed developers) and the acetic acid in most stop baths essentially is vinegar. It seems pretty safe to eliminate cause number two though - I use plain water in between developer and fix.

So air-bells are almost certainly the culprit, but what is behind their sudden appearance in such numbers? To be sure the occasional stray pinhole has found its way onto my negatives from time to time, but never before has an image looked like it had been sprayed with a tommy-gun. My standard practice when developing roll film includes two preventative measures - pre-soaking the film in plain water before starting with the developer and giving the tank several firm raps on the counter after every agitation cycle to shake off any bubbles that form. Many darkroom workers suggest a single rap only after the developer is added and say they find a pre-soak to be a waste of time so I always thought that if anything I was being overly cautious. To be suffering from them anyway just seems unjust.

Something In The Water?

I had two suspects in mind. The first was a possible change in the water. Part of the reason I always seem able to find new images along the same few kilometres of beach is the fact the lake is an ever changing mistress. Well that same changing lake that figures in so many of my images also happens to be the source of the water those images are developed in. It never seemed to be a problem. The water quality where I live is pretty good, we don't have hard water and our town water was rated the second best tasting water in Ontario. But the treatment and testing of tap water is done with a mind to human consumption, not consistent results in the darkroom. Distilled water is considered the gold standard when mixing photo chemistry. In areas where the tap water is less suitable for photo chemistry it is virtually mandatory. Even though I've never considered tap water to be a problem the one virtue distilled water has is that it's not subject to sudden changes and is the same anywhere you go. It isn't expense that's kept me from using but rather the dual inconveniences of having to store it and the fact it doesn't run hot and cold which can make getting it to a specific temperature an extra challenge at times.

Factor number two was the change I had made a month or so before from using the stainless steel tanks and reels that had been my standard for years to plastic Paterson tanks and reels. It seemed like a safe choice - Paterson has to be the most widely used daylight processing tank system by quite a stretch. The comparative advantages of plastic vs. stainless could (and very well might) be the subject of an episode on their own, but my reasons for doing so have less to do with versatility and ease of use than my accidental discovery that a problem with negatives showing more development along the edges of the film compared to the middle simply went away when I used them. For this reason I was hoping the water was the problem. I did not want the solution to the pinhole problem to require a return to uneven development I thought I had banished for good. It wasn't a severe problem, it just required some extra effort during printing to even things out, but it was a pain and sometimes even meant using an extra sheet of paper or two to get things right and I was glad to be rid of it.

My stainless steel tank and 120 reel on the left, and Paterson
tank on the right along with a reel adjusted for 120/220 film.

Why should the tank make any difference at all? The main reason, I believe, is that the reels for the plastic tanks are much more tightly wound. For those of you not familiar with spiral reels for processing film they are simply consist of two circular grooved surfaces separated by the exact width of the film allowing roll to be developed can be wound around the grooves, ensuring no part of the roll is in contact with any other when placed in a cylindrical developing tank. As regular readers are probably aware I primarily shoot 120 film. The stainless steel reels I use are wound just tightly enough to accommodate standard length of 120 film which can be up to 840mm long. One of the great advantages of Paterson reels is that the same reel you load your 120 film into can be adjusted to accommodate a roll of 35mm film up to 36 exposures as well. But a roll of 35mm film is almost twice as long as 120 roll. This means that a 120 roll is wound much more tightly than it would need to be if the reel was designed exclusively for 120 film as is the case with stainless reels. As a consequence there is less space between successive windings of the film surface to allow bubbles to escape. Looking at film in the tank with the lid off while its being washed I have also noticed the flatter tops of the plastic reels seem more apt to keep the bubbles that have risen from below from escaping to the surface.

Well, that was my theory anyway, the one I hoped wasn't the case. Though it seemed reasonable I had a couple of reasons to think it wasn't so, The first was this wasn't the first time I had used these tanks, so why didn't I notice this before. The second was I have seen all kinds of stainless vs. plastic comparisons and had never heard anyone suggest propensity for problems with air-bells was a factor. The proof of the pudding though, would be in the eating.

The Investigations Begin

Chosing to let hope lead I decided to stay with the Paterson tanks for now and see what happens with distilled water. I'm currently working with the Beutler formula as my standard developer, mixing the stock solution from scratch using distilled water. Now I would be diluting it for use with distilled water as well, rather than tap water which had always been my practice before. Just to be safe I also used distilled water for the pre-soak. For the remainder of the process tap water would be used as usual since I had no suspicions the problem might occur after development. Even as I was hanging the strip out to dry the result was obvious however as an unmissable clear spot appeared smack in the middle of a dense are of sky on one of the images. On the bright side it wasn't an image I would have wanted to print anyway and there weren't many pinholes besides this. In the grander scheme of things however this wouldn't do.

Before reverting to the stainless tank however I decided to give one other idea a go - adding a few drops of the wetting agent (Photo Flo, LFN or what have you) to the pre-soak and the developer. Having run into one or two sources that recommend against this I was reluctant to try it, but the more I researched the more I found this was done a matter of course by more people than I had suspected. No matter, it still wasn't difficult to find pinholes.

I actually had to dig the stainless steel tank out, having stored it away thinking I might never have use for it again. It's back in it's old spot now though because from it emerged the first roll of film since the curse of the dragon began that did not contain pinholes. Some extra density along the edges, yes, but those can be dealt with.

Putting It All Together

Did I really have to deal with them though. I had a pretty good idea why negatives were coming out of the plastic tanks more evenly developed. Even when filled with chemistry they weren't really full. There was always a generous amount of air at the top so that when the tank was inverted there was room for things to slosh around, replacing exhausted developer with fresh more completely. With stainless tanks I have always been in the habit of mixing enough chemistry to allow me to see it above the top of the light trap in the lid - 475ml. It was more that the 450ml suggested, but it was somehow reassuring to see it, knowing there was no possibility anything inside wasn't completely immersed in chemistry.

Straight from the scanner this is typical of the results I often
got with negatives developed in stainless steel tanks. Note how
much brighter the sides are compared to the centre.

With a bit of new perspective this now seemed like precisely the wrong thing to do. Before my next roll went in I decided to find out exactly how much chemistry was actually required to cover the reel in the tank. It seemed 400ml would do it and 420ml gave plenty of cushion if, for example, the tank wasn't set down exactly level. It also divides out nicely with the 1+1+12 dilution I've come to favour with my standard developer. Compared to what I had been doing that's 55ml of extra space to allow chemistry to slosh around, mix together and even out during agitation (also 55ml less chemistry used.) Would it make a difference?

It's only been one roll since I tried this but so far the answer is yes. The image at the top is from this roll. It came out as even as anything that's come out of the Paterson tank and pinhole free. It seems like it's the plastic tanks that will be headed to storage now, which is a shame really since it was the more complete system. The stainless system I have limits me to developing one roll at a time which can be quite a pain. I'll be travelling most of this week and anticipate returning with several rolls to process. On the bright side I like working with the stainless tanks. I find the process of loading the reels more foolproof than with the plastic and the tanks I have don't leak at all. For some reason every Paterson tank I have ever used dribbles a little chemistry every time they are inverted.

None of this is to suggest the Paterson or any other plastic reel and tank system are bound to give you the same results. If everyone had the results I got these products would have fallen off the market long ago. It's, what can I say, one of those things. Somewhere in the idiosyncrasies of the materials I use and the way I do things is the reason I had problems while countless others did not. Maybe someday I'll figure out what it is. The real bottom line is that if none of this happened I'd probably still be doing things the way I have for years thinking density variations were something I just had to live with.

Post Script

As I said I'll be travelling much of the upcoming week. The bad news is that leaves me without any significant time for any little extras like writing another blog entry so there will be no Golden Age of Silver next week. The good news is that I anticipate having at least a photo or two taken during my travels to talk about, and if for some reason I don't, well the reasons for that should be worth talking about for their own sake. At any rate, lets all agree to meet back here sometime in early June.

Meet the Beast: Part IV

At long last it's time to wrap up this series with a few final thoughts on the RB67 and how it might or might not be a good fit for photographers in this day and age interested in a classic analog medium format system. As I hope I've made clear to this point these cameras have a lot going for them - they're ruggedly built and designed to perform to professional standards, but drastic changes in the way that the professionals these cameras were designed for work has flooded the market with used systems, often in top condition, priced lower than the most basic of entry level DSLRs. Why would anyone with a fondness for shooting film and an eye towards the increasingly popular medium format think of looking at anything else? Well, there may be a few reasons.

The price of the 17% gain in negative size you get with the Mamiya RB67 (left) is an added burden in terms of size and weight that is much higher percentage wise compared to a camera like the Bronica S2A on the right.

My closing comment in the last episode (the text portion, not in the video) let you in on the fact that I've been using a different camera lately. That's it on the right in the photo above, a classic Bronica S2 or S2A (there's been some debate about which of the two models this actually is, they're virtually identical). I put it there for comparison though, it's still all about the Mamiya. As you no doubt have guessed the comparison is all about size.

The Bronica is a fairly typical 6x6 cm square medium format SLR. Though it's a bit heavier, in terms of physical dimensions it's roughly the size of the more widely recognized Hasselblads such as the 500cm introduced at about the same time. To be fair the RB67 will produce somewhat larger 6x7 cm negatives, but the slight increase in negative size comes at the price of an anything but slight increase in equipment bulk. It's not just a weight increase either, the RB takes up more shelf space and requires a roomier camera bag when you bring it into the field.  The problem is only compounded when you add lenses and other accessories that are similarly scaled up compared to most other popular medium format gear.

Is all the extra bulk necessary to go from 6x6 to 6x7 with a medium format SLR? Another well known 6x7 format SLR is the Pentax 6x7 (later to become the Pentax 67). Though they shared the RB's format, these cameras had a very different design philosophy. Gone is the revolving back design, the integrated bellows focusing and the in-lens shutter, these cameras could only be described as scaled up 35mm SLRs. With a waist level finder and normal lens a Pentax 67 would come in at around 2kg, about half way between a similarly equipped Hasselblad and an RB67. The layout of these cameras however limited the usefulness of waist level viewing, so prism finders are the norm for the Pentax's, bringing the total weight just shy of our Mamiya. Add to this the fact that vertical shooting with the Pentax will require a heavier tripod and the RB is arguably the easier camera to carry and handle in the field.

Carrying an RB67 to get this image rather than a typical square format SLR involved a huge penalty in terms of weight sheer size, only to end up cropping the result down to the square dimensions a smaller camera would have given me.

Whether the larger negative is worth it or not is of course a personal question, one that I had to answer for myself. There are times that for particular images I've really appreciated it. At least as frequently however I end up cropping an image square, completely negating any advantage carrying all that extra bulk gave me, not to mention the extra bit of wasted film that gives me 10 rather than 12 exposures per roll. The appearance of a new square format camera in my collection is a good clue to the direction I've been leaning as of late.

That said it was actually one of the RB67s other shortcomings, a seemingly minor thing, that got me to thinking about moving to a square format system. Back in part II of the series I discussed the normal/mirror up switch on the lens and how leaving it in the wrong position can leave a photographer firing away with nothing to indicate the shutter wasn't opening until the blank film emerged from the processing tank. This was not a problem so long as I stuck to my usual "slow photography" M.O. of shooting tripod mounted, locking the mirror and using a cable release. For reasons I'll save for a future episode I've been thinking of expanding my approach in such a way that, given my predisposition for absent minded oversight, would inevitably find me staring at clear pieces of film where anxiously anticipated images should be. And of course there's also the sheer size of the RB, did I mention the size?

While in my experience the range of Mamiya Sekor lenses available for the RB67 (Sekor is Mamiya's house optical brand) are entirely up to professional standards optically, if you make the usual assumption that bigger lenses are faster lenses you may be disappointed. Normal lens for most medium format SLRs typically have an f/2.8 maximum aperture and it's not unusual for there to be a number of equally fast lenses in the range. Though lenses in the RB range are larger than those for rival systems in about the same proportion as all the other components, the fastest lens anywhere in the RB67 system has an f/3.5 maximum aperture, and no lens outside the "normal" range is any faster than f/4.5. This isn't something I consider a real disadvantage when in slow photography mode (though paying a penalty in both size and speed doesn't necessarily sit well) but it does start coming into play when I start envision radical concepts like purposely leaving the tripod in the car.

Though the Mamiya RB67 was always considered a camera for the professional photo studio this is by no means an indication that it's not up for use outside the controlled indoor environment. In fact it's quite the opposite. Their failure resistant all mechanical construction mean these cameras are anything but delicate. As so many of them outlasted their usefulness as the computer age brought more speed to the business of photography than a camera like the RB could keep up with it's no surprise that so many of them have found their way into the kit bags of photographers looking to bring them further afield. Doing so requires a willingness to accept the limitations that once made photographers look at the RB as cameras of the controlled environment, their size, their weight and the methodical approach using one demanded.

Those limitations are still present, but they're not insurmountable. After all, photographers have been carrying much heavier and slow to use large format cameras into some of the least accessible locations in the world for over 150 years. With a good carrying system and a strong back (or failing that a good chiropractor on speed dial) these cameras will put up with almost any environment a photographer hearty enough to haul it that far is likely to tolerate. Once there a willingness to take the time the RB67 demands can result in images that make it all worth while and more.

Meet the Beast: Part III

At last the thing is done. Even with the intermezzo post I'm coming in half a week late. It's not the first time I've made an instructional video (I had a small series of beginner level chess videos going a few years back), but as much as I should have really learned by now when I'm planning one of these things it seems I still lack any sense of what a slog I'm getting myself into. On top of that I decided that since my iMovie skills had gathered a few years worth of rust it was a good time to give some other video editing software a go. Not such a great idea as it turned out. The editing process didn't really get rolling until I finally gave up and started over with iMovie.

All this isn't to say I may not try a video episode again but it's certainly not something I'm going to raise any advanced expectations for. If I do try it again it'll just appear here one day unannounced.

As I mentioned before there were other things going on in my photographic world at the same time which I'll talk about next time in the final installment of this series. I might as well make my little confession now though... I've been seeing another camera.

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.

Meet the Beast: Part I

I confess, I've been holding out on you all. That camera I keep talking about, my photographic tool of choice since before this blog began, the Mamiya RB67, has been lurking in the background of much of what I've written in the past, perhaps somewhat mysteriously for those of you not acquainted with its marvels. It occurred to me some time ago that introductions were in order by way of a few episodes devoted to this camera along with all the agony and ecstasy of using one. It's something I could write about any time though, so I figured I'd keep it in reserve for a day I found myself struggling to find a topic. Instead, finding myself once more struggling with the opposite problem of trying to decide which of several topics to tackle next, it occurred to me that if I was waiting for writer's block to occur I might never get to it. And so it was decided I'll wait no longer.

While I have always referred simply to my Mamiya RB67, for the sake of accuracy I should state I have the RB67 Pro S, the penultimate model in the evolutionary sequence of RB67 versions released as updates were introduced. Actually I have two of them. The first one I purchased in September of 2013, complete with lens, 120 back and waist level finder, for under $200. It had a few scrapes and small dings, along with some sort of purple paint stains in the leatherette covering of the finder, but was absolutely functional. Currently undergoing a bit of cosmetic surgery on my basement worktable, it was demoted to a backup role last July when I got my hands on a prettier body via an opportunity purchase. I was really just looking for a good deal online on a second 120 back when I came upon a back, body and waist level finder at a price that was around the high end of what others were asking for a back alone. How could I not?

Back when I was in my twenties the RB67 easily made my short list of cameras I most dreamed to own. In fact if I actually kept such a list officially it probably would have spent more than its share of time at the top. Hasselblads are probably the more typical dream cameras but at the time (though definitely not now) square format was a bit of a turn off for me. The RB67 was really the one and only camera that hit every spot on my checklist - it's a full-fledged SLR that shot big negatives just this side of large format. takes interchangeable lenses backs and finders, shoots rectangular format so no film gets wasted cropping squares (keeping the images square, who does that?) but doesn't require flopping the camera to the side of the tripod to shoot vertical images. The only thing that kept me from owning one at that time was that they were priced into the stratosphere, affordable only to those who could make money with them and the very rich. The thought of owning one was a pipe-dream, almost on par with the Ferrari I wanted. 

Time moves on and many things change while others do not. Ferraris have gone from being the apex symbols of social status so many lust after but can't hope to ever afford to carbon spewing monstrosities so many lust after but can't hope to ever afford. Meanwhile, in that same time period the Mamiya RB67 has gone from being a well engineered, supremely capable photographic instrument considered the exclusive purview of professionals and the most dedicated of wealthy amateurs, to being  a well engineered, supremely capable photographic instrument a schmoe like me can pick up on eBay almost as an afterthought. The cameras haven't changed, it's just the pros who used them now have to satisfy customers for whom even the minute it takes a Polaroid to develop isn't instant enough. Think of that next time you hear laments about how rough it is being a film photographer in the digital age.

So kit-wise at least, my photographic world is pretty rosy, but while I now own the 23¹⁄₂ year old me's ideal camera plus a spare, now that I'm twice that age (and nearly half again the mass) my thoughts about what constitutes an ideal camera have changed. As I previously hinted at for example, while I once considered it wasteful to shoot square negatives and later crop to a rectangular print, I now often crop rectangular negatives to square images. Yes the 6x7cm negatives are nice when I don't do this but on the whole I think I'd give that up for the benefits of 6x6cm square negatives including 12 rather than 10 exposures per roll, easier storage and the ability to fit one roll of film onto a single 8"x10" contact sheet. That would be so if everything else were equal, but there's something else to consider - providing that extra centimetre's worth of negative costs quite a bit in terms of sheer mass. As I've noted time and again in the past, the Mamiya RB67 is a big heavy camera, and I don't just mean big in the way a medium format camera will be big if you're used to 35mm, Consider this - I put my Nikon FM with a 50mm f/1.4 lens on the kitchen scale and got about 860 grams.  A Hasselblad 500C/M with 80mm lens, 120 back and waist level finder comes in at 1555 grams (source: www.photoethnography.com), a 695 gram penalty to go from 35mm to medium format. On the same scale my RB67, 127mm lens, 120 back and waist level finder comes in at 2596 grams, more than an extra kilogram compared to the Hasselblad, itself a solidly build medium format camera.

The truth is Mamiya designed the RB67 to be a studio camera, luggability was never high on their desired traits list. One thing that was high on that list however, given the importance of dependably in the high volume professional environment for which they were intended, was ruggedness, meaning they're entirely up to the task of outdoor use where conditions are often less than ideal so long as one is prepared to bear the extra load. And this enduring performance, combined with their once near ubiquitous presence in professional studios, mean there is still an ample supply of RB67s on the used market today. This, combined with the limited market appeal they have due to their bulk, make the RB67 the current champion on  the used medium format SLR market in terms of performance/price ratio if you're willing to bear the load.

Granted that can be a pretty big if and for many that alone is a deal breaker. After a largely successful year and a half of ownership it still gives me pause. Even if you leave size and weight issues aside there are things anyone looking at an RB system should take into account in terms of operational and system considerations as well as a few downright quirks. We'll have to leave those for next time however when I'll go into more detail about what it's like to actually operate one of these beasties.