Rainbow Journeyman’s diary

If you haven’t done so already, sometime soon you’ll be digging your camera out of its trusty bag and hoiking it off to take some pictures to add to your collection or for exhibition work. Hopefully, as you will see later in this blog, you’ll be looking for something seasonal to add to your collection. Spring, after all, has sprung. And albeit a bit early, the garden is full of Daff’s and the hedgerows are looking interesting. But, before you walk out of the door with it, stop! Take stock of what you are expecting this precision mechanism to do for you. First, ask yourself a question. When was the last time that you took all your equipment out of the bag and thoroughly checked it over? If you’re any thing like us at Rainbow Journey’s, who uses their cameras virtually every week, or obversely, if you haven’t used it since last Michelmass: then I expect it’s been an age.

Okay, I hear you say to yourself, what is he on about now. In defence, I will give you a little example or two.
A close friend of ours, who prides himself on the fact that he has a 200,000 mm lens attached to his camera, a Russian Zenith complete with Blue Label Vodka bottle attached, (Here, I exaggerate slightly), grabbed his camera from its case in our back garden to photograph a few goldfinches who work their way round to our bird feeders. That is after they have noshed on Brian’s (Our neighbour who lives next-door) posh nosh feeders. (My friend lives in Basingstoke, where the birds cough from the motorway fumes to announce their presence) I digress. The look of amazement on my friends face as his camera detached itself from his grasp and went one way, whilst he followed his chosen path and went the other. It was a worthy picture in the making.
The autopsy revealed, over the years that he has had the camera, he had never ever checked that the neck strap was firmly attached. As a consequence, the strap and the camera parted company and camera became spatially aware (A sort of detached branch of Aeroflot in the making) and it took flying lessons. Fortunately no harm was done. As, being a keen gardener our grass had not been cut for a least a week, (or may be a tad more) and it had a soft landing. Lesson learned. Now the straps are “tacked” under the buckle with a bit of blue tack. Unobtrusive, but effective. And not a drop of Vodka spilt.

In addition, a short while ago. Suitably dressed up to the gills against the cold, I heaved a camera into the car and dragged it off down to St Just, in Cornwall. “Just to pop a few pictures into the bag on some Mine workings.” Like all “experts”, (working from the book) I set the camera up beautifully to the correct exposure, then decided to add a filter……… and took a series of posed hopefully “artistic” pictures. I was doing the posing not the camera. One likes to play to one’s audience.
All good clean fun. And, to drag in or out, that terrible old clichéd, panacea for all writers, it was “in the bag.”……. Except, it wasn’t. When, after driving back seventy odd miles, I ran them back into the computer. I realised I had something disgusting, green, and almost invisible, stuck onto the filter. And it showed. (This was probably part and parcel of the joys of showing the filter to our five-year-old granddaughter) Uch! So, you have probably guessed my blog for this occasion. If you really want to know how to waste a day. This is just how you do it. Don’t check your equipment. To add to this mess. I later realised the spare camera battery was also flat. As I always try to rotate the spare battery with its counterpart. I can only assume I had forgot to tag it for charging. Doh! There is a case here, as my Old dad would say. “He who hastens too fast for the brain often becomes a soil analytical expert!”

Now I know this sounds a bit like preaching to the converted, but, lesson learnt. I now, every so often, pull all the equipment out of the bag and check it all through, thoroughly. Taking time to clean both ends of all lenses, and snot covered filters. Also to wash and thoroughly dry the lens cleaning brushes. And, because we live in a less than friendly environment, camera lenses I am not using immediately I pack away in a bag with silica gel.

Which neatly leads me into my next bit of verbally written rubbish. I expect you all know about silica gel. You do? Good! For those of you who hesitated there for a nano second. It is one of those chemical composition materials that apparently have no real magical properties. Except the Chinese and the Japanese and virtually everybody else pack little bags of it in all electrical equipment. For those of you who pull all the wrapping off in a hurry to get to the goodies, that’s the little bag that always falls on the floor as you unpack from whatever it is that you bought and the dog tries and succeeds to groffle it; being sick all over your new carpet in the process.
But, as they say in all the better mags, if used properly and fit for purpose, it can be a tremendous asset to any person who has a camera.
Bob, a friend and customer of mine (Just the one?) who lives in Tavistock, recently explained to me that he had gained a slight amount of moisture inside one of his most favourite telephoto lenses. Traveling to Plymouth to trawl round the various camera fixers, and having been quoted silly money to solve the problem; and, on advice, he locked the lens into a box with a bag of silica gel. Ureka, or some other such nonsensical words in a foreign language, within two weeks of enclosure the moisture had gone. That’s using you nod to save money. Oh, and a simple foot note here. Like most of those in the know, he regenerates his gel in a hot oven. Not with the camera, I hasten to add.
Now onto the more serious stuff.
Next time

See yah out there on your Rainbow Journey.

Mike Tyrrell