I have a humiliating tale to tell. They say confession is good for the soul.
My brother and I returned last weekend from a very hard-driven trip to
Yosemite NP. Thursday of our week in the park was particularly hard on me.
We arose early as usual to shoot. A cold front had cleared out the rain and
clouds from the previous day and I was carrying my camera bodies under my
jacket to keep them warm. I had enough battery power to work the shutters,
but often not enough to be able to use the self-timer on the OM-4
confidently, and this was totally a function of cold rather than the
strength of the batteries.
Anyway, I was working down on the Merced River to get photos of El Capitan
and the Three Brothers. Having used both my 28/2.8 and 24/2.8, I wanted to
go still wider with the 21/3.5. While setting up, I determined that I
needed to be in a place on the river bank which was at that moment occupied
by a large, fallen tree with many branches. I began to push the branches
out of the way, but one, as though in revenge, sprang back and knocked my
tripod, camera, and lens into the river.
Like an imbecile, I had taken my hand off the tripod as I was working my
way in amongst the branches. I heard my gear go into the water before I
actually saw anything. This is a very impressive and terrifying sound. I
knew instantly what the sound meant. I sprang to the tripod and pulled it
from the water. The tripod was so cold that water started to freeze on it.
The camera and lens couldn't be dried off very quickly under the
circumstances. I grabbed my camera bag and all my gear and raced through
the woods and back to the car. I grabbed a towel and wiped off the camera
as quickly as I could and then removed the batteries. I removed the lens
and shook water off both the lens and the front mount of the camera. Then I
rewound the film and removed the back and shook any water I could out of
the back and dabbed what I could with the towel. I left the camera body,
sans back, front down on the front of the dash to dry out.
Meanwhile, the lens had three drops in it collected on the inside of the
front element. The focus ring had a gritty sound when turned. I wiped it as
best I could and left it on the dash as well. The film was wet here and
there, but not soaked. It seemed to me that the unexposed frames on the
roll might still be OK, though this was the least of my concerns.
I went back down to the river to continue shooting with a different body,
generally feeling lower than a snake's belly. My tripod would scarcely work
as every joint was iced up. Work is the best therapy and by the time I had
returned to the car the sun was beginning to hit the windshield and warm
the dash. The dash never became hot -- the sun was too indirect for that --
but it at least started to warm up at bit. I observed that moisture had
gotten behind the screen in the camera and was fogging up the prism, so I
dropped the screen down and let the prism dry out as the sun warmed the
car. When there was no more visible evidence of water on or in the camera,
I put the back on the camera and put in away.
Meanwhile, we drove here and there during the next few hours, looking for
places to take advantage of the clear morning light. I had made no images
of upper Yosemite Fall, not even a record shot to prove I'd been in the
park. With the cold, there was enough frost up high that it was quite
interesting at mid-morning. I had my OM-4T, loaded with Scala, under my
coat to stay warm. Usually I put it in the inside pocket of my coat, but in
my preoccupation with my drenched OM-2S, I had merely tucked it inside my
coat and under my arm. As I sprang from the car, the OM-4T slide out and
fell to the pavement. I had this feeling that some alien being, and quite
an idiot too, had taken over my life. Kudos to titanium, as I could
discern only a tiny scuff to the lower left end of the camera bottom.
After shots of the upper fall, my hands were very cold. I returned my
OM-4T to the inside of my coat. At the next stop exactly the same thing
happened as before! Just shoot me, I'm thinking. This time a perfectly
matched scuff on the other end of the bottom plate of my once EX+ OM-4T.
I consider not shooting for the rest of the trip.
Fortunately, there was a bit of redemption by afternoon. The sun was
steadily warming the car. The three droplets in the 21/3.5 had begun to
spread into a mist on the front element. The OM-2S body seemed thoroughly
dry and it worked at red 60. We traveled outside the park down to Hite's
Cove and the hike along that trail was perhaps one of the most beautiful I
have ever experienced anywhere, with poppies exploding orange against the
steep, green banks of the mountains. A slight misstep or drop on this
trail would have been irrecoverable, so I am happy to have found my thumbs
by this time.
That Thursday was our last full day in the park. Friday morning after
shooting early down on the river again -- sadder but wiser and without
mishap -- we left the park for the long drive around to Mono Lake (the
Tioga Pass being closed). At the rest area about 30 miles north of Lee
Vining, my cell phone apparently fell out of the car. I hadn't actually
used it -- I must have just knocked it out of the pocket in the door where
I had been storing it -- and I didn't miss it until the next day when we
were on our way home and I wanted to call my wife from Utah. I called from
a pay phone and the first thing my wife said was, "You lost your phone,
didn't you?" (Women love things like this.) She told me that someone,
blessings upon him, had found the phone, turned it on and pushed "home" in
the phonebook and reported that he'd found the phone. I received my phone
back three days ago by mail, all through the complete kindness of a
stranger. May Zeus, patron of hospitality, be mindful of him. (You never
know about Zeus, so I sent him 20 bucks for his expenses.)
From Mono Lake we set our sites on reaching western Nebraska for the
possibility of one last shoot at Chimney Rock the next morning. During the
eastward drive across Nevada on US 6 I left the 21/3.5 on the dash. Every
15 minutes I would rotate the focus ring a few times. I was skeptical that
this would get the water out, but by noon the lens was entirely clear! The
lens never got hot in the windshield, but it did develop a nice warmth
after several hours which obviously did the trick.
Once in Utah, I decided it was the moment of truth and put the batteries
back in the once-sunken OM-2S. O joy! O rapture! Better than the love of
women, or at least female cousins and puppies, the OM-2S -- rugged and
manly shooter, capable as well as beautiful to look upon -- fired up. It
beeped, it LCD-ed, it snapped off shots at all speeds like new. In auto
mode it was clearly not metering correctly, but a few twists of the ASA
dial and it was matching the manual shutter speeds predictably.
Finally, safe at home, well-bathed (myself that is) and well-hugged, I took
out the fatal roll of film that had been partially pre-bathed in the cold,
clear Merced. I finished off the roll in said OM-2S and had the results
processed. The remaining exposures were perfect. Interestingly, the
exposures shot prior to the Fatal Immersion came out too. They're a bit
like looking at a scene through a window pelted with rain. Too much work
to Photoshop, unfortunately.
O Good Camera, I am not worthy. But thou art mine and I will endeavor in
the future to be more deserving.
Joel W.
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