Shutterfinger

What I Shoot With and Why

Canon ESO 60D, 35mm f/2 EF, ISO 200

I've used a lot of different cameras since I began this humble blog. Some I still use; others I've sold, or still own but don't use. The list of those I've used the most so far includes:

Nikon FM3A (own but seldom use)
Olympus OM-1 (own but seldom use)
Canon EOS F-1n (own but seldom use)
Canon EOS 30D (sold)
Olympus E-520 (sold)
Pentax K5 (returned to Pentax)
Canon EOS 7D (returned to Canon)
Canon 5D Mark III (returned to Canon)
Nikon D7000 (sold)

This doesn't include cameras I've used for a week or less because of an assignment, a user review, or general curiosity. As you can see, I favor mid-range cameras; those that are somewhere between the smallest and largest and between the most and least expensive. I suspect most readers of this blog have similar tastes, which is why you may be interested to know what I'm using now and why.

Nikon V1, Nikkor 10-30mm f/3.5-5.6, ISO 400

At present, 90% of my work is done with a Canon EOS 60D and a Nikon V1. I bought the 60D to replace the Nikon D7000, which I was never able to get to focus consistently and reliably. (This was my personal experience. I've only used one D7000 and have no idea if this problem is widespread.) Aside from the focusing issue, my main reason for buying the 60D was so I could use the four Canon EF lenses I still own and rent practically any other lens I might need. Even though I seldom take on pro assignments these days, I still want to be able to should the need arise. The EOS 60D also allows me to shoot with portable and studio flash units. This is something the Nikon V1 can't do.

Because of its size and weight, the 60D is my preferred rig for shooting at home, when portability isn't an issue. That said, the 60D with a 28mm f/2.8 EF is still small and light enough to carry all day on a wrist strap or in a small shoulder bag. Because I don't own any Canon lenses slower than f/2.8 and the 60D has a much larger sensor than the V1, the 60D is also better for available light shooting without flash. Fast lenses reduce the need to shoot at absurdly high ISOs and then complain about the results.

Nikon V1, Nikkor 18.5mm f/1.8, ISO 400

The Nikon V1 is my "everyday-carry camera." I was initially attracted to it because of its small size,  low weight, and sturdiness, which make it perfect for travel, outdoor family activities, or an afternoon of street photograpy. Interchangeable lenses and a built-in eyelevel viewfinder made it even more attractive. What sealed the deal was its lightning fast, amazingly accurate focus and above-average metering accuracy. I know some photographers are put off by the V1's smaller sensor, but to my mind these folks aren't much different from film photographers who lugged around Hasselblads because 35mm cameras produced "inferior results." Either you appreciate the small camera esthetic or you don't. I do.

Canon EOS 60D, 28mm f/2.8 EF, ISO 100

All in all, these two cameras cover enough bases for me that I have little need or interest in buying anything else--mainly because the extra money spent wouldn't result in enough more image quality or convenience to make it worth the cost. If your situation is anything like mine (more than enough good cameras, not enough time), this could explain why camera sales have slowed considerably over the past six months. What about you? Do you have enough cameras? If not, will you ever?

 

Get a Grip

This is how I carry my Nikon V1. The Flipbac grip makes this already lightweight camera even easier to carry with a wrist strap. I covered the printing on the front of the camera with matte black tape to make the V1 look even more nondescript than it already is.

It was accepted wisdom at one time that if you carried a camera at all, you would use a neck strap to do it. A neck strap was and still is something that comes with every camera large enough to prevent being carried in a pocket or purse. There is good reason for this. A neck strap is undeniably convenient. You can sling the camera around your neck, over your shoulder, or across your body, leaving both hands free to do something other than carry your camera.

Neck straps have drawbacks, however. They cause the entire weight of your camera and lens to press down on your neck or shoulder, which can not only be uncomfortable, but often painful and harmful over time, especially when you're also carrying a camera bag with a shoulder strap. If you bend your body too quickly with a camera around your neck, said camera may swing like a pendulum and stop only when it strikes an inanimate object. If the strap doesn't have enough grip to it, it can slide off your shoulder, taking your camera along with it. Straps also have a disconcerting tendency to catch on objects such as doorknobs, tripods, and drawer pulls. If you're not careful or aware, this can cause the object, the camera, or both to crash to the floor.

I'm not saying these problems are epidemic, but they're common enough that a subset of photographers (me among them), prefers to carry their cameras with a wrist strap instead. A wrist strap takes the weight off of your neck and shoulder and transfers it to your right hand. Most reasonably fit people can comfortably carry two to five pounds of camera+lens in their right hand for extended periods of time. Yes, it means your hand is now occupied, but if you're actively shooting anyway, what's the problem? I carry a small shoulder bag or fanny pack  I can put the camera into when I need to free up my hands.

A properly designed wrist strap is not so thin that it cuts into your wrist yet not so wide that it becomes stiff or bulky. It can attach to your camera's tripod socket, quick-release tripod plate, or lens strap lug. I prefer the latter because the camera usually hangs and balances better that way. It's also more secure. When the strap is attached via the tripod socket, the camera will hang upside-down whenever you're not actually gripping it, and there's the risk that the mounting screw could come loose.

The best cameras for wrist-strap carry are those that have a built-in hand grip. Any grip is better than no grip at all. Without a grip you have to use finger pressure alone to hold onto the camera. This gets tiring, especially with larger, heavier cameras or those with smooth, low-friction coverings. With a grip, your camera has a comfortable "lip" for your fingertips to hang onto and more gripping surface for added security.

By coincidence, I can use the same Flipbac grip on my Nikon FM3A film camera. Even when I'm using it with a neck strap, the accessory grip allows for a much more secure and comfortable hold.

What do you if your camera has no such grip? One popular option is an accessory grip. Some camera manufacturers offer grips that mount onto the base of the camera. Other third party companies, such as Richard Franiac or Flipbac, offer grips with an adhesive backing that you can attach to a wide variety of cameras. As you can see from the accompanying photos, I was able to use the same Flipbac grip on my Nikon V1 and FM3A. The wrist strap, in case you're curious, was hand-made by Gordy's camera straps. Hey, with a name like Gordy, it has to be good.

Inkjet Printer: Creative Tool or Ripoff?

You'll have to take my word for it that this image looks amazingly good as a print because your eyes can feast for hours on the wealth of image detail, tone, and texture. You just don't get that from a computer monitor. You can get it from a decent online print lab though, and it will cost you a hell of a lot less per print than an inkjet.

It's fair to say that I learned how to be a good printer before I learned how to be a good photographer. This was decades before digital, so that meant mixing chemicals, standing in a dimly lit room for hours at a time, dodging and burning prints by hand, then washing, drying, and spotting them a few at a time. I loved all of it. If I still had a darkroom would still be doing it.

But I don't have a darkroom anymore and because we're all well into the digital age, it stands to reason that I shoud have switched over to making prints with a inkjet printer; and in fact I did--for a while. By the time I got over the learning curve and was making great prints with relative ease, however, I quickly began to notice that my inkjet printer was amazingly fussy and unreliable, and that the cost of ink cartridges and paper was absurdly high.

The combination of these two factors quickly soured me on inkjet printing. It was like a classic Catch 22: I had to use the printer often to keep the head from clogging, which meant I was constantly replacing expensive, low-capacity ink cartridges, yet if I didn't make enough prints, the heads would clog, which meant I'd have to do cleaning cycles, which meant I was still constantly replacing expensive, low-capacity ink cartridges. For me and most people who use inkjet printers, the cost of the ink can exceed the cost of the printer in well under a year--and these are not just $99.95 printers we're talking about folks, these are printers that sell for $500 and more. As for the paper, a box of reasonable quality, medium-weight inkjet paper costs as much or more than photographic paper coated with silver. Go figure.

Use third-party cartridges or inks, you say? Then you're dealing with the problems of unpredictable results, uncertain print longevity, and lack of printer manufacturer support if anything goes wrong. Continuous ink systems that feed ink to the printer from bottles attached to tubes can be a worthwhile investment for large-volume printers but an expensive and wasteful proposition for those who aren't. (See head clogging from infrequent use complaint above.)

That's why I have my prints made by an online lab. It's a lot less expensive and the quality is just as good, if not better. Better yet, there's not need to maintain a fussy machine. The main drawbacks are that I have to pay for shipping and wait for the prints to arrive. That's a tradeoff I don't mind making. Is it as satisfying as doing it myself, in my own home and my own time? Honestly, no--but it's a lot less painful, at least to me, than flushing money down the toilet with an inket printer.

Am I missing something here? Is there anyone out there, with the exception of those of you who have customers who pay you for your prints and thereby negate the cost, who think it's a good idea to own an inkjet? If so, enlighten me. I'd really like to know.

Flexible or Disloyal? You Be the Judge.

I shot this photo of my Canon EOS 60D with a Nikon V1. Was that wrong?

I have a confession to make: I lack any loyalty to any particular brand of equipment and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Since I began an active photographer I have owned equipment made by Canon, Mamiya/Sekor, Pentax, Olympus, Minolta, Leica, and Nikon. When I started this blog I was using a Canon EOS 30D, then for a year or so I shot with an Olympus E-520, which I bought as to use as my smaller, "travel" camera.

When I discovered that the E-520's image quality was good under ideal conditions, I tried the Pentax K-7, followed shortly by the Pentax K-5. Both were on extended loan from Pentax, which appreciated having a highly visible photographer using their equipment. The K-5 was a big improvement on the Olympus E-520 and the EOS 30D. I loved the small size and weight of the Pentax primes. What I didn't love was the weight and ergonomics of the body. The grip was so short that there was no room for my pinky finger and I saw no point in adding a battery grip to make the camera larger and heavier. The K-5 and lenses went back to Pentax, which had provided them on extended loan.

To their credit, Pentax had never asked me to actively promote their equipment. I simply acknowledged using it and posted samples of my work to show that it was capable of excellent results. Still, I felt a bit guilty about not being a more vocal advocate and was frankly relieved to send it back.

It doesn't much matter to me what brand or type of camera I use to get street shots like this, as long as it helps me get them and I'm happy with the results.

Around this time I began writing articles for Canon Digital Learning Center. That obviously meant I had switched to Canon, right? Not quite. I sold the Olympus E-520 and Canon EOS 30D to buy a Nikon D7000. I didn't buy a Nikon because I didn't like Canon. I chose it the Canon EOS 60D or 7D because I thought it was the best fit for my needs and budget at the time. About a year later, I bought a Nikon V1 with 10-30mm zoom (28-70mm equivalent) to use as my mirrorless compact "everyday carry" camera. 

Sounds like I "converted" to Nikon, right? Wrong again. I was never able to get reliably sharp images from the D7000 without essentially using it as a manual focus camera (via Live View and manual focus) and I didn't want to go through the hassle and expense of sending it to Nikon for service--so I sold it and used the proceeds to buy a refurbished Canon EOS 60D. I even saved a few bucks on the deal. The 60D is basically the same size and weight as the D7000, can use my pre-existing Canon EF lenses (28mm f/2.8, 35mm f/2.0, 50mm f/1.4, and 85mm f/1.8), and focuses them all quite well, thank you very much. I use the now-discontinued 28mm f/2.8 (45mm equivalent on APS-C) as a compact normal lens, which is all I need while street shooting.

My intention for the time being is to use the 60D for paid assignments and for when I'm shooting with Serious Intent, and the Nikon V1 for more casual shooting. If I find something that suits my needs better and doesn't require me to shell out more than I can afford or think necessary, I may buy it--or not, regardless of what brand it is or whether the revelation might surprise or disappoint fans of a particular brand. 

Although this means that you can never be certain that we share the same tastes in equipment for any extended period of time, you can rest assured that I'm using a camera or lens only because I like it and not because I'm in some company's pocket, or hope to be, or hope to gain a few bucks through affiliate ad sales (not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with affiliate advertising). You also have the benefit of knowing that I'm  familiar with more brands and ways of doing things than the one I currently own. Besides that, my hope is that if you find yourself impressed with the results from a particular camera or lens, it will mostly likely be because of who is using and how it rather than what they are using.

Eight Reasons Why I Like the Canon EOS 6D

A street shooter's dream: the Canon EOS 6D full-frame SLR with 40mm f/2.8 STM lens.

I recently had occasion to rent a Canon EOS 6D and 40mm f/2.8 EF lens for an event I was hired to photograph. I could have used my Nikon D7000, but based on past experience I didn't trust it to focus reliably. It turns out that having 39 autofocus points doesn't help much if they can't agree on the correct plane of focus. I had never had any AF problems with any of the Canons I had owned, including those with "only" five points. Since I was curious about the EOS 6D anyway, I figured I'd give it a try.

The event went smoothly. Although I found the 6D's metering to be a bit less predictable than the D7000's, the focusing was more consistently accurate. The few "soft" shots I got were either due to misplaced focus on my part or subject motion.

Since I had the 6D for the weekend, I decided to also take it out for some street shooting. This is where I thought it might fall short. It is, after all, a full-frame camera with a supposedly low-tech 9-point AF system and only one high-precision cross-point in the center. Oh, and aren't full-frame DSLRs supposed to be larger and heavier than their APS and DX-sized brethren? Conventional wisdom predicts that the EOS 6D would be large, heavy, and slow.

Well, it turns out that for all practical purposes the EOS 6D is the same size and weight as the Nikon D7000. Look up the specs for yourself. What's even more surprizing is that in practice the 6D can actually be a lighter and more compact rig for street shooting. That's because Canon and Nikon offer more small, lightweight, wide-angle primes available for full-frame DSLRs than for their APS/DX models. Canon's inch-long, 4.5 oz, $150, 40mm f/2.8 STM is an extreme example of this, but it still supports my basic point: It's hard to find wide-angle primes that offer the same angle of view at the same size and weight for APS/DX cameras as for full-frame.

Because Typepad's image resizingly algorithm is so funky, I suggest double-clicking on this and the rest of these image samples to see them at optimum sharpness.

The wider you want to go, the harder it gets to find wide primes. For another example, consider that Canon and Nikon both offer several 28mm full-frame lenses, but no 28mm-equivalent for APS/DX. There are plenty of zooms available, but these come at significantly greater size, weight, and cost. This is a big deal for street and travel photographers; for studio and home photographers, not so much.

Having a small lens on a relatively large camera offered another surprising benefit: The whole combo looked less intimidating. It's hard for observers to think you're a stealthy pro or a terrorist on a recon mission when your camera has a lens that's not much larger than a lens cap. Oh, and what a lens. It's sharp from center to edge, even at maximum aperture. It has excellent image contrast without appearing harsh. Flare, linear distortion, and chromatic aberations are all low. Its focusing speed can be a tad leisurely if you're moving from minimum focusing distance to maximum or vice-versa, but who does that on a regular basis? In short, I would much rather use this lens on a $2000 camera than use a $700 zoom on a $700 camera.

As for the camera itself, here's a quick list of what won me over:

1. Modest size and weight. I already mentioned this in the paragraphs above. This is for the benefit of those of you who skipped them. 
2. Uncluttered control layout. It was easy for me to locate key controls, either visually or by feel. There were also fewer buttons to accidentally push.
3. Neatly organized menus. Every list of menu options took up no more than a single screen. Some options expanded into a second screen, but the expansions were all logical and there was no need to scroll to find otherwise hidden options.
4. No pop-up flash. This eliminates the flash overhang that otherwise increases the overall depth of the camera. It also eliminates the tiny button on the prism for popping up the flash. I can't tell you how many times I've accidentally pushed this button by holding the camera in the vertical position with the short side of the camera resting in my left palm.
5. Locks on the mode and rear dials. If you've ever owned a camera where important controls move if so much as a feather brushes up against them, then you know the value of  dials with locks.
6. Quiet, low vibration shutter. Shutter noise isn't as big a deal in street photography as some people make it out to be. Regardless, I'll take a quiet shutter over a loud one any day.
7. Elegant tonality and microcontrast. I find this more valuable in black and white printing than color, but since I like to convert most of my work to black and white...
8. Excellent low light performance. With rare exceptions (Bruce Gilden), street photographers almost never use electronic flash. A camera that can focus quickly and accurately in low light and produce high-quality images even at ISO 1600 and 3200 is a camera I can't help but like.

So will there be a Canon EOS 6D in my future? It depends on whether I can afford one. I make a good living, but it's not like I've got $2000 just sitting in the bank waiting to be spent on a new camera. Still, where there's a will, there's a way. The Nikon D7000 is up for sale. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy these sample shots as much as I enjoyed shooting them.

This is the sort of portrait that merits a lingering look. There is more going on here than first meets the eye.

Here's one last reason: I can crop a square out of a full-frame image and still have resolution and tone to spare.

The Five Stages of the Camera Buying Process

 

As part of my regular job I design and write web-based training courses for corporate clients. One of my recent courses described the "five stages of the consumer buying process." I found them interesting, but not particularly relevant to the camera buying process. Here, for your edification (and amusement) are the five stages, slightly modified to reflect how one really buys photo equipment.

Stage 1 – Awareness of Need

This is the stage at which you become aware that whatever you own is unsatisfactory in some significant way—for example, it’s too large and heavy, or produces unacceptable photos in low light, or simply reflects poorly on your skills as a photographer. You therefore want a new camera or lens. Scratch that, you need a new camera or lens; maybe both. The question is what new camera or lens?

Stage 2 – Information Gathering

You start searching for and gathering as much information—and more importantly, justification—as you can. Information sources typically include:

• Other photo-enthusiasts you know –These are people you can depend on to give you completely objective reasons why you should buy exactly what they own and why you would be a fool to buy anything else.
• Manufacturer websites and print brochures –These sources obviously present their equipment in the best possible light, but that doesn't make them worthless. For example, there is often some truth to the specifications.
• Blogs – Blogs are your best possible source of impartial information. You should believe everything a blogger tells you.
• Online forums – This is a lot like going to the zoo to watch the monkeys scream and throw feces at each other. It’s noisy, smelly, and bizarrely amusing—that is, until they start throwing their feces at you.

These are by no means the only sources of information. Some consumers have been known to rely on their own knowledge and experience as the basis for comparison and judgment. Granted, this happens only in extreme cases, but it does happen.

Stage 3 – Evaluate The Alternatives

At this point you have narrowed down your choices to at least three, which typically consist of:

• The thing you really want but consider insanely priced. (In other words, you can’t afford it).
• The thing you consider an acceptable, if slightly flawed, product at a price that’s a stretch but reasonable.
• The piece of crap that, after consulting with your bank account and/or spouse, you will most likely end up buying.

Stage 4 – Purchase

This is the point at which you finally make up your mind and buy something, if only to get it over with. Depending on your mindset and personality, this stage either brings a release of tension and sense of calm or the onset of deep dread based on your anticipation of Stage 5.

 Stage 5 – Post-Purchase Evaluation

This is the stage at which you evaluate how well your purchase meets the original needs and expectations that set this whole process in motion. If all you wanted was a new camera or lens, you may be quite happy, at least until your purchase no longer qualifies as “new.” If, however, you lingered too long in Stages 2 and 3, this feeling of contentment might last no more than the 15 minutes it takes to discover that your purchase has just been replaced by an even newer model that costs 33% less.

You also have to be careful to avoid returning to Stage 3, otherwise you will discover that no sooner does the return period expire than the photo websites will release a torrent of information about newly discovered defects and shortcomings, and how the manufacturer continues to insist that there is no so-called "evidence" to support such claims. 

Keep in mind that a very small minority simply start using their new equipment to produce photographs. If they are happy with the photographs and the experience, they are happy with their equipment and lose interest in any further purchases or research, either for as long as they or happy or as long as their equipment keeps working. Some of these folk may not have bought anything new in years. Although they are small in number, they explain why it all the more important for the rest of us to do our part to "take up the slack," so to speak. If you don't buy and buy often, what the hell will I have to write about?

 

The Sensuous Side of Photography

These old Brownies use 127 film, which Kodak stopped producing in 1995. The winders still wind and the shutters still click. Most important of all, my kids like to handle them and think they're cool.

I was listening to National Public Radio while driving in my car a few days ago when they aired a segment titled "Vintage Sounds: The Whirs and Clicks of Film Cameras." I invite you to give it a listen, especially if you've spent most of your years using film cameras. You'll definitely be able to relate to this piece. Not only that, you'll be able to describe in similar detail the sensory memories of each film camera you owned: how it felt in your hands, the sound of the film wind lever, the click of the shutter, the slap of the mirror, the whirr of the self-timer, the shimmer of the microprism. I'm sure you remember them vividly, even if you didn't like some of them. I suspect this is one of the reasons why a cohort of young photographers these days is so attracted to the cameras of old. There's a certain funky charm to gears, levers, cams and springs that digital circuits just don't have.

You post-digital folks need not feel left out. Even if today's cameras have fewer whirs and clicks, they still have sensuous pleasures of their own. Feel free to share your own versions of this story. As for me, I freely confess I own a couple of cameras I seldom use but can't bear to sell, simply because it's so damned pleasurable just to handle them. Can I hear an amen?

Get on the Ball

Since my last post was on travel tripods, I thought I might as well follow-up with a short post on ballheads. This is not for those of you who already know all this; it’s for those who wonder why anyone would want to buy a separate tripod head at all. Why not just buy a tripod-head combo and be done with it?

There’s one basic reason: choice. You might not want whatever head the manufacturer deems best. It might be too big, too small, too flimsy, or too limiting for your needs. If you buy a tripod with a removeable head you can attach the exact head you want and change later if you need something different. There's a lot to be said for adaptability.

The reason I prefer a ballhead for travel is that it’s a lot more compact than the comparable pan-tilt head. A pan-tilt has handles that extend outward and compromize portability. The controls on a ballhead are compact knobs or levers that are also less likely to snag on branches, brush, and other people.

Although you can get by with just one control—a locking screw or lever for the ball—this is less than optimal because the only way to pan is by unlocking the ball. If you then let go of your camera it will drop downward and perhaps even strike the tripod. You may also find that when you lock down the head the added tension on the ball will make your framing will shift a bit. Some heads compensate for this by adding a heavy-duty spring that places the ball under constant tension. In practice, the spring will be too heavy for some camera/lens combinations and too light for others.

That’s why it’s better to use a ballhead with an adjustable friction control. Better yet, make sure it has a separate pan base too; that way you can pan the camera without having to unlock the ball itself.

The final factor to consider is how to attach it to your camera. Some heads have a standard tripod screw, others use quick-mount plates that attach to your cameras and lenses. The benefit to a standard tripod head is that you can use it with practically any camera or lens that has a tripod socket. The drawback is that the heavier your lens, the more it acts as a lever that pulls your camera downward, thereby loosening it from the tripod. This can happen with some quick-mount plates as well. The better plates have a “lip” that fits along the base of your camera or lens to prevent it from twisting.

For speed and convenience you’ll need a separate plate for each item you want to attach, which can get pricey.  Make sure that if you do opt for a quick-mount head it uses standard Arca-Swiss style plates, otherwise you’ll be limited to a smaller, less flexible selection of proprietary plates.

The final factor to consider is size. The more weight you need the head to support, the bigger the ball should be. You don’t want to try to support a Canon 1DX with 400mm f/.28 telephoto lens on a ball the size of a marble. By the same token, a 2-inch diameter ball is overkill for an Olympus OM-D with a 20mm pancake lens.

That’s about it, folks. The rest becomes a matter of what design you feel most comfortable with. Choose a head with controls where you want and expect them to be and that feels built to last decades. Make the right choice and you’ll be enjoying your ballhead—and tripod—long after your current camera is a distant memory.

 

The Perfect Travel Tripod

On the left, my light and swift Induro AT114 tripod with Acratech Ultimate Ballhead. On the right, my old reliable workhouse, a Gitzo Studex Performance purchased in the 1980s. I use the same Acratech ballhead on both tripods.

It's been decades since I last bought a tripod. This is not because I don't like tripods or don't use them. I do. It's largely because the first good tripod I bought, a Gitzo Studex Performance, is so damned sturdy I've scarcely needed anything else. I bought it back in the 1980s, when Gitzo was still a French-owned company and not far removed from its heritage as a manufacturer of tripods for machine guns. My Studex is made of aluminum (carbon fiber tripods didn't exist at the time) and extends to just short of 60 inches (1.5 meters) with the center column down. Should I be reckless enough to fully extend the dual-extension center column I can get another two feet--and that's not counting the head itself, which adds another four inches or so.

I've used the Studex with cameras as small as a Minox and as large as a 4x5-inch Sinar F. I've used it with tilt-shift lenses for architectural work, macros for close-ups, and a 500mm telephoto just for the hell of it. As long as I used good tripod technique--minimal leg extensions, no center column extension, a solid head, cable release, mirror lock-up, waiting for ground and wind vibration to die down, etc.--I was rewarded with tack-sharp photos.

These rewards come at a cost, however. My Studex weighs seven pounds even with lightweight head attached and measures 28-inches long fully retracted. Neither one is a big deal if you're shooting at home or in a studio. Try travelling with it and you discover that a) it won't fit in a normal suitcase, and b) seven pounds is too heavy to carry around for extended periods of time, especially if you're carrying equal weight in cameras and lenses. For travel you need a smaller, lighter tripod.

"Why carry a tripod at all?" you ask, "Haven't you ever heard of image-stabilized cameras and lenses?"

"Sure," I answer, "but tripods do more than reduce camera shake. In most cases they prevent it. They're also an aid to composition. They help ensure precise registration and repeatability from frame-to-frame. HDR, panoramic, and serious video shooters couldn't live without them. Last but not least, it's a lot easier to insert yourself into some of your own photos if you have a tripod than if you have to rely on the kindness and competence of strangers."

My problem was that until relatively recently, most travel tripods fell into one of only two categories: they were either small, lightweight, sturdy, and expensive (translation: Gitzo carbon fiber) or they were small, lightweight, flimsy, and cheap (translation: the type of  tripod you would typically find at a mass-market retailer). I didn't travel enough to justify the expense of the best models but knew better than to waste money on the cheap ones.

Then a funny thing happened: A few Chinese industrial conglomerates realized that if they could built high-quality bicycles and tennis rackets out of aluminum and carbon fiber, they could build a high-quality tripod, and for an extremely competitive price. So they did. Search for brands like Induro, Benro, Feisol, and Giottos and you'll see what I mean. Look even closer and you'll discover that many appear to be exactly the same tripod but with a different label. Because of these similarities, I decided to go with Induro, which offers better customer support and distribution without being significantly more expensive.

The specific model I chose was the Induro AT114. Basic specifications are:

• Max height: 50 inches (1.3 meters) with center column retracted, no head
• Folded length: 19.3 inches (49 cm)
• Weight: 3.3 lbs (1.5 kg) without head
• Maximum load: 13 lbs (6 kg)

Induro makes an equivalent carbon fiber model, the CT114, that weighs slightly less (2.8 lbs) and accepts a heavier load (17.6 lbs). These differences are negligible for my purposes. Because the CT114 costs 2.6 times more, however, I opted for AT114.

For those of you who don't already know, carbon fiber is not inherently "better" or more stable than the aluminum equivalent; it just has a higher ratio of stability and rigidity to its weight. The lightness and sturdiness of carbon fiber really come into play when you're dealing with taller tripods with larger diameter legs; with smaller travel tripods, not so much.

Back to the AT114. What I like about it, in no particular order, is that:

1. It's small enough to fit into an overhead luggage bag without my having to place it on the diagonal.
2. It extends high enough with head attached that I can use an eyelevel viewfinder without having to stoop over or extend the center column. (Keep in mind that I'm only 5 foot-6 inches in height. You taller gents might prefer to use live view instead.)
3. It comes with a sturdy, 25-inch long, padded nylon carry case with strap and toolkit.
4. It has a built-in bubble level.
5. The legs are non-rotating for swift extension and retraction.
6. The upper legs are covered with closed-cell foam for more comfortable handheld carry.
7. The leg locks are the rubber-covered twist type rather than levers, which are bulkier and have a greater tendency to get snagged on things.
8. The lock for the center column is above the spider (the attachment point for the legs). Please refer to the accompanying photo. This makes the tripod slightly longer than it might otherwise be but removes my hands from between the legs, where they have a greater chance of getting scraped or pinched.

The AT114 is rock-solid at minimum extension and becomes increasingly less rigid as you extend it, but even at maximum leg extension I'd feel comfortable using it with a 200mm lens in light wind. That said, it's a good idea to hang your camera bag from the spring-loaded hook at the bottom of the center column for a lower center of gravity and extra stability. If you extend the center column more than an inch or two, however, you're asking for trouble. Since I seldom extend the center column my next purchase will be a short center column, which will allow me to spread the legs and drop the head lower to the ground for macro shots.

As for the head, I attached my Acratech Ultimate Ballhead. Some of you may be amazed to discover that this head costs twice as much as the AT114. Why so much for a head? First, when I bought it the price was closer to $200. Second, because a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. I've learned from experience that the weakest link is more often the head than the legs. The Acratech ballhead provides a quick release, adjustable friction, no shift during adjustments, rigid lockdown, and a smooth pan head, all while adding less than a pound of extra weight. If there's sufficient interest I can follow-up with a post on "the perfect ballhead." In the meantime I'll be having fun with my new Induro AT114, giggling at just how tack-sharp my images are, and looking forward to an upcoming trip to Paris, tripod packed and ready for action.

The Myth of the Uncompromising Photographer

I compromised like hell on this shot, starting with the camera: a Nikon V1, which is a mass of compromises if ever there was one. The image itself is a cropped JPEG shot in sRGB color space. It might have looked better if I had shot it with a Hasselblad and Kodak TMax 100. Then again, you probably wouldn't notice the difference in a JPEG for the web. It looks pretty good just the same, if I do say so myself.

Read enough photo blogs, forums, and websites and you will find someone describing themselves or someone else as an “uncompromising photographer.” This is presumably someone whose standards are so high that they refuse to settle for anything less than the best—or at least nothing less than what they consider the best. They use the best cameras and lenses, the best films and papers, the best software, the best inkjet printer and paper. The list goes on.

I have a problem with this. First of all, if there is such a thing as an “uncompromising photographer” it implies that those who are not, almost by definition, are “compromising photographers”—you know, the unwashed masses; folks with lower standards; folks who settle for less. If you think it’s not such a big deal to be something other than uncompromising then left me ask you this: Who do you know who aspires to be a compromising photographer? Not many, I imagine.

And yet, in a world of finite time, resources, and abilities, we are all forced to make compromises. If you are an outdoors or travel photographer you’re forced to compromise maximum image quality against portability. If you have limited means you have to compromise what you might want against what you can afford. If you’re a sports photographer you might sacrifice absolute focusing accuracy over focusing speed. That doesn’t make you a lazy, feckless, compromiser with low standards. More likely than not, it just means you’re being practical.

I’m not saying there’s no such thing as sloppy work habits. There is. That’s why it’s pretty easy to tell the difference between a photographer who’s got skills and one who doesn’t. Investigate further and you’ll discover that even the most skilled photographers make compromises all the time. The difference between them and the less-skilled is that where the less-skilled make compromises often without intending to, the skilled make informed compromises. The results are still excellent and often better than they’d be without the compromise.

Another problem with this “uncompromising” idea is that suggests you can buy your way to excellence, as if owning an expensive camera, lens, monitor, printer, and such automatically makes you a more Serious photographer than those who don’t. This philosophy is particularly attractive among people who have a lot more money than time. They can slap a credit card down on the counter, tell their dealer “I want the best,” and be done with it.

As harsh as this may sound, I say it with no malice. None of these behaviors or attitudes are harmful in and of themselves. When internally focused they can even be beneficial. I wrote this mainly for the benefit of anyone who, from time to time, feels a bit intimidated by the uncompromising. Don’t be. If you can go through life without seriously compromising your self-respect, integrity, and values you are doing well, my friend, and don’t let anyone tell you any different.