Caran d'Ache 849 Office Pen

Concept: 2 out of 5
Execution: 3 out of 5
Yeah, but: It's an acquired taste.

The Long Version: It's been four years since I reviewed my Caran d'Ache 849 in its snazzy "Metal X" slick finish. I've rarely carried anything else in the intervening years, and it shows in the finish – but those scrapes and marks are well-earned. I carry my pen clipped in my back pocket, alongside whichever pocket knife I'm carrying that day, so it's constantly up against very hard and typically square-edged tool steel. I actually like the pen more now that it shows some wear and personality – so much so that I've bought another one.

This new 849 in "oh-my-effing-god Orange" called to me from its shelf at Swipe. The colour amuses me. This pen has proven almost impossible to lose, either when it's next to me on my black desk or when I've left it on the far side of a large room. Orange is a tough colour – it's too easy to get it wrong and come away with something unappealing, and even when it works there's a lot of variation. The orange in my large Timbuk2 bag is more of a copper-yellow, my Blaze Orange toque has a lot more red in it. Even my mug in Pantone's 2012 Colour of the Year, 'Tangerine Tango', doesn't manage to out-orange this Caran d'Ache. Awesome.

Hopefully I'll be back in another four years with another update.

last updated 9 feb 2013

Chris Reeve Small Sebenza 21 Insingo

Concept: 4 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: It cuts stuff – is anything else about it important?

The Long Version: Sebenza. I first heard its name in reverent tones when I joined the usenet alt.rec.knives eighteen years ago, and I've been seeing it mentioned, even if it's only as an aside, almost every time I've researched a higher-end folding knife. This is the knife: there are a lot of other really good pocket knives out there, a few costing more and most costing less, but sooner or later they're all compared to a Sebenza.

Making the jump up to the Sebenza wasn't something I did easily. I read every review I could find online, watched the beginnings of many YouTube reviews, and spent a few weeks going through my knife box to revisit some of the favourites that I've been neglecting since buying my Spyderco Caly3. I decided that the Small Sebenza would suit me best, and that it would make a great self-present for Christmas.

But echoing through many contemporary Sebenza 21 reviews was another word: Insingo. This is a Sebenza variant with a different blade shape that seems better suited to my typical urban-work tasks than the traditional woodlands-hunting drop point pattern. Apparently it's in low-volume production, despite not being mentioned anywhere on the Chris Reeve Knives site, so when I found a dealer with one in stock I grabbed it. In early September. I have impulse-control issues.

Reviewers invariably call the Insingo's blade shape "a modified wharncliffe", but doesn't come close to describing what it's good for. A wharncliffe – similar to the sheepfoot – has a straight cutting edge and a spine that meets it in a blunt point. The "modification" is that the Insingo inherits a subtle belly and has a narrow but unsharpened swedge. It's extremely strong with excellent penetration ability, and it's very easy to slip between the taped-down flaps of a cardboard box without hurting the contents. That's not as tacticool as the chisel-tipped tanto, I know, but how many of us actually need to stab through car doors?

Translated from Zulu, 'Sebenza Insingo' becomes 'Work Razor'. There's really no better description of the blade. It's not what I would choose for field-dressing a deer, but it excels at field-dressing cardboard boxes, which I'm much more likely to do. It's very hard to think of any warehouse or utility tasks where I would choose another blade pattern over the Insingo, and in the three months that I've owned it, the only other knives I've willingly used have had "Victorinox" stamped on them somewhere.

The Sebenza's handle design is simple, subtle, and effective. Very slightly concave on top and bottom, this slab-sided titanium feels solid without needing any particular grip to work well. It's a small detail, but it makes a huge difference; the Sebenza is easy to hold and I know from feel where it is in my hand. There's a finger choil on the bottom just in front of where the knife naturally balances when open, giving it a secure hold and a lively feel.

I was amazed to find that its handle is the same thickness as my broad and finger-grooved Caly3, because the Sebenza is noticeably more agile and dexterous to use. I actually work my way down a line of cardboard boxes faster and more confidently than I do with my Caly3 or Medium Voyager, which have blades of similar lengths. I hadn't expected that at all, but there's just something about the shape and balance of the Sebenza that works better – for me – than everything else I own.

The Sebenza's clip took a while to get used to. It has a secondary bend in it that seems sized to securely hold the top of a jeans' pocket, which is a sensible thing for an American-made knife to have. This gives it a strong hold, but also needs a little more care when putting it away. And for some reason the Sebenza's clip seems unusually willing to catch on my usual messenger bag or computer chair. But a simple hex wrench, included with purchase, is all that's needed to remove the clip to bend it back into shape. That same wrench can completely disassemble the knife for cleaning or maintenance, as well – there's no reason why this tool shouldn't last for decades.

The Sebenza is expensive, but the Sebenza Insingo – Sebingo – is my perfect knife. The blade is the right size, the handle has the right weight, its construction is flawless, and its pedigree is beyond reproach. The only criticism I can really level at it is how quickly the blue anodizing has worn from the thumb stud, but I was planning on sending it back to Chris Reeve to have it replaced with a silver double stud regardless. The fact that that might even be an option is pretty cool.

One thing I haven't been able to determine is if the Insingo is an attractive knife or not. No, it's not really relevant, but my Benchmade Stryker is almost ridiculously good-looking, and it wouldn't hurt if the Seb could keep up. The slab-sided swedge doesn't really match the aesthetic of the rest of the knife, and the blade profile is certainly unusual, creating a slightly odd combination. But the way it feels and works is very convincing, so that's enough for me.

It's too soon to know if the Insingo has satisfied my desire to own one really good knife, or if it has just set a new high-water mark for my budget and introduced me to a new manufacturer. It certainly isn't the last knife I'm going to buy – I've already picked up a couple of new little ones – but it has changed what I look for.

last updated 20 dec 2012

First Impressions: Nikon D800

Concept: 4 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: It's so pretty.

The Long Version: I haven't spent much time with the D800 yet, recently purchased from Toronto's Aden Camera, but this isn't the time for patience and introspection. That can come later.

I'm trying to come up with a word other than 'awesome' to describe the D800's image quality. I may have to settle for 'astonishing'. My first reaction to each new photo has been "you have got to be kidding me". Detail, noise, dynamic range: I instantly forgot how much I paid for this electronic contraption. I used to call my D700 'the monster' for what it could pull off – just a few minutes with the D800 had me calling it 'the God Nikon'.

I'd happily use the D700 to iso3200 for semi-important photos, and 6400 for ones under more extreme conditions. With the D800, it looks like I'll be adding about another stop on top of that. The iso12800 boost setting, which I used on a dark street, produced results that I'd be quite pleased with – especially when the alternative could be no photo at all.

But like my D700, I didn't buy the D800 for its low-light ability. What I want is the ability to make high-quality prints, and the D800's images can be printed at 16x20" and 300dpi without upsizing. To reach that size with my D700, I would need to go through super-resolution software with a stack of photos, or tile multiple images. All of this requires forethought, careful execution, and a great deal of computer resources. With the D800 I skip the first two requirements, which is a huge advantage.

I've yet to take a photo with it that's worth the ten dollars in paper and ink, but I'm sure it will happen eventually.

Another interesting feature that I didn't buy the D800 for is its video ability. I've never really been interested in video; I have a hard enough time assembling a sequence of still photos without trying to learn a whole new language. But just for fun, I put the camera on a tripod and pointed it at something moving and moderately interesting. About the only thing that I changed from the camera's default settings was to enable video recording by pressing the shutter button, which let me use my cable release to start and stop the sequence. One minute of the results are on Vimeo here.

One thing to remember about the God Nikon is that its desire is to create as strongly detailed photos as possible. A lot has been said elsewhere about the D800 and its need for the best lenses and technique to pull the most out of the camera. That's true. But there's nothing that says that its needs should be the most important ones in the relationship. I recently spent a happy saturday taking photos at a wholly inappropriate aperture, forgetting that adequate depth of field is more important than peak sharpness. Lesson learned.

The payoff for good discipline may be greater with the D800, but it handles carelessness pretty well too. Yes, I can clearly see when I miss focus with my 50/1.4G when it's wide open, there's a massive difference between f/1.4 and f/5.6, and I'm aware of corner softness that I had never noticed before. But even in those times of trouble the D800 is still pulling everything the lens has to give – just because the D800 isn't at its best, it doesn't follow that using a lesser camera would give better results. The important thing is to use the right lens and aperture for the creative purpose, and if that happens to be a dazzlingly sharp piece of crystal at its optimum aperture, great. If not, still great.

One thing that I have done to accommodate the 36 megapickle sensor is spend the time to fine-tune the autofocus with the two AF lenses that I use on it. This has made a big difference, and now my AF photos have about a one-in-three chance of being as sharp – or even sharper – than ones that I manually focus with live view. The other two out of three will usually have the AF system miss just a tiny bit, which is typical for all cameras, but the God Nikon is unforgiving. When peak sharpness really matters I'll take a few redundant photos and let the AF find its mark anew for each. That works best with static subjects, naturally, but it's an easy way to squeeze the best out of the camera.

There were only three things that I didn't like about my recently-departed D700. The big one was the 95% viewfinder. I cut my teeth on the Olympus E-1 and E-3 4/3 cameras, which had exceptional 100% viewfinders despite their smaller sensor size. The other was the resolution – it was feeling like a bad dream that, despite shifting largely to Nikon, I was still in the universe of "12 megapixels should be enough". This was part of the reason why I moved a lot of my personal photography to film, because even if the actual resolved detail isn't any better than a 12Mpx camera, the high-resolution scans look a lot nicer than scaling up an all-digital file.

My third D700 quibble was the lack of easy access to exposure bracketing. I know: who cares when the dynamic range of the camera is this good. I do, if only a little, and the D800 fixes that oversight as well. I suppose there could be more complaints about the D700, because it doesn't have a catch to hold the battery in place and had a bad door design for its left-side ports. Yes, nits are being picked, but the D800 has made those right too.

In exchange for all of these improvements, there have been a few physical changes from the D700 body to learn. The hand grip has a different profile, making for a slightly longer reach to the shutter button, and the position of the buttons to zoom in and out on the LCD review/preview have been reversed. I'm amazed at how often that change has tripped me up, especially since I didn't think I was ever all that natural with the D700. Muscle memory is a funny thing, and can't always be predicted.

There are other things to get used to, like the different batteries and ways of selecting autofocus methods, both of which are inherited from the D7000. The bigger LCD screen is nice in an irrelevant way, but not nearly as impressive as the new mostly-accurate dual-axis electronic level. All told this new camera would be a substantial upgrade even if Nikon had stuck with a more conservative sensor – but what fun would that have been?

It's already clear that Nikon has a huge success on its hands, and it looks like it's well deserved. There's still a tremendous amount for me to learn about the D800, and I may have more to say in a couple more months. Until then, I'll be taking photos and reading lens reviews.

Added April 21: My one-month report on the D800 is now on-line.

last updated 21 apr 2012

Carl Zeiss 35mm f/2 Biogon

Concept: 2 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: It's available in black or silver.

The Long Version: Not many people in 2005 would have thought that the world needed another f/2.0 35mm lens in Leica's M-mount, but then some people thought that the iPhone wouldn't be that big of a deal. You can't always trust the pundits.

The Carl Zeiss 2,0/35mm – to use their preferred sequence – uses their Biogon design which marks a mostly-symmetrical wide-angle lens. It's an M-mount lens, meaning that it fits on Leica and Voigtländer rangefinders in addition to the current Zeiss Ikon. Made with 9 elements in 6 groups, this rear-focus design simply isn't possible for cameras that use a reflex mirror. The similar-specified 35mm f/2 lenses in Nikon and Canon mount use the Distagon design, and are radically different lenses.

Film rangefinders have a couple of advantages over digital SLRs. Their lenses can sit much closer to the film plane, making for simpler and smaller designs, and film doesn't really care what angle light hits it at. Falloff is reduced, chromatic aberration is minimized, and blooming is outright impossible. So when I decided that I wanted a high-quality system that would take me off of the digital photography upgrade train, the Zeiss 35mm f/2 lens was my perfect stop.

"Flawless" is a difficult word to use, because there's always an exception. Indeed, the Zeiss 35/2 Biogon does vignette rather heavily when wide open, and it's still sometimes visible at f/2.8. There are brighter 35mm M-mount lenses out there, and there may be sharper ones, not that it matters. What the 35/2 offers is even rendering and phenomenally low geometric distortion that's better than any other wide-angle lens, and among the very best of any focal length.

For the photo above – see it larger – the lens is wide open and focused on the metal gate, about five or six feet from the camera. There is some falloff at the edges, which is easy enough to remove if the negative is scanned by one of those newfangled computers, although any wide-angle scenic photo that's ruined by vignetting probably wasn't very good in the first place. But look at the line in the tile at the very bottom of the frame. I wouldn't dare to use that composition with most telephotos.

It's quite exceptional to have a 135-format lens where film flatness becomes the largest source of geometric distortion. To really absorb the very best from the Zeiss 35/2 needs either a digital sensor or a scanner that can hold the film under glass. That makes it one of just a handful of small-format lenses that really deserves to have its film put through a drum scanner, much like my Hasselblad and Fuji medium-format equipment. That's pretty lofty company. My Nikon Coolscan V is very good generally, but sometimes I'll re-scan my negatives after they've spent some time under a good book.

The 35mm focal length is a classic for rangefinders and street photography. The Biogon has the technical perfection that's typically reserved for telephoto primes like the CZ ZM 4/85, but without losing the wonderful sense of space that only a wide lens can give. It has consistent sharpness across the frame, giving a beautiful and consistent rendering even as subjects fall out of the depth of field. While many people – perhaps three or four total, but all prolific internet writers – are passionate about "good" or "bad" bokeh, the only OOF characteristics I really care about are "offensive" or "inoffensive". The 35/2 is certainly inoffensive in a way that will look completely natural to photo-viewers even though it may not excite certain photo-takers.

In my experience, the more sophisticated and experienced a photographer becomes, the more they gravitate to simple lenses that behave nicely without any special effects. Primes instead of zooms, modest sizes and apertures, and no extreme focal lengths. The good news is that anyone who's likely to be offended by my saying that probably won't have read this far into a review of such a classic lens.

Physically the ZM 35/2 is large for a rangefinder lens, but smaller than an equivalent for a reflex camera. The body of the lens does intrude slightly into the frame at all focusing distances. The lens barrel is entirely made from metal, and it focuses from 0.7 meters to infinity with slightly over a 90 degree twist. It has a 43mm filter thread and is topped off by the standard-issue Zeiss lens cap, which is abysmal. Come to think of it, the ZM tail caps aren't all that great, either.

The 35/2 shares its hood – sold separately, $84 each – with the 50/2 Planar, and it's a ventilated metal reverse-slope design that attaches to a bayonet around the exterior of the lens. It needs to be removed to attach filters, and can't be reversed for storage, although it's so small that space is hardly an issue. Rangefinder hoods are a personal matter, but I prefer the look of the camera with the hood attached, and there are some incidental flare-prevention and protection duties as well. Most importantly, it stops the camera from tipping forward when it's put down on the table at Starbucks.

I suspect that Zeiss doesn't really intend for people to actually use their caps. One huge upgrade that I made with my 35/2 is to replace the lens cap with the micro-size hood hat, which gives better protection from damage and is much harder to forget about. One rite of passage with a rangefinder is to take a photo with the lens cap still on. On an aperture-priority camera like the Ikon this results in an extremely long exposure, which is usually enough to announce the mistake. On a fully manual camera, especially one without a built-in meter, the all-black frames can go on for quite a while.

An aspect of the rangefinder culture that amuses me is that "Made in Japan" can be treated like a derogatory label. Nikon users endlessly quest for cameras and lenses made there, but with the Zeiss lenses it's used to mark them as somehow inferior, or inauthentic, compared to products made in Germany. It must be based on that fine German tradition of quality automotive craftsmanship. I can't say that I've noticed any quality differences between my Zeiss lenses and the Leicas that I've used, but I'll update this section if someone ever looks at one of my photos and says "it's too bad your lens only has ten aperture blades instead of eleven."

The Carl Zeiss Biogon T* 2/35mm ZM – to give its full name, including university degrees, for the benefit of the search engines – just gets out of the way of the photographer. I don't think I've ever heard anyone call it "dreamlike" or use any other mystical terms to describe it; while that kind of lens can be quite nice this simply isn't one of them. With its neutral angle of view and its optical fidelity, it's about as far from a Lomography camera as you can be while still using film. But for those who may worry that the technical excellence of the lens might somehow compromise its artistic ability, rest assured that there's always vignetting.

The Zeiss 35/2 is the main reason why I bought my ZM Ikon. There's simply no match for it, not from other rangefinders or in other formats. The lens and camera suit each other perfectly, and offer something genuinely different from the parade of DSLRs that become obsolete every two to four years. Yes, the Ikon and 35/2 cost as much as the currently-heavily-discounted Canon 5DmkII and 24-105 lens, but it's the battle of the ephemeral commodity with a modern – yet timeless – classic. This is a lens that's worth stepping off of the upgrade path for.

last updated 8 oct 2011

Eton Scorpion Weather Radio

Concept: 3 out of 5
Execution: 0 out of 5
Yeah, but: Beware the sheep in wolf's clothing.

The Long Version: The Eton Scorpion is a great gadget-lust device. It's a battery-operated radio that's charged by a dynamo crank and/or solar cell, receives AM, FM, and NOAA Weather Band frequencies, has a built-in 3-LED flashlight, and can charge a cell phone. The body has a rubber exterior with a built-in carabiner clip; it even has a name that could equally apply to a sports team or a weapon. The promise of a dependable and rugged device persuaded me to upgrade from a similarly-featured model that looked less like a Hummer, and perhaps fittingly my extra money was blown.

Eton, in a love-affair with capitalized letters, calls the Scorpion a "Multi-Purpose Solar Powered Digital Weather Radio, Compact and Power Packed For Extreme Conditions". It's an impressive string of words, but unfortunately its link to reality becomes more and more tenuous as it goes on. If they had just stopped at the comma, everything could have been okay. Almost. A 'Digital Radio' is actually something completely different from an analog radio with a digital tuner, which is what the Scorpion is, But Perhaps Eton Decided That an Accurate Product Description Would Have Made The List Of Attributes Too Wordy and Awkward to Read.

One of the first things that I found inside the package (pdf) was the warning to not to expose the unit to rain, moisture, or high humidity. So much for extreme conditions, unless they just meant extremely bright sun without exceeding the safe operating temperature of 40 degrees. It's impossible to know just how seriously these warnings need to be taken without risking the radio's destruction, so I don't know how much is because of a genuine weakness in this rubberized receiver, and how much of it is just Eton making certain that they're never liable for any failure of the product that bears their name. Frankly, either scenario is disappointing.

If the manufacturer's level of confidence is accurate, then the idea of clipping this to the back of a pack and forgetting about it is a very bad one. Of course, both the ten-ounce weight and built-in bottle opener suggest that this is more of a car-campers' toy than a serious back-country survival tool, unless the backpackers who use titanium sporks are also known to carry emergency energy supplements in heavy glass bottles.

The second-last claim that Eton makes is also suspect. Calling this radio "power packed" seems to suggest something other than the 3.6v shrink-wrapped battery that it contains. Consisting of three NiMH 2/3AAA cells, the battery is marked 350mAh, but that would be the capacity of each individual cell for 1050mAh total. Shown with a real battery for scale – AA, 1.2v, 2000mAh – I can't even begin to say how much I wish that this radio could simply take a few common-as-dirt rechargeable batteries and build in the same crank-powered charging circuitry.

Moving on to the main feature, the radio, the Scorpion manages decent reception and reasonable sound quality from its little speaker. Cranking for two solid minutes, averaging about 100rpm, yielded 15 minutes of reception at a modest volume. I don't have nearly enough sunlight in my north-facing and northern-latitude apartment to derive any benefit from the solar cell, so the crank is my only option. To its credit, the handle is large and easy to use, and the noise the dynamo makes is actually somewhat soothing.

Another feature of the Scorpion is that it can be used to power external devices that charge via USB. Five minutes of cranking let me play my iPod Shuffle for fifteen minutes, so if the power's out and I really need to hear a particular song then the Scorp will come in handy. A cable with two 3.5mm headphone jacks would have let me play it through the radio's speaker, but I'm simply not enough of a masochist to try it out for the sake of this review. Assuming that the radio and speaker-only run times are about the same, that means about two minutes of audio for every minute spent charging the different devices. My arm feels tired just thinking about it.

One charming feature of the Scorpion is the way it combines digital controls with the lack of any secondary battery to let it remember its settings. Don't bother setting the clock, because it won't last, and the digital tuner will earn its keep each time the radio needs to find the station that it was on when the little battery last died. The device does have a charge level indicator on its small monochrome LCD, but don't trust it when cranking the battery. It reports that it's full even when the radio would only play for a few moments.

The built-in flashlight must be great to have in a dire emergency, because it's only in times of desperation or extreme laziness that I would actually use it. Yes, I have seven different torches of various sizes and power levels within easy reach as I type this, not including the Scorpion, but that's still not the point. Even if I was a normal person with just a generic plastic hardware-store light in the junk drawer, I would still make sure that I had something better than the Scorpion on-hand if I knew that I would be needing a flashlight.

The Scorp throws a broad hot spot that's dominated by a bright ring, with weak spill that's mostly provided by the side LEDs. In quick brightness comparisons, it's a bit stronger than an average 1.5v light like my Gerber Infinity or my Leatherman Serac S2 on 'low' power. The S2 on 'high' smokes it, and that light's about the size of a cigarette; a more serious but still 1xAA battery torch like my Zebralight is completely out of the Scorpion's league. Yes, it can be said that it's better to have a light built in than to have to carry a second something, but dedicated flashlights that are better than the Scorpion are cheap, plentiful, and not very large. Most of them are also considerably more waterproof.

But I bought the Scorpion for times of desperation. The northeast blackout was only eight years ago, and it had been bothering me that I didn't have a battery-powered radio in the house. In event of an emergency, with no electricity and internet access, what else could I do for information? Use the radio in Penny's iPod Nano with one of the small battery-powered speakers that I have kicking around? Talk to the neighbours? Light the entire house with my myriad flashlights and the thirty-eight low-discharge AA batteries that I can think of off the top of my head, even without counting the ones that are already installed in those same flashlights?

So I probably could have just saved the fifty bucks that the Scorpion cost, since it's hardly something that I couldn't live without. I would certainly buy a cheaper "less rugged" design with an analog tuner if I could do it over again. It is nice to have a weather-band radio in the house, and as something that I'll almost certainly never actually need the Eton Scorpion is almost certainly up to the task. And who knows? If I'm ever really truly desperate, it could be nice to have.

last updated 3 oct 2011

Green Clean Hi Tech Air and Vacuum Power

Concept: 4 out of 5
Execution: 2 out of 5
Yeah, but: Until then, Mogwai waits.

The Long Version: I was recently given a few new toys to play with. In an earlier review I tested the Green Clean lens wipes, and soon I'll take a look at a wet sensor cleaning system; now we're splitting the difference with their general dust-removal tool. Green Clean "Hi Tech Air and Vacuum Power" canisters cleverly use the Venturi effect to drive a vacuum cleaner with compressed gas; although it's no more intuitive than a propane-powered refrigerator, it really does work. While it has lots of potential uses, these cans are included in their sensor cleaning boxed kits.

The Green Clean vacuum has a real advantage over an air blower – they'll escort dust from the premises without introducing any new contaminants. It's reasonably powerful, being able to pick up grains of table salt, but it still needs to be fairly precisely targeted. This has obvious limitations, but then again there must be a reason why we don't just use our household vacuum cleaners on the insides of our SLRs.

Suction is through a flexible tube with an (optional) rigid attachment, and the air is drawn through a cylinder with a filter at the top and a collection chamber below. The filter is easily cleaned by taking it off of the nozzle and gently blowing through it – human-powered – which I needed to do after I went after some little dust bunnies. The bunnies lost, but on pain of marital discord I won't be sharing that particular video.

Alas, there's still no panacea for sensor dust: often the dirt is simply too stubborn to respond to subtle persuasion. My D700 had sat unused for most of the summer, and uncleaned since last year, so it was the obvious target for a little love. The Green Clean vacuum did take some fluff off of the sensor, but I was discouraged to see that it left most of the little specks behind. Perhaps that's because it's ragweed season, and pollen particles are sticky; perhaps it's because the self-cleaning sensors that most current cameras have will already knock off the debris that's willing to be moved. I'm not such a hard-core reviewer that I'll intentionally re-dirty my sensor, so instead I'm waiting for nature take its course.

In the winter static replaces pollen as the main dust culprit. Look for an update then – but ultimately nothing beats a wet cleaning with swabs for degunking. That's unfortunate, because I really wish a non-contact method would be enough, but it does give me a subject for another review or two. Life's a barter system.

The gas canisters for the Green Clean vacuum have a threaded nozzle that I haven't seen before. It stands to reason that these cylinders are at least somewhat standardized, but I haven't found the right search terms and haven't brought one of the cans to a hardware store to show the helpful salespeople. Being able to source generic replacement cans might be cheaper than the original, but probably not; it would certainly help any travelling photographer to be able to find them locally in case the TSA doesn't have a good sense of humour. While the evidence isn't conclusive on that last point, I won't be packing these the next time that I fly.

The hazard warnings on the back of the can are pretty unambiguous. The propellant in these cans is R-134a, aka tetrafluoroethane, which – to damn with faint praise – seems to be somewhat less eco-apocalyptic than most aerosols. Like fabric softener, it's not something to rejoice in, and the less it's used the better. Even for those of us who don't think that we're massively screwing up the environment, "use only in well-ventilated areas" really should be synonymous with "use sparingly". I'm not convinced that the brand name is well suited to this particular product, to say the least.

So the problem that I have with the Green Clean vacuum is deciding when it's worth using it. It's not cheap, either financially or ecologically, so what it cleans needs to be pretty important. As a sensor cleaner it won't cause more problems and it's great on the easy stuff, but like all non-contact methods it won't remove dirt that's welded on. That happened to be most of the specks that were on my D700 and GH1 sensors, but other cameras, environments, and seasons could be very different. Regardless, I'd never skip straight to the wet cleaning without exhausting all non-invasive options first.

For mundane jobs that merely need 'pretty good' results I'll keep using my Rocket Blower. Blower bulbs are handy little things, but when I try to clean my camera sensors with one I invariably end up with what an economist would call a negative improvement. For the times when I need non-negotiable dust removal from a small and delicate area, whether it's sensor cleaning or when I'm scanning the family Kodachrome archive, the Green Clean vacuum would certainly help. I can't yet say for sure that I'll spend my own money to buy one, but I can guarantee that some day I'll be stressed out in the middle of a sensor cleaning session and really wish that I had a little vacuum cleaner handy. What can I say? C'est la vie.


Added: New York-based photographer Adam Marelli has reviewed the Green Clean vacuum under much more actively dusty conditions than I've ever faced. He also sneaks in a quick look at the sensor swabs, which is still on my to-do list. More here: Adam Marelli Photo.


The Green Clean products used in this review have been provided at no cost by the North American distributor for evaluation. However, anything that isn't consumed in the product testing is returned, and there is no financial relationship or incentive involved. But as always, the usual `thewsreviews disclaimer still applies.

last updated 31 aug 2011

MoMA Ball Bearing Key Chain

Concept:  2 out of 5
Execution:  3 out of 5
Yeah, but:  If it hangs on a wall it’s a painting, and if you can walk around it it’s a sculpture.

The Long Version: Ball bearings are nifty things. The MoMA store - Museum of Modern Art, New York - is also nifty. Its website is where I first found the Mighty Wallet, of which I now own seven, and it also features the Ball Bearing Keychain. When I was in New York MoMA was one of my obligatory stops, but I hesitated before spending the not-insignificant cash to buy one of these iconic keychains. Eventually I rationalized it as a souvenir that I would use every day, but I have to be realistic: it's shiny, mechanical, and pointless. How could I resist?

The keychain itself is quite substantial, with a very heavy split ring to attach the keys to. One of my keys has a squared-off hole in the bow that binds on the ring, making the spare-no-expense build into a little too much of a good thing, but it hasn't been enough of a hassle to get me to change it. And while it may seem strange to say, this is a working ball bearing, so it's free to spin and move as it was intended to. It was a little stiff straight out of the box, but it loosened up after just a few days' use. The shaft diameter for the inner race is 15mm, making it just slightly smaller than a 4.25 ring size. Sticking a finger through it and twirling the keys around and around is surprisingly entertaining; I'll also toy with it and flip the inner race and cage around in those quiet moments when I'm idle but there's nothing interesting on my blackberry.

The polished stainless steel has been surprisingly difficult to scratch; while it does show a few marks, the keyfob in these photos has spent six weeks jostling around with lose change and other pocket items in addition to the keys that it carries. It's also quite heavy, which lets it bully its way to the bottom of a jacket pocket instead of getting tangled up in the gloves and toque that I invariably carry these days. That means that there's much less chance of launching my keys into a snowbank - a very good thing. With lighter summer clothes the weight might not be quite so welcome, so I predict that this keychain will need to be put aside when I'm not wearing a jacket.

The ball bearing keychain is an executive toy that's disguised as a tribute to an important machine with a fascinating design, but without the MoMA connection it would have been much harder to justify its cost. While I'm glad that I bought it after a happy afternoon in the galleries, I wouldn't buy another if something tragic happens to this one. But I'm not in any way dissatisfied: it's almost impossible for me to leave it alone when it's sitting on my desk, even when I have an important review to write. Never underestimate the entertainment value of things that are shiny, mechanical, and pointless.

last updated 18 dec 2010

Gary Fong Collapsible Lightsphere Packaging

Concept: 2 out of 5
Execution: 0 out of 5
Yeah, but: Just the wrap, man, just the wrap.


The Long Version: Gary Fong is the Ken Rockwell of lighting modifiers. And that's fine - this review doesn't have anything to do with either one of them, or even the actual product that's in the Gary Fong Lightsphere® Collapsible™ box. It's not even about how the hell someone managed to trademark the word 'Collapsible™'. And for the record, yes, the Gary Fong Lightsphere® Collapsible™ does what it says it does. Two ping-pong balls taped to the top of your flash would also do what the Gary Fong Lightsphere® Collapsible™ does, but that's not the point. This review is just about the package that it comes in.

The box itself is thin black cardboard with a sticker that carries all of the text, graphics, and photos. This is a cost-effective way to create the multi-lingual packaging that's needed for international sales, and the box follows the current trend of keeping it as small as possible. It does fall down a bit by having plastic shrink-wrap around it, but that may add enough integrity to let them use a lighter grade of boxboard. There are also some style points involved by having the actual Lightsphere® Collapsible™ wrapped in coloured tissue paper instead of more unnecessary plastics. But that's hardly enough to motivate a review: the photos are where things start to get interesting.

We see an attractive model in the advertising version of the classic Comedy / Tragedy masks, known as the 'before' and 'after' photo. The one labeled "Without" shows a woman who's rehearsing for her passport photo, while the "With" looks like she's just heard a funny joke from a good friend. Sure, it's a blatant and obvious attempt to manipulate the viewer, but it's so clumsily done that it's impossible to take offense. Besides, given what these things look like when they're stuffed on top of a speedlight, I'm sure that lots of people really do laugh and smile when they see them. But let's look closer, shall we?

(make it bigger)

Here's the "Without / Sans" photo. It's a pretty standard straight-blast flash photo: the hallmark of novice camera users and really abysmal wedding photography. Nothing too remarkable here, so let's move on to the "With / Avec" image.

(make it bigger)

It's a huge improvement, verging on school portrait quality. It's so good, it's almost impossible to believe that a single on-camera flash could possibly create these results. Take a good look at the catchlights in her eyes in this photo, and compare them to the "Without / Sans" image. It really is impossible to believe that this was taken using a single on-camera light source, no matter how artfully it's bounced. In fact, the soft caressing shadows look even better than in the similar images on the Gary Fong Product Page, where our attractive model has only one catchlight reflected in her eyes.


Fancy that.

Billingham Hadley Pro

Concept: 4 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: At what price, beauty?

The Long Version: If a camera bag that's made out of canvas with a removable insert, expandable front pockets, and no noisy velcro closures sounds familiar, it should: it's the description for the Domke F1X and F6 that I've written about before. They're great bags, and until last Tuesday, I thought they were pretty expensive.

Last Tuesday, I met my first Billingham bag.

The Hadley Pro, the subject of this review, is possibly Billingham's most popular bag. It's the replacement for the Original (medium) size, and the line is also available in Large, Small, and the even smaller Digital. (The 'Pro' has a couple of distinct features that I'll get to later in the review.) On paper, it reads very much like a Domke bag, making it yet another example of gear to try in a store instead of shopping by the specs.

Both bags are canvas, but the tighter weave of the Billingham's fabric and the attention to detail in its construction leaves the Domke looking a little like a burlap sack. They both have removable inserts, but the Domke's is held in by velcro, while the Hadley has a single snap button. Domke uses metal carabiner-style clips to keep the lid closed, but its British counterpart uses elegant adjustable leather over brass or nickel studs. The F6 and the Pro both have grab handles, but one's a fabric strap attached to D-rings, the other is a shaped handle sewn and riveted to a fiberglass stiffener that's placed within the double-layered fabric top.

"What will fit in the bag" is a popular subject on camera-gear forums. Normally, people will want to know if a particular synthetic box-on-a-rope will hold their Canon 30D with its accessory grip, or their Nikon D300 and 18-200 f/dark. When people talk about the size of Billingham bags, the metric is invariably how many Leica rangefinder bodies and lenses they can carry. There's a reason for that: Billingham's Hadley Pro costs triple what the Domke F6 does, and they hold about the same amount of gear. Compared to the more similarly-styled Domke F803 Waxwear, it's still over twice the price.

One of the grand achievements of camera bag design may be getting them to not look like camera bags. Crumplers and Domkes are the ones usually included in this group, but even the Lowepro 'Slingshot' series gets credited with this ability, and Think Tank's built a whole series around the idea of an 'Urban Disguise'. This black-on-black Hadley is probably the second-least camera-bag-looking-bag I've seen, but that's because it doesn't have contrasting trim. The Billingham khaki-tan bags are very distinctive, and anyone who knows them will know what's inside. Even worse, because the bags themselves are expensive, they imply a higher value for their contents which is bound to make them more popular for smart camera thieves. (Dumb camera thieves will just have to make do with stealing Lowepro Slingshots.) No camera bag is really going to provide anti-theft protection, especially if you actually use your camera.

This photo shows what the Hadley Pro was carrying in the third image of the review. There's a D700 with Stumpy attached, an SB900, 85/1.8 and 35/2.0. Being a satchel-style bag, the D700 is about as big as it can hold without bulging, but its deep-but-narrow design means that the big 105VR doesn't need to be detached from the camera. The front pockets are still empty, and they can hold quite a bit as well. The SB900 could sit in one, as can my Sony PCM-D50, which isn't a small audio recorder. They even have a second snap-button that lets the front pleated pockets expand, and the buckles on the straps let them lengthen to hold the lid securely closed. It can even have accessory pouches attached to the sides, creating extra room for phones and compact cameras.

During one recent outing, I had the D700 and F100 down each side, with the 50/1.8 and 105/2.8VR stacked down the middle. A 35/2.8, with the awesome HN3 metal hood attached, was underneath the F100 body; I probably could have put a similarly-sized lens under the D700 as well. (Substitute any large body without a portrait grip for the D700; the F100 is a solidly mid-size camera.) I couldn't have pushed it much farther than that, but I also had my big iPod, Blackberry, and wallet in one front pocket; a spare roll of film and an 8oz flask - for water, honest - in the other. The result wasn't light, but the bag looked like there was nothing in it.

But buying a Hadley and stuffing it to the gills is an exercise in missing the point. (That's what the other Billingham styles are for.) It can hold a lot, but it's easiest to work from - and looks better - when it's more modestly encumbered. My typical load for it is shown in the photo below. My GH1 has the 14-140 lens attached, and two more lenses are stored down the side. Beside it is my audio recorder, leaving room in the front pockets for batteries, iPod, sunglasses, and so on. It makes for a great working kit and travel bag. It's nondescript but stylish, small enough to carry into MoMA, and pretty much indestructible. About the only way to improve it for travel would be to add a slim compartment inside one of the front pockets to hold a passport.

The Hadley's insert is fully padded and takes up the entire main compartment, and is held in place with a single snap. That's plenty to keep it in place when the bag is being used, but it's worlds easier to remove and set aside than Domke's partial-compartment insert that's secured with velcro. I'm not convinced that I'd actually use the Hadley as a satchel, aka 'murse', as I have other bags for that purpose, but it's always nice to have options. Perhaps I can use it for job interviews. How many other candidates will have bags with serial numbers?

There are two real differences between the Pro and amateur Hadley bags. One is the top handle, with its fiberglass stiffener in the lid, and the other is the zippered pocket across the back. These are huge improvements over the original design, and I wouldn't have bought the bag if it didn't have them. When I'm out with my Domke F6, the rear slash pocket is where I put handy little things like my blackberry or color checker while I'm shooting. It's also able to carry books, papers, and tickets when I'm waiting in line to board. It's so useful for quick and easy access that I'm not sure that I like the Billingham's flapped and zippered closure. It makes the pocket waterproof, but it's at the expense of spontaneity and capacity - no matter how well it's designed, it's not quite what I want it for.

The zipped pocket itself isn't wide or deep enough to hold a magazine; with the possible exception of Time or Newsweek, few of them lack enough substance to fit. Even a simple sheet of paper needs to be folded before it can be carried, which is acceptable for maps, but the Hadley is nobody's briefcase. Fortunately, magazines - even the fairly thick B&H Catalog - will fit behind the divider in the main compartment, making the current flight restrictions a little more manageable, if no more understandable.

In actual use, it's easy to forget that the bag's even there. Its slim profile makes it easy to slip through crowds, parked cars, and other narrow spaces; its small size means that it probably won't weigh very much once the camera is in hand. The fit and feel of the satchel style is very different from the boxy bags that I'm used to, and while stacking lenses means that fewer are immediately accessible, it's a fair trade.

The leather lid-release tabs needed a little familiarization, and I do wish that there was a hole half-way between the second (aka 'too tight') and third (aka 'too loose') positions on the adjustment buckles. I've left my understuffed Hadley at the slightly tight position, which keeps the lid fully closed when I lift the bag by its handle, and once the leather has broken in it should be easier to use. Reaching my phone in a front pocket is possible with only one catch undone; when it was time to change lenses, the lid folds back on itself instead of needing to be fully flipped up and out of the way.

I started this review by emphasizing the cost of the bag, so it's a sensible place to end as well. When sorted by price, Billingham takes up the top seventeen spots out of the 567 items that B&H lists under "shoulder and gadget bags". The Hadley Pro model currently first appears as #42, and all of the first 41 are considerably larger. There's no doubt that it's a premium product, and we all need to pay the internet bill and all of our other necessities. Absolutely nobody really needs to spend this much on a bag.

But looking at it the other way, photography isn't a cheap pastime. The Hadley Pro costs less than the price of a modest prime lens or a basic telephoto zoom, a good compact camera, or a few of the cheaper bags that the gear-obsessed photographer will accumulate but not use because they're just not quite right. Far more affordable than a high-end tripod system, a Billingham bag is also an investment that relatively few photographers will make, but it's one that will last for years and be a pleasure to use. If there's some photography money that's been declared surplus, it's a relatively cheap thing to buy the best of. You won't regret it.


Updated 10 February 2011: After another year's experience with this bag, I've written a follow-up article that you can read by clicking on this gratuitously long link.

Manfrotto 345 Tabletop Tripod

Concept: 3 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: Save some money and buy the expensive one first.


The Long Version: I've bought several tabletop tripods over the years, and I still know where a couple of them are. The Manfrotto 345 is far more expensive than the others that I've bought, but it turns out that it's worth it. This is a very solid little tripod that holds small cameras and speedlights with complete reliability, and can be persuaded to hold bigger gear, as well. It has probably appeared in more of my reviews than anything except for white bristol board.

I see that there's also a Manfrotto 709B, which looks similar but isn't the same. The 709B is part of the lower-cost Modo line, and the ball head is different. The much-more-expensive 345 is built out of a 482 ball head, 209 legs, and 259B extension. It also includes a case, which might be a reason why the whole 345 'kit' is a greater cost than the sum of its parts.

The tripod can work with or without the extension in place, and is much easier to pack when it's in pieces. (Note that I've never actually used the case that comes with the kit.) It's solid and not particularly light, but when I took most of the contents of the photo above (an E-510 replaced the E-1) on a trip to Australia, there was no way the tripod was staying at home. It's part of my standard kit for product photography because it can handle a strobe with a little 6x8" softbox attached, and takes up less room than my gorillapod. What it gives up in flexibility, it makes up for in stability, although with the way the extension tube telescopes, it's actually pretty flexible as well. Naturally, since it's essentially a low-level tripod with a long centre column, increasing the height decreases the stability. Compounding that limitation, its leg length and angle can't be adjusted, so there's no way to level the tripod on an uneven surface. TANSTAAFL.

When it's low and positioned with a leg forward under the lens, the 345 can handle something as heavy as an Olympus 35-100/2.0, and for added entertainment I've added the 1.4 teleconverter and an E-1 with the battery grip. The total load is about six pounds, so when it's heavy but balanced it still holds securely. I wouldn't want to do this with the extension in place, or on a windy day, but that has as much to do with the small footprint of the legs as the strength of the Manfrotto 482 ball head. I'm not going to endorse it for all-around field use, or say that it can overcome physics - it's just a small tabletop tripod. But it is a very good one.

I have two complaints about the 345, aside from the fact that it's more expensive as a kit at B&H than it is as functional components. The first is that the telescoping extension isn't the easiest to use. I've added the rubber bands for a little extra grip, which makes turning the locking collar much easier. Some additional knurling would have solved that particular problem, and it's not like Manfrotto to miss something like that. It's also not uncommon for photographers to solve equipment shortcomings with rubber bands and tape, so I can let that one go. The other problem is that after six years, the little cork non-slip disks have fallen off of the tripod feet. That's a bit more of a stumper, but I'm sure that a little ingenuity will be able to solve that problem, too.


My two highest endorsements are these: when I'm using it, I forget what it costs; and if something tragic happened to it, I'd go out and buy another one. It's not sexy, but it's reliable and it works. That's enough for me.