Leica! Leica! Leica!

~brf

CW has been really wanting to upgrade his Nikon body to a D3 or D300 (don’t ask me what the difference is other than a few grand). While we were visiting his parents in Tanzania, his dad Charles took a keen interest in CW’s photography magazines brought along for the trip. One morning we awoke to find that he had evidently been up all night reading and researching the assorted pros and cons of both the D3 and D300, and before even a “Good morning” he declared “Chris, you should buy the 300 and use the money you save to get a Leica for Brenda”. I must have the best in-laws ever; I swear I had no hand in this whatsoever. End result: Leica for me! The whole tale involves some ingenious furtive planning on CW’s part to keep me from pitching a fit over yet another sizeable gear purchase as well as some impressive sneaking on the Leica acquisition itself, but as the whole thing is very complicated I won’t elaborate (not to mention that although I am absolutely certain that the wool has somehow been pulled over my eyes on this matter, I have yet to fully understand how exactly he got away with it).

It’s a model IIIa with a serial number indicating a production date of 1937, and came with an uncoated 5cm Wetzlar Summitar lens. This camera is gorgeous. Perfect. I can’t believe it’s over 70 years old. It works beautifully, fits my hands better than any other camera I own, and the sound of the shutter tripping makes the hairs stand up on my arm. So many reasons to love:

It has historical significance: The Leica screw-mounts were of monumental importance both in photojournalism and in establishing 35mm as a legitimate format.
It has a high difficulty rating: Loading is a bitch to get the hang of. Seriously. You need patience, faith, and scissors.
It’s portable: Being small or medium-format, all my cameras are portable but this one with its collapsible lens slips into a pocket almost as handily as the Perkeo.
It’s a rangefinder: Clear, flawless, smooth focusing.
It’s a looker: Chrome, chrome, chrome, and badass, hyper-precise machined bits all over the place.
Its a 70 year old Leica: Huge elitist pride factor here.
It makes great pictures: Still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase, but early results are awesome.

I love this camera the way I love my Thunderbird- with a curious, illogical, ill-defined affection and visceral pride that extends into a longing for its safety. When I fly, I hold the Leica in my hand for takeoff and landing because I think it will be safer there than stowed in my carryon in the event of a water landing or other untoward airline event. Also like my car, it has a name. I will not disclose it.

I must admit I do miss the monster 6x6 negatives, but because the little Leica rubs so many of my other camera love buttons I am sure I’ll have no trouble embracing small format.

Comments

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