My beat-up camera can never be replaced by a phone

If my camera could speak, he’d have stories to tell. The places he is, the things he sees, the penalties he endured as my trustworthy friend. 15 -year -old large bony and positive geriatric, triggering mode symbols of my happy fingers, the abundant incorrect adventure, scratches and losers and pale signs carry.

This girl whisked her shutter in the world of the world, caught lifelong abuse from the glasses -eyed lens. Shrimp-pink flamingos reflected the impossible blue lakes of Atacama Desert. Blink. Ten million fruit bats that delete twilight in the distant north-west Zambia. Blinking, blinking, blinking. The original Bungee Jumpers of the world climb to a rising platform, tie the ankles around the ankles, and spread to the world on the remote Pentecost Island of Vanuatu. Oh, he almost missed them.

Coated in some kind of polycarbonate material and sealed against harsh air, my canon tolerates extreme temperatures. Siberia’s minus 37 degrees of cold (not Windchill) crushed my bones, somehow scheduled the will of my numb fingers, Snappily broke. Long after death of my iPhone battery, my daughter’s snow burned cheeks and iced eyelashes continued to record high -resolution Hoons on the frozen Baikal Lake.

Although it barely breaks sweat in oven -like conditions, moisture is a proven enemy. Despite being cold -blooded, the singular eye could not be more than the equatorial vapor while watching Western plain gorillas in the Congo Basin. As the sweat bees swelled, he bloomed a cataract lens and revealed the snaps of the other world with green lines with green lines.

These photos remind me of the thin light he caught caught the night he saved me without a certain injury. After midnight, we traveled in a monster -sized swamp cart in the Russian North Pole and watched Aurora Borealis. Our driver stopped, we went out. In the dark, I lost my foot for the swinging footprint and I set out almost two meters. I did not hold my camera with mercy: he absorbed the effect, protected me from a caught wrist. I took the shit lens out of the dust, turned the switch and raised the murmuring body to my cheek. Winking, blinked, fluttering, showing me the dancing sky in the eye.

Loading

My camera was good for me, but I didn’t always treat him right. Once I went to Lake Mburo of Uganda, I took him out of a bench. I was looking at the balloons flowing behind us very carefully – a wrecking water stallion is a definite sign – I didn’t hear the fall. Small Mercy: He landed like a tin. I dusted her, raised her viewfinder, and tried to extend the lens. He wouldn’t be so twisted. The zoom had seized the mechanism – just like the water stallion appeared away, the head was thrown back, the jaws are stretching, the water drops of water that splashed into the rainbow sparkle. Snap, crackle, fizz.

When I return home in Sydney, I deliver my battered charging to the camera doctor, who is too gentle not to remind me that it turned me into health at other times.

The close call brought back the memories of the elderly girl’s predecessors. The analog camera given to me by my parents was a journalist student who was later stolen during a home robbery. 21. And my backup successor is my first digital camera in Amazon where I accidentally drowned. Not in the river, but the mind, but in the dream of a photographer’s dream adventure, before going to the world’s largest rainforests in the dried sack where I placed a flood of loose lids.