“I reckon you should hold onto that Sigma. It’s regarded as a cult lens nowadays.” Lee had given his verdict. I’d been in the middle of a clearout, shifting some of my old camera equipment to make way for the new. Of course when I say new, I don’t mean “new” new. Heaven forfend that I should part with such enormous sums. I mean I got it on eBay, or I did a part exchange with one of the online used camera gear sellers.
The item under discussion was a lens I’d bought several years earlier, at a time when the first adopters were beginning to get bored with their new toy and trickling the second hand market with them. Ever in search of a bargain, and ever careful to make a purchase that wouldn’t require me to lie about the price to Ali, I’d found one that had a slight issue. “Focuses and works perfectly,” it said, “but holding filters can be a problem because I dropped it and there are two cracks in the filter thread.” This was clearly a case where a degree of honesty from the seller was the only option. It seemed an inexpensive UV filter had averted a complete disaster and otherwise saved the lens, something that’s happened to me as well for that matter. I reasoned that as long as it worked ok I’d get around the downside, and at two hundred pounds less than all the others on sale on your favourite auction site with “offers considered” mentioned in the description, I made an offer, which after a bit of further negotiation was duly accepted.
Lee already had one of course, and was raving excitedly about it. Those of you who know him won’t be surprised to learn that he soon sold it on; I’ve tried to keep track of the number of camera systems he’s owned, but my abacus blew a gasket several years ago on that front. Mine soon arrived, with those diametrically opposing cracks. It carried a pleasing glass filled heft about it, that none of the others in my bag had in those early days of my photography exploits. It was true that I’d quite often find myself rummaging about in the undergrowth for a filter that had taken a nosedive at the vital moment, but the quality of the images was undeniable. I used it regularly, salivating over the bokeh at the 1.8 end on my 50th birthday trip to Barcelona. There was no doubt that it was a very good lens, the best I had by a distance.
And then a few years later, just before that summer trip to Iceland I got carried away with a splurge on a full frame camera and professional lenses on the back of an humungous promotion at work. Obviously they weren’t brand new, but you knew that already didn’t you? The trouble was that the Sigma lens I’d now owned for three years or more only fitted the crop body (ironically I did buy this camera brand new), which I’d decided to retain as back up, although by default it was going to see less action than before. Which also meant that lens was going to spend most of its life in its bag not seeing daylight.
One evening in the pub after an outing we devised a splendid hack. A rubber wristband advertising the name of a well known purveyor of stout in Dublin fitted the end of the barrel perfectly; to which was added a step up ring, permanently and conveniently converting the thread size to match that of the new lenses. Suddenly the filters seemed more content to stay where I’d put them and outings with the lens and filters became more predictable. But the irretrievable fact remained that with two fantastic lenses, either one alone more than covering the focal range of this one that it wouldn’t get used very often.
And sadly it doesn’t, although every time it gets an outing I’m reminded that it needs to be used more regularly. I always think of it as my woodland lens, the one I resort to when the bluebell season comes around. Here for example, it seemed to diffuse that light so beautifully that a shot I wasn’t expecting to make it past the cutting room floor appears in my Flickr feed. I enjoyed the green swirl that comes in from the bottom left to encircle the fern. Wish I could have moved to the left a bit to frame it under the leaning trunk, but I wasn’t going to start trampling those precious bluebells. At moments like this, the little used lens earns its place in the collection, even though without it I could also probably move on the crop body and buy another full frame as a back up for when what I like to call an “Aldeyjarfoss Moment” takes place. You’ll have to dig through my Iceland archive for that one, but suffice to say I had a camera malfunction at a remote and exquisite waterfall I may in truth never have the chance to visit again. Although I’ll do a better job there next time.
So of course I relented on selling the lens and kept it close for its infrequent adventures. It seems it’s worth more than what I paid for it now, even with those cracks on the thread, but I’ll hang onto it anyway. It still has that comforting solidity and weight that makes it a fully paid up resident in the collection. And with it remains the faithful crop body, almost the only item owned from new, and with barely six thousand shots on the clock, most of them taken before its more expensive rival arrived in the bag to hoover up the attention like a marauding shark.
Incidentally I’m still waiting for the Guinness family to get in touch with a sponsorship deal. Maybe it’s because my Irish heritage is in County Cork where they drink the Murphy’s instead. Or perhaps they’re expecting me to use the lens a bit more often first. Either way, if any of them are reading, please do write in and we’ll talk turkey.
Posted by Dom Haughton on 2022-05-13 10:21:10
Tagged: , Camborne , Cornwall , trees , Bluebells , ferns , fern , woodland , nature , forest , UK , Great Britain , Greenscene , green , wilderness , Kernow , Britain , England , Sigma , Sigma Art , 18-35
