WHY I'M QUEER FOR II's
Or
In Praise of Older Cameras

by Ryan Boerema
Camera technician and frequent UW photo competition winner

"For Ryan, you see, isn't like the other boys."
Oh don't think I don't hear the whispering behind cupped hands when all the other u/w photographers, mistress Aquaticas, soccer mom Nik Vs, or even fashion model RS's on their arms, see me wade in with my Nik II. Well I don't care; I'm queer for it, and before you compress your lips into a thin white line, let me tell you why.
Affordability, strength, simplicity, reliance, and the things it's taught me.
A Nik II was my first real u/w camera and, truth be told, I chose it because it was cheap. A Nik II with a 35, tray, cord, extension tubes and a small Ikelite strobe was less than $500, about 1/3 the cost of the same arrangement with a Nik V and TTL strobe. True, it had been handled, sometimes roughly, by other photographers before me, its paint chipped, its threads a little worn, but underneath, it was competent, strong, and, I think, a little proud. And when I held it in my hand, as our country brethren say, a sympathy grew.
Nikonos strength is legendary, but let's face it, a IV-A or V may be able to stop a spear gun, but they have an Achille's heel. One drop of salt water in the wrong place and you're in the O.R. replacing vital inner organs. Essentially the same is true of housings. The coltish Nik III, like the II, has no electronics and no delicate shutter, but most have a plastic top that, if you over use the lifters, can warp the top and eventually crack it right behind the film counter window. (This latter foolishly transferred from the bottom of the II to the top of the III ó oh vanity!).
But the smaller, stolid, nearly entirely metal II can take a beating. Semi-young, over-eager, fumble-fingered and badly hyphenated, I bounced my first II off the parking lot a couple times, but it patiently and loyally suffered my unintended roughness, waiting affectionately until I learned how to properly handle and treat a camera. And when it flooded, as all o-ringed creatures must flood, I threw out the offending sand pebble, (and the film,) and sluiced its interior with crisp, clear, fresh water tumbling and frothing through its secret parts and gripping in sparkling drops and rivulets its textured flanks. Then I played a stream of warm air over its entire body, serviced its interior o-rings, (only 3, compared to 7 for a V,) and, flushed and exhilarated, it was ready to go again.
And that's another thing. When something breaks in Nikoni I, II or III, you can usually fix it. It's complicated, but mechanical; its moving parts performing visible acts of physics, not solid state boards shunting electrons. This is why it's a lot easier to fix your Volkswagen than your VCR. I find that comforting. And it also demands less and cheaper servicing.
One more astonishing tale demonstrates the strength of the Nik II. It seems, back in the ë70s, a member of our armed forces deep behind enemy lines on a long-range reconnaissance patrol, rose slowly out of turbid, tropical waters, a Nik II strapped RIGHT OVER HIS HEART, directly in front of an enemy rifleman. The surprised enemy emptied an entire magazine into that soldier and NOT ONE BULLET hit that Nik II! Now that's a camera that can take care of itself.
The II is also versatile. It has been said that a camera body is little more than a glorified rear lens cap, and a II accepts the same Nikonos or for-Nikonos lenses that a V or any other numbered Nikonos can, and take the same world's greatest pictures. It also lends itself to personifying modifications. I've updated my II's sync port to a more versatile 3-pin Nik III port, mounted it on a Sea and Sea tray with a screw driver handle attached for ergonomic grip, added a thumb actuated rapid advance lever on the film advance, and screwed in a starboard knuckle arm for a slave strobe. There's never any doubt on a big dive boat, filled with endless Nik Vs and single SB-103s -- or SB105s now, I guess ó which camera is mine. My chest swells.
And, frankly, the II's idiosyncrasies endear it to me. If a V is a mini van, a III is a '65 Mustang, a II is a homely old VW, and somehow more the beautiful for it. The film counter is on the bottom, so to see how many shots remain, I have to turn it upside down, with the furtive thrill of looking up a skirt. The film rewind knob is soft metal and grooves if torqued too much (as do I), and should be rewound delicately, compassionately and sensuously. And the film take up spool is not "positively actuated," which means you can, in fact, WILL, have uneven spacing between exposures. Send your film in to an inattentive developer and your images may be sliced in half. Because of that I develop my slide film "sleeve only" and cut and mount the shots I want myself. This obliges me to look closer at what I want to save and what to throw out, and think harder as well about the pictures I took and the ones I want to take. And frankly, this makes me a better photographer. Which leads me to my strongest point: Shooting an older, manual camera will make you a better photographer, as well as firming up those thighs and buttocks.
Theoretically, anyone can take a Nik V set on A, a close-up kit or extension tubes, and a TTL strobe, go out, point and shoot, and capture a competition winning shot, or at least come away with almost a full roll of competent shots ó but you aint learnt nuttin. A Nik II doesn't have built in light metering, aperture priority, or TTL capacity, and it certainly doesn't have SLR capability or autofocus. What that means is one has to learn the how and why rules of u/w photography. Without a light meter --and external u/w light meters are still out there, though, admittedly, increasingly expensive and difficult to find ó for available light or matching light shots, you have to estimate, bracket, and TAKE NOTES. One learns, on a level shot in clear warm water at average depth on a sunny day, is F8 @ 1/125, then bracket. Monterey conditions are more usually F5.6 @ 1/60. From that you extrapolate up or down, into or away from the sun. Later you look at your notes, look at your shots, see what worked, remember next time you're in similar conditions, and you'll be surprised how quickly your mind will become an efficient computer for light conditions and camera settings. Try a few rolls bracketing with your strobes and see how quickly you just know where to put those damn things.
Without aperture priority one has to learn what aperture does to light and to depth of field: gaining one means sacrificing the other. How do you want your subject to contrast with the background? With narrow depth of field where do you want to concentrate focus? How do you want your sunball or god light? Fries with that? How do you compensate with shutter speed? How do you get those cool ghosted images like David Doubilet? With TTL, how come a daytime shot of a Cayman tarpon looks like a night shot of freeway traffic? Why can't one get good TTL shots in three feet of water? How do you fix that? Without autofocus how do you judge focusing distance?
A Nik I, II or III doesn't fix those problems that a V or an RS can't solve. What it does is demand that the photographer better understand the medium she's working in. It makes one learn the rules and then learn how to bend and then break the rules. It makes you do a lot of dives and take a lot of pictures to learn those rules. It will eventually make you a better diver and a better photographer. And when you move up to a more complex, "better" system ó and make no mistake, the II has shortcomings: the viewfinder is almost worthless and, let's face it, TTL is easier and SLR hums for composition ó you'll have a solid education behind you and, if a drop of salt water smokes your V's electronics or you just forgot fresh batteries, the skills and ability to save your trip by using M-90. In fact, I have a friend who shoots his V only on M-90 or the manual shutter speeds just to keep ëhoned'.
And finally, believe me, when you use an old camera to get that great exposure, or even kick a bunch of housed cameras' butts in a photo competition, you'll get the very real satisfaction of knowing that it wasn't the electronics in the box, but your abilities, knowledge, and skills in manipulating the medium (plus of course good compositional sense) that got the shot. Wherever you go later in underwater photography you will always have that accomplishment, and all the lessons you learned from your first, and, in my case, only love.