Have you ordered your Nikon D600 DSLR yet?

It seems the hottest topic of discussion in photography right now, is todays' arrival of the Nikon D600 digital SLR.
 The Nikon D600 is the smallest, least expensive full frame DSLR on the market, aimed directly at enthusiast photographers. It is built around a 24MP, 36x24mm, CMOS sensor and crams many of the features of the more expensive D800 into a distinctly D7000-esque body. It features a 100% coverage viewfinder and 39-point autofocus system, nine of which are cross-type points. It can capture 1080p HD video at 30, 25 or 24 frames per second and can stream uncompressed footage out over its HDMI port.
 The D600 is the least expensive of all currently manufactured full-frame cameras, undercutting Nikon’s own D800 (and Sony’s brand new A99) by as much as 20-30%, depending on the market. It is also the lightest full-frame digital camera ever made.
 In a preview published on Photographyblog.com the reviewers had this to say:
 During the short time we have spent with the camera, we found little to criticise. The afore-mentioned top sync speed of 1/200 second is a wee bit too slow, as is the camera’s maximum shutter speed of 1/4000 second, especially in light of the D7000’s corresponding figures of 1/250 and 1/8000 second. Also, there’s no talk (or indeed evidence) of the camera featuring on-sensor PDAF a la Sony A99 and RX1 – Live View auto focus uses contrast detection only; though we were pleasantly surprised at the speed improvement over the D7000. The Nikon D600’s mirror is surprisingly quiet for a full-frame SLR camera and in normal use – with fast shutter speeds of course – it produces only minimal viewfinder blackout.
 In summary, if you’ve expected the Nikon D600 to be something like a digital F65 – i.e. an extremely lightweight and affordable entry-level (or just-above-entry-level) full-framer, you might feel a little disappointed, as the camera is not quite as light and definitely not as cheap as many would have liked it to be. On the plus side, it’s a highly capable tool with many professional features – and it’s still lighter and cheaper than any other full-frame digital SLR camera that’s currently in production. All in all, a well put-together and highly competitive product which we will be keen to test in depth once review units become available.

Film makers

 Priced at around $2100, I can see the new D600 filling filling the role of either primary or back-up camera for professionals. It will also probably be popular with film-makers, as its video specifications are indeed impressive.
 From all accounts, the new entrant is not as sturdily built as Nikon's flagship pro cameras but, as someone who has previously lugged cameras through war-zones, I think the whole toughness thing is greatly over-emphasised. For over 15 years I used a Nikon F301, an entry-level camera that could by no stretch of the imagination be considered "a nail-beater", when I worked as a war correspondent. My reasoning was, if it was lost, stolen or broken, I'd merely shrug my shoulders and buy another. I took thousands of photographs with that camera, used it in deserts, dust-storms, rain and blistering heat and it never once let me down. I still have it and should probably take it out and use it again.

Trade-in

 I have no doubt, many enthusiastic amateurs will trade-in their existing crop-framed-sensor cameras and buy a new D600, in the belief they will be upgrading and, on paper, they probably are. But the fact is, I doubt they will see much difference in the quality of their photographs at typical enlargement sizes and it must also be kept in mind that you may also need to upgrade your computing power to be able to work with the 24 mega pixel files.
 Unless you are still sitting with an old D70, D40 or something of that era, I would think carefully before dumping your D7000, D300 or even D90. But, on the other hand, if you are making an entry into the Nikon DSLR digital arena, then a D600 will be a splendid, good-value purchase.
 Will I be getting one? I am tempted. I'd love to have a full-frame digital camera, just so I can use my ancient prime-lenses for the purpose they were designed -- where a 24mm wide angle is really a 24 and a 50 is not a 35!
 But the truth is, I can't justify it so I guess, for the meantime I'll just keep using what I've got.

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The spirit of PJ van der Bergh finally dies.

 I live in Randfontein, a town that during South Africa's apartheid-era was a bastion of conservatism.
 The town owes its existence to gold mining although, nowadays, most of the mines have shut down, leaving abandoned offices and buildings, many of which are occupied by squatters.
 The mines may be closed, but a rough, mining spirit still lives on in some quarters.
 The white miners that lived and worked in this town in the 60s, 70s and to some extent 80s had a reputation for being hard-drinking, quick-fisted, fiercely conservative characters, who punched first and asked questions later.
 Predominantly Afrikaans-speaking, most belonged to the Mine Workers Union, headed by the neo-Nazi-like, Arrie Paulus whose dream was to unite all white South African wage-earners and to do everything possible to keep non-whites isolated and out of the mainstream.
 "You have to know a Black to realise that he wants someone to be his boss. They can't think quickly. You can take a baboon and teach him to play a tune on a piano. But it's impossible for himself to use his own mind to the next step. Here it's exactly the same," he told the New York Times, of 3 June 1979.

PJ van der Bergh

 Apartheid and white supremacy was deeply-rooted in this community as illustrated by an incident that took place deep underground in the workings of Randfontein Estates Gold Mine in December 1962.
 A shaft timberman, PJ van der Bergh, was working in a blocked orepass. He was attaching cord to a fuse when the plank he stood on dislodged, sending him tumbling 60 metres down the orepass where he ended up on a pile of rocks on the level below.
 Van der Bergh's boss boy, a Shangaan man named Gaumine Quibe, without hesitation, climbed down a rope and helped van der Bergh reach the level above. He knew that, at any stage, new rock could be dropped down the orepass from the levels above that would instantly kill both of them. For this Quibe was awarded the Chamber of Mines Golden Hat Award for bravery, as well as a gold watch.
 But, at the ceremony, van der Bergh, who owed the man his life, refused to shake hands with his boss boy, while posing for a photograph. He said 'it was against his principles!'
 There are many of PJ van der Bergh's ilk still in Randfontein and I thought I had come face-to-face with one recently.
 I was in the bank, standing in a line, waiting to be served, when a giant of a man came in and stood behind me. He was the living version of what I imagined PJ van der Bergh must have looked like...a real-life, cartoon character of a racist, conservative Boer.
 He probably stood around 6' 5", sported a moustache, had nicotine-stained fingers, wore white PT shorts, rugby socks and velskoens and had on a faded, slightly tatty, red T-shirt with a white slogan on the front that read:

Fuck the Rhino
save
The White Ou*

 I couldn't believe it, it was as though I'd been sucked back into South Africa 1972 except, back then, he would probably have been arrested for sporting a T-shirt with the "F-word" on it.
 I tried, with some difficulty, not to stare at him and noticed some of the black customers and tellers were decidedly uneasy.
 Then his wife came in. She too fitted the image perfectly. She was fat and her old-fashioned floral dress did little to hide the two rolls of blubber surrounding her midriff. These were poor Afrikaners, no doubt about it. Conservative, nigger-hating Afrikaners.
 But what made the whole incident bizarre and surreal was, hung over her left shoulder was a large, pink, diaper-bag and on her right hip she held a baby. A black baby!
 The youngster must have been about six months old.
 She passed the child to her husband while searching for something in the diaper-bag.
 And, this giant of a man held the little girl gently in his arms then kissed her on the cheek and tickled her with his sausage-like fingers.
 Her squeals of delight and giggles produced another flurry of kisses from him.
 At that point his wife took his position in the queue and he went and to sit on a chair where he cradled the child while she hungrily sucked on a bottle.
 That's the thing about South Africa. Every time you think you have it sussed, it does something to surprise and astound you. It has a way of shattering long-held prejudices and beliefs. Here, truth, really is, often stranger than fiction.
 The fact is, if government and sleazeball politicians would just fuck off and leave us ordinary folks alone, this country probably would truly become the Rainbow Nation and the spirit of PJ van der Bergh would finally die.

I've been asked if this story is true. Yes! Absolutely! 100%! The people are described exactly as they were on that day -- that is what made it so noticeable.

* In South Africa, a white ou is a term that means "white man" or a "white guy."

A Middle-age Malady

 It was obviously some dumb youngster who first said 'age is just a number'.
 Anyone with more than two brain cells knows that is nonsense.
 As you first edge towards, then reluctantly embrace middle-age, things happen. Bad things!...that creep up on you unnoticed, like the mould behind the basin that your wife nags you to sort out -- but I digress.
 Let me give you an example.
 Some parts of my memory are starting to fade. I can't remember how many times (see what I mean?) I find myself standing in a room in my home, wondering why the hell I went there in the first place. I know there is some reason but I can't remember what it is.
 My head starts to throb and often I have to sit down, as I rack my brain, trying to recall but, inevitably, it's a lost cause and I will be forced to retrace my steps in the hope something along the way will jog my memory.
 It could be that I am easily distracted, cursed with uncontrolable thoughts that flit from stimulus to stimulus. For example, I'll be standing empty-headed and bemused in the kitchen and decide I need to go back and start again but then I spot the kettle and decide I should make a cup of tea and a snack first.
 That is immediately followed by the idea that I should find and read the newspaper while I wait for the water to boil which sends me off to the lounge.
 An hour and thousands of jumbled thoughts later, Mrs White Ou, my dear, long-suffering wife of thirty-plus years, will come looking for me and ask: "Why is there no water in the kettle and a mug with only a teabag on the counter?"
 Of course I'll have absolutely no idea.
 She'll shake her head sadly, like a school teacher who knows the very best the slow kid at the back of the class can hope for, is to some day earn a living as a car-guard.
 In my defence I have at times found her alone, wild-eyed and confused, muttering: "What the hell am I doing here?" But perhaps she's questioning her life with me rather than grasping for a memory-trigger.
 If I can remember, I'll ask her.

Compensations

 However, there are some compensations, as I age, my long-term memory seems to improve and I get many opportunities to bore people with it.
 A rare and simple pleasure in middle -- and I am sure old -- age is, absolutely every story you tell, need ever be simple or brief.
 Let's be honest, it is an intoxicating rush to see the growing fear and panic in victims' eyes as they realise there is no escape and you are going to make sure you prove there 'ain't nothing wrong with my memory'.
 It usually goes something like this:
 To keep the conversation going all I need to say is: "I too, once owned a Renault motorcar."
 That's it, seven words that say it all and it's all I would have said 20 years ago.
 But not now, oh no:
 "Yeah a Renault is a nice car. I had one too. It was back in 1975. I bought it with my army danger pay.
 "Jeesh can you believe all we got paid was 97c a day and R5.50 a day danger pay but I saved up and paid cash for the car...a white one with an engine in the back.
 "In those days, we more frugal and careful with our money. Not like people today where everything is bought on credit and no-one wants to save. Easy credit is the reason we're all in the situation we are today.
 "The banks are out to screw us. When I was a youngster, banking, and life in general, was much simpler. They used to hand out piggy banks to kids. I got a black one in 1969. The black ones were more stylish but they also had silver and gold.
 "I remember it was 1969 because my teacher was a Miss Thompson, although maybe I'm wrong...maybe it was 1968 and, come to think of it, it wasn't Miss Thompson, she was a teacher at high-school. She was the hot one that we guys all had a crush on. That reminds me of my first girlfriend...
 "Gee, we had some fun in my first car. It was a Renault. A white one, with the engine in the back..."

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