Tough Break

By Lucas Will

I ruined 2 digital cameras this past summer.  Granted, they weren’t the industries leading models, but they were still nice, functional cameras worth a few pennies.  Worse yet, one of them wasn’t mine.

During a two-week trip paddling the wilderness lakes and rivers of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in Northern Minnesota, my camera went down.  In my defense, I knowingly did nothing wrong.

At some point, the dry box that I kept it in obtained some moisture, either from dew or possibly a splash of water.  Not realizing this I continued to store the camera in the box, sealing it tight when not in use.  One morning as I went to snap a frame of my crusty eyed brother emerging from our tent, its functioning went awry.

Now, it still worked (and still does) however the moment you turn it on it zooms in to its full potential and you can’t reverse it.  None of the features work, in fact absolutely nothing works other than the round silver button you push to take the picture.

Talk about digital torture.

Basically, short of detailed foot pictures and creative angles of sand dune grasses along the shores of Lake Michigan –the camera has very little worth anymore.  If you read my blog perhaps you’ll remember those pictures from the end of August.  One of the grass pictures actually turned out pretty cool (by my estimate) so let’s just pretend that I intended it that way.  It can be our secret.

When my camera became nearly useless, we were only five days into the canoe trip.  At day seven we rendezvoused with a small group of friends when after two nights together we swapped paddling partners.  My brother went out with the other group while Tischer and I joined with my good friend, Greg.

Even though he had a camera of his own, I didn’t want to be powerless in the ability of capturing my own inspiration.  So I borrowed my brothers, which happened to be the identical camera as my, now disabled, own.  “Yeeeeees, I’ll be careful,” I said turning to roll my eyes.

His made it two more days.  At the banks of our first portage one morning, I had it tucked safely under the flap of our lightest pack.  Our routine was that one of us would take the two heaviest packs and the other would take the third pack and the canoe.  Each portage we switched roles.

Greg had the boat on this one.

He loaded me up, one pack on my back and one on my front, and I turned just in time to see Greg swing his pack onto his shoulders.  As he did this, a familiar yellow case flipped out.  He was standing on a rock slab next to the canoe, which was still in the water, when this happened.

The watertight case, which held my brothers camera, hit the rock first and beyond reason, opened up.  This happened with such ease, as if the rock had gentle fingers prying open the clasp.  And then in slow motion – just to draw out the inevitable –the camera dribbled its way out of the box and into the drink.  A handful of delicate bounces and “plunk.”  If my eyes were closed I might have thought someone had just made a 25-cent wish in this beautiful well.

I like to think I have quick reflexes but I was loaded down with two hefty packs, and honestly, I was in disbelief.  I starred at it below the surface for at least a few seconds, bubbles rising and all.

How was this under my control?  A tiny squeak escaped my throat and I threw down the packs.

I tried my best to air it out, but all I could really do was open the battery chamber and wait.  It’s no surprise that it was a lost cause.  I had just drowned my second camera in less than a week.

On my next trip a month later my mom loaned me hers, and without hesitation even. I was relieved at her willingness.  Tischer and I were about to spend 18 days backpacking the entire length of a trail along a ridgeline above Lake Superior.  I needed a camera for this adventure.

I kept it in a zippered pouch on my hip belt and tethered it to my wrist anytime I was near water.  Minus a few scratches across the viewing screen, it made it out just fine and I am 600 pictures richer.

It is only now that I am back on the mountain, and away from a digital camera that I can borrow, that I realize I have become dependant on them.  For the last few years I used mine like I would a crutch with a broken ankle.  I always had it with me.  I took way too many photos, never deleting the ones I said I’d go back and “edit” after a trigger-happy photo session.

Now that I don’t have one, I almost feel like I shouldn’t go out and play.  What’s the point if I can’t capture it on film?  Now obviously I don’t believe this absurd notion but it is a tough adjustment.  If I can find any motivation in this camera-less time, it is to improve my ability of using words to paint a picture, in the absence of actual pictures.

Still, I regret to say that my 3 faithful blog readers will suffer, as will my iphoto library.

Maybe now is the time to acquire the skill set of an efficient sketch artist?

About The Author:  Lucas Will is a freelance writer based near Mt. Hood, Oregon.  He is a ski cabin manager and ski patroller, while also teaching outdoors classes at a local college.  Some of Luke’s work has appeared in Mt. Hood Magazine, and he currently writes a regular column for The Mountain Times.  When not in the great outdoors of Oregon, you may find Lucas writing and sharing his experiences on his own blog, 3 On The Mountain.