An SL Odyssey
part i
My first Leica was an M2 that I inherited from my uncle. He was a very cool uncle, and we always had a special relationship. After his passing, that specialness was manifested when I learned that he had willed me his Leica collection: an M2, two IIIf ’s, and a range of lenses and accessories.
Manna from heaven. Photography has been one of my greatest passions ever since I was fifteen and asked to borrow my dad’s Argus C3 that was hanging, unused, in his closet. Over the years I was aware of the Leica luster…but I never thought I would ever be able to afford to dip my toe into that sacred water—the Ganges of photography. Well, now I did not just have a Leica—I had an entire Leica system!
I have to admit, when I got the first prints back, I was disappointed. I expected better. But then, I was comparing thirty…forty…fifty year old equipment (and not the best that Leica produced in those years) with my newest Nikon gear. I began to study. And I learned what Leica has achieved and symbolized in its history. The place it has earned in the photo world. And who has shot with them. I was smitten and bitten by the Leica bug. Unfortunately, my mother was quite prescient when, in my early teens, she observed that I had “a champagne taste, but a beer pocketbook.” That observation has uncannily – and cruelly – described my fate ever since. As irony would have it, however, my mother’s passing enabled me to indulge my champagne taste, at least photographically – and with Perrier Jouet!: the M10. The latest M! The holy grail of any Leica addict! And I had a full range of landmark M and R glass that would work beautifully with it. Heaven! And the M10 is heavenly. But somehow, as I pondered this new windfall in my life…I began to notice a shadow slowly creep across my horizon. Something not fulfilled. Something not quite right. As reality set in…painfully…I realized the problem: the M is primarily a street-shooting camera. Henri Cartier- Bresson. Alfred Eisenstadt. While I was completely enamored with the entire Leica mystique and legend…I am just not a street shooter. I think about it, but it rarely happens. What I am is a landscape artist. I am happiest practicing contemplative photography: large format…under a focusing cloth… marveling at that huge, reversed, upside-down image…meter and loupe hanging round my neck. Yes, I know: M’s can be excellent landscape cameras. But that is not what they were intended for. That was not their essence. And there were more suitable alternatives out there, and I owned one of them: a V5 5 x 7 Deardorff. Now that I was no longer shooting professionally, when was I going to use my M? Not very often. How could I therefore justify the enormous investment in my M system? What to do. What to do.
part ii
When the SL came out, I found it interesting, even impressive, but it did not appeal to me…until I read a lovely article on the SL as…a landscape camera. And so, my tortured journey took a new turn. After extensive research I sold my M10 and acquired not only a nearly unused SL, but also a 16-18-21 WATE, which I had read did wonderfully on the SL, and a 24-90mm ASPH, which was supposed to be incredible. I was fully aware of the “great complaint” about the SL…especially with the 24-90 on it: it is way too “big/heavy.” Yes, for an M user. But for a long time Nikon SLR user…it was not big at all: it was normal. I also am completely satisfied with Leica’s rationale: what is more important? Image quality? Or convenience? Certainly for a pro camera? For me, that has never been a debate. Shut up, suck it up, and schlep the weight (I have “schlepped” up to 60 lbs. of large format gear at times). And so I found myself with this glorious gear now in my hands.
Shortly after purchase I began a long summer trip out to the American West. My first stop was the Smokies, in Tennessee. On my first morning I was now able to actually go out and shoot with my new beauty! What a relief from all the hours spent researching/pondering/eBaying/hand wringing about what photo gear I should have. I spent that first day with the SL/24-90 on Clingman’s Dome – the highest peak in the park. In the valley, it was hot and humid, but at 6000 ft+ elevation, it was 77 degrees…perfect. The sky was overcast, filled with dark, puffy foreboding clouds, with occasional rain bursts (not a problem with the SL/24-90!). As they scudded over the surrounding mountains it provided beautiful, dramatic scenery. I did not take more than fifty steps before I had to stop to take my first photograph. That is how it went all afternoon. I literally shot continuously for at least five hours, while hiking on that impressive peak. The SL was a sheer pleasure to use. A joy really. I was euphoric. Like any camera, it has a learning curve. Like every camera, it has its faults. Thanks to eBay, I have been able to own some of the finest cameras ever made (Nikon, Sony, Hasselblad, Deardorff, Linhof, Sinar…). I have loved all of them, including my M’s [as these words are being written a full M3 vintage display/shrine sits in a case nearby]. But when I held the SL in my hands, something happened. I have held many of the world’s greatest cameras before, but somehow, holding the SL was different. I am aware that there are comparable cameras with higher resolution. And as a landscape artist, having 36…or 47 mp (and now 60+!) would be really nice. But with good technique – and all my Leica glass (such as the 100mm APO Macro) – the SL is capable of producing 20 x 30 prints of very high quality, and if I need to go beyond that I have the ‘Dorff. And how often do any of us go beyond 20 x 30? Really? For MOST shots of ANY kind the SL/24-90 will cover it as well as it needs to be cov- ered – better, in fact. We all know how the SL’s data compares to the a7rIV, the D850…and now the Panny S1r. But, if I have learned anything over the years, it is this: while important, the “data” really only tells so much that is useful. It is crucial for telling you how well a camera may meet your needs. But how about how you FEEL when you pick up a camera? When you look through its viewfinder? When you hear the shutter? When you see/feel/hear the quality of the materials used and the precision with which they have been designed and assembled? When you notice ingenious and distinctive details of design? When you know the legacy of the lenses that will work with this camera? And when you know the history, the priorities and the legacy of the company that made them? THAT data never seems to show up in (most of) the reviews. But for me, it is at least as important as any other data that can be generated about a camera. Does this camera INSPIRE me?! Does it CHALLENGE me?! Does it make me think: “Ok, you have somehow managed to afford this thing, but are you capable of wringing out its full potential? Are you as good as it is?” How many cameras do THAT? Why isn’t THAT in the reviews? That seems to me to be at least as important as any other data that is provided, if not more so. In that regard, the SL is as good as anything I have ever owned. Better, actually. And because it is an excellent platform for the landmark Leica glass, both M and R, that I have managed to acquire over the years, that rings the bell for me. More than that, with the 24-90 ASPH mounted on it, somehow I feel that I can take on nearly ANY photo situation. In fact, I feel like I can take on the WORLD. Bring it! Somehow I feel a confidence that even the sacred M does not give me. This camera is made with clear awareness of the (glorious) past…but equally of the digital present. Proud of its heritage, the SL can accept the challenge of nearly any photo assignment that the 21st century can throw at it, and handle it superbly…taking almost any kind of abuse in the process. Almost.
part iii
And so, with that kind of SL euphoria, I continued my journey. Eventually I arrived in Santa Fe, NM, where I went on a retreat and where the SL and I were definitely bonded. It was now a part of me. I did not need the euphoria. I just needed it in my hands to feel complete.
After the retreat, one of my best friends flew out to Santa Fe to join me. He had never seen the area and thought it would be fun to hang out there. It was fun. In fact, it was a blast. We took in a number of the sights in the city. Loved the Georgia O’Keefe museum. Had some superb meals, and had a good number of beers. At one wonderful restaurant – where I had the best burrito by far in my life – they served a margarita with a special tequila, served in its own carafe. It provided, shall we say, its own kind of euphoria. One day, we headed out to Bandelier National Park to see the adobe ruins there. It provided my friend and I with a wonderful day of hiking up a beautiful, almost Brigadoon-like canyon, where there were great rock formations and many adobe ruins. Lots of photo ops. At day’s end, we got back to my car. I put the SL on the roof as I unlocked the car, sat down and took my hiking boots off my tired feet, put on my Birkenstock’s, got into the driver’s seat…and drove away, feeling very content. Once back in Santa Fe, we parked and started walking to a highly recommended restaurant where we anticipated having another great meal, not to mention numerous cervezas. Before we got too far, however, I thought about the SL. Where was it? I did not want to leave it in the car, certainly not in a place where it was visible, so we walked back to the car and looked. And looked. And then looked again, this time frantic. This could NOT be happening. This could NOT happen to me. This could NOT happen to THAT camera. It was hopeless. THAT camera – and its incredible counterpart, the 24-90 ASPH – were gone.
I racked my brain: what could I have done with it? Where could it be? My addled mind was awash in a cauldron of over- whelming anxiety mixed with dread. This COULD NOT BE HAPPENING. THIS WAS TOO TERRIBLE TO HAPPEN.
That evening, my friend and I resolved to go back to the park first thing in the morning, when it opened, and see if we might be able to find it. So we did. And we looked – everywhere – for hours. My friend is as fine a friend as there are, so he actually looked quite a bit longer than I did. It was hopeless. It was gone. The only other thing I could think of to do was to report the loss to the ranger station and see if anything might come of that. Fat chance. The odds were miniscule. Too small to provide even a ray of hope. So, that was that. I spent the rest of the trip using my iphone, which actually worked quite well for what it is, but how could it – how could ANYTHING compare to the SL?
After putting over four thousand miles on the car, I finally returned home. It had been a great trip – even with the loss of the SL. A few weeks later I was checking my email when I saw something from someone I did not know. Interested, I opened it up and saw that it was from the ranger station where I had left my contact information. It informed me that someone had brought in a camera that they found on the side of the road. They asked me to describe the camera. If I could do that accurately, they would contact the person who reported it and it would be returned to me. When I provided a description of the camera, the ranger responded: “that’s it.” For a moment, my mind went blank. Then a flash. Then the weight of a great sorrow had suddenly been lifted. A searing pain was healed. A grief let go. A very deeply bitter regret was mollified (somewhat: I was still the idiot who left THAT camera on my car roof). I was redeemed! The sun was shining once again! My beloved SL! Of course, some questions remained: what kind of condition will it be in? Would it still function? If not, how many thousands of dollars would it take to restore it? Thankfully, beyond my anxiety, I also had this thought: what wonderful soul had turned that camera in? Even damaged it could still be worth thousands of dollars. I was overwhelmed with gladness, with gratitude, and with the pleasure of thinking that humanity can be a beautiful thing.
The person – do I dare say angel? – and I corresponded a bit, just to make arrangements. I offered to pay her a reward – the very least I could do. She refused. She was just doing what anyone would have done, she said. Wow. I sent her a check to cover the cost of shipping and insurance – and at least a modest reward as thanks. And then, in a few days, there it was…in my hands again. A miracle. After being lost forever, here I was gazing on it with my eyes…a sight I never thought I would see again.
It was a sight alright – a sorry sight. The damage was clear. The lens would not zoom, though the glass was miraculously scratch free. There were heavy dings and nicks and scrapes on both the camera and the lens. It obviously would need to go out for repair…and how was I going to afford that? To my great and happy surprise, my insurance company agreed to pay for everything! I could not believe it! It was my fault! I was the idiot who left it – THAT camera – where I did. I did not deserve to get out of this disaster without paying a penny – but I did. I sent it off to Leica USA. The lens was irreparable, but Leica offered me a refurbished one instead. The body could be fully restored with no problem.
So after enough weeks passed, I had my SL back again in my grateful grip – with a beautiful, new-looking 24-90 ASPH. The SL was immaculate. I could not see a sign of what it had been through anywhere. It was perfect. So was the lens. All was well with the world once again.
part iv
Two years later I still have the SL and we remain bonded. Last December I registered for a Leica Day at a Leica store in DC, near to where I work. The SL2 had just been released. I had to check it out. OK, I did not HAVE to, but how could I turn down a full afternoon and evening with fellow Leicaistas (I think I just made up a word), with the full array of Leica gear available for me to check out, including the SL2? So I did. The SL2 is an extremely impressive camera. I was able to use it with the 90-280mm ASPH. With the new in-camera stabilization, it was not a problem at all to hand hold how many pounds of exquisite photo gear? I also played with the 50mm Noctilux. Magnifique!…and it was a lot smaller and lighter than I thought. Mmmmmm. And so it went. There were a number of pros there and one gave a pleasant Leica- proud presentation. There were hors d’oeuvres and wine. It was kind of like a Leica I-died-and-went-to-heaven experi- ence. But did I leave that night craving the SL2? Nope. Not one bit. Yes, it is an extremely impressive piece. Yes, yes, yes, I know, I know…40+mp vs the SL’s 24! In-camera stabilization! Whatever. It is all very nice, but the SL still suits me best. For my personal high end art work, I use my Hasselblad V system – and the SL becomes a part of that when I need to go wider than my 38mm Biogon can take me. But for everything else, it is the SL. After that pleasant evening I read Sean Reid’s review/comparison of the SL2, the Sony a7rIV and the SL. Yes, the SL2 and the a7rIV were both superior in the obvious ways to the SL. But, that said, the SL still stands up REALLY WELL, despite the age of its design. That was good enough for me. So, the SL remains – and it still feels differently than any other camera I have ever held. That includes an S2 which I was able recently to check out.
And so, there is the odyssey. Is my point to convince you M holdouts to switch to the SL? Not at all. If anything has been made clear over the years of buying and selling camera gear, there is no one camera that will do it all for every photographer. That is an ever-evanescent grail. My point instead is that with the SL, Leica has produced one of the greatest cameras ever in its storied history. If M owners (or Q or S or whatever) happen to read this and decide to take a look at the SL – fine If not – also fine. We are all different, and our lives change, as mine has. We all have our personal preferences, passions and needs. If an SL might fulfill yours – definitely take a serious look (now that the SL2 is out SL prices have plummeted – as low as $2500! THAT’s a deal!). If not, then, as a Leica lover… be proud of what Leica has achieved. It is very clearly thriving in the 21st century (after almost not surviving). And that is something that should make all of us glad.