The new  photo above, was taken at one of my favorite local places: Hickory Run State Park, which is located at the very western border of the Pocono “Mountains” of Pennsylvania.

   It depicts the “Old Stage Road”, which runs through the park as a hiking trail but converts to a public road at the park’s border.

  Hickory Run is a fascinating place from a geologic standpoint. As I understand it, the park is situated on land at the very end of the  ice sheet that formed over North America 18,000 years ago

    The glaciated, “Pocono” portion of the park on the east is actually a high flat plateau with a mix of woodland and barrens species and the locally famous Boulder field (depicted in a photo published with the “Mountain Laurels” article”). As you travel west, the land falls off and with it, multiple streams tumble off the heights,  through a succession of lovely glens, and over countless small (and some large) waterfalls,  all flowing inexorably  towards the Lehigh River at the park’s western border.

  At places on the property, very dense pockets of second-growth hemlocks block out sunlight even in midday. This helps visitors to this park understand the descriptions  by early settlers quoted in in park’s brochures of the “shades of death” they encountered here.

   This was the description by colonists who travelled this wilderness centuries ago, fearful of attack by predators or aboriginal Americans, that they imagined were lurking among the vast groves of  white pine and hemlock, many of which may have been 2-300 ft tall, and 500-hundred years old.

Those trees are long gone now, logged out in the 18th and 19th centuries for timber and tannin. They have been replaced by ancestors that are by comparison, mere adolescents. Nonetheless, as you pass through these dark verdent sections, you can easily imagine the anxiety of travellers riding on open wagon, in a stage coach, or worse, on foot as they traversed this dark, seemingly endless forest.

But I digress.

  Unfortunately, the method I use to bring higher-quality images to the site does not appear to be available for the header image. I am stuck with less than crisp images at this location on the site.

  I’m working on it.

  

 I have always loved the Fourth of July holiday here in the USA. 

  I will say, that the holiday’s proximity to Memorial day in late May, always makes it seem that the summer is rushing by. Summer, after all, is very precious in the Appalachian mountains. In truth, there are two months left before Labor Day backstops the summer vacation season. After this we will have at least 6 weeks of glorious fall weather before things get brown and chilly. 

  Obviously this holiday marks a profound event in American history: the moment a people decided to stand against taxation and non-representative government. The risk taken by those involved, from the militiaman that stood side-by side against the indomitable British Army, to he founders themselves, are I think, severely under appreciated by modern Americans, save perhaps, those that currently risk it all in the service of our armed forces.

God bless them.
 

  At my home, high in the Moosic Mountains of Pennsylvania, we celebrate the holiday with great enthusiasm. I live in an old Victorian resort community with big old cottages, most built with multiple bedrooms so to accommodate family and friends in the summer months when the houses were open.
On this weekend in particular the houses fill; every one of the little summer bedrooms has a suitcase and rumpled bed; the sound of adults who grew up here, playing with the their children is pervasive and lovely as one walks in the afternoon. 

Since the 1890s, people come here for the same ends: to revel in the summer warmth, but sleep comfortably in  the cool night air, to swim in the lake, hike the trails, ride bicycles, play a little tennis, and to sit on the front porch for a cocktail before dinner. 

The climate is extremely unpredictable in early July. This year it’s going to be brightly sunny and around 90 degrees, though we’ve had years where the temps stayed in the fifties. On that holiday, the only one outside was the griller; the rest of us were inside, gathered around the fireplace. 

We also have a parade. I’m not sure how long it’s been going on, but apparently for 40-plus Fourth of Julys by the accounts of some of the older residents. 

The event starts at one pm sharp, so starting around eleven, we gather at one of the larger driveways in the community. A diverse group of vehicles participates, from bicycles, to tractors to ATVs, convertibles, and pickup trucks. The children descend, with tape, and crepe paper ribbons, little American flags and red white and blue pinwheels, and bunting. The children are very enthusiastic, they sometimes fail to understand that in order to drive a vehicle you have to be able to open the door, or see through the windshield. A little parental modification is sometimes necessary. 

Eventually with issues corrected, away we drive, to our community center, where we are met by the Fairview Township Volunteer Fire Department.
The department is very capably managed by several community residents who I think worry that our huge old wood frame homes are likely to be potential future “clients” for the firemen’s services. Happily for us, the department’s massive and impeccably maintained equipment rivals that seen in big cities. Their efforts in the recent past have saved at least one of these historic structures from complete immolation. 

The fireman help as young children and their parents are loaded aboard the pumpers and ladder trucks. Then we line the vehicles up, and the parade begins, on a route through the network of gravel roads designed so that all may participate. 

Now I have always tended to be a “parader” but there are others who traditionally serve as “watchers” standing by the roadside in little knots of people with flags and perhaps a camera, waving as the parade goes by. After all everyone can’t be a “parader”. The “watchers” tend to congregate in the same places year to year, ducking as candy rains down opon them, thrown by the gleeful children in the trucks and fire engines. 

It takes about twenty minutes to do the route, then return to the community center and disband. It’s then on to the lake for a community picnic, and later, hopefully, fireworks.
  

  In truth, it’s a small event in a small community in Pennsylvania. 

I love it, because in this neighborhood, we draw together as a community rather than sequester ourselves in our own fenced-in backyards, isolated from our neighbors. I would rather be here no matter what the weather, than at the biggest celebration in New York or Boston.

Undoubtedly, I’d have to be a “watcher” there. 

  After all, I am a “Parader”.

Even if you have a couple of digital SLRs, there is always a need for a small but capable camera; one that can be carried with you for unexpected photographic opportunities that crop up when you least expect it.

In the beginning of the digital photography era, digital cameras tended to be compact and fairly expensive, and aimed at photo enthusiasts. Though there were simple point-and –shoot models, there was a good selection of robustly built cameras with full controls and features such as the Nikon Coolpix 990 that I purchased in 2000 for around $900.00. The 990 was made of magnesium, and had controls and features not dissimilar to serious bodies like the F100 pro SLR. It had an unusual twisting body, a fine Nikkor lens with a modest zoom range, and features such as threads for filters. At three megapixels, it had resolution equal or superior to the hyper-expensive DSLRs of the time. To a person familiar with more serious Nikons, the 990 had obvious kinship, and was easy to pick up and use. Ditto the Canon G series (there is still a G 11 avaialble) and the Olympus C series (I owned a C-5050), which were serious compacts available for the users of their film SLRs. All these cameras had relatively large 1 1/8 inch imagers with around 3 million large pixels.

Now before I get too nostalgic, let me say, that these imagers were useful only for relatively small prints, and had very limited low light capabilities. The bodies however were serious, as rugged and controllable enough for pro use.  I saw a lot of photojournalists with Nikon F-5s in hand, but a 990 in their bag.

Serious compact cameras continued to evolve and improve though 2004, but a year earlier, Canon dropped a bomb, a budget digital SLR with an APC sized imager which was far larger than even the 2/3 inch imagers of the best compacts of the time. At about the same money as a Nikon 990, it was hugely more capable with fast autofocus, interchangeable lenses, six megapixels, and wonderful (for the time) high ISO capabilities. It sold like hotcakes. It was followed in 2004 by the even more capable Nikon D-70 with more performance, and a better standard lens. Suddenly, everyone wanted a DSLR. The market for the serious compact dried up and the genre disappeared.

In the years since, serious amateurs gravitated to interchangeable lens SLRs.  More casual photographers were offered a selection of products designed it seemed, by marketing departments with two main attributes: more megapixels, and more zoom capability.

This has resulted in offerings with tiny imagers sporting as much 14 megapixels with 400mm equivalent zoom lenses in plastic bodies the size of an Altoids box, for 3-400 bucks. Serious shooters understand that to be sold at that price point, imagers and lenses with such accelerated specs are unlikely to perform well.

An exception to this was the Fuji F series cameras which sported fine lenses, metal bodies and a unique large 6 MP sensor with unprecedented low light capabilities for small cameras. Still, they were compacts, with limited controls, limited to capturing only compressed jpgs… albeit high quality jpgs.

I used the F series for several years and captured a lot of images with them. The high quality of the lens and sensor was far more capable, than higher MP compacts. I still keep one in my pocket when needed.

Enter Panasonic. In 2008 they introduced the third of their LX series, logically called the LX 3, and serious shooters took notice. Finally, here was a pocket sized camera clearly designed for the serious amateurs and pros.

The LX 3 has several significant advantages over the Fujis. First, it shoots raw format, essentially allowing access to the unmodified data directly from the imager, without any input from the cameras processor. Raw files are unlike jpg files, where things like sharpness, white balance and contrast are “baked in” to the file and are more difficult to modify without image degradation. When I can, I shoot raw files exclusively.

The LX3 has a very rugged metal body, with a flash shoe compatible with my diminutive Olympus FL-30 flash. For an indoor event, I can stow each in a suit coat pocket, and shoot excellent quality flash images without the burden of a camera bag.

Panasonic reversed the trends of compact cameras in two ways. First, they increased the imager size, but reduced the official pixel count to a reasonable 10 MP. For high ISO shooting, it runs neck and neck with my Fuji F-31, which is still an industry standard.

The imager is actually larger than 10 mp. It allows the user to choose three aspect ratios, from a widescreen 16:9 to a square-ish 4:3 with out losing much in the way of pixels, and thus resolution.

Panasonic also used extraordinarily good judgment with the lens choice, specifying a fast f 2.0, 24-60mm equivalent imaged-stabilized Leica Summicron lens. To my eye, the lens is optically excellent, though issues of distortion are corrected digitally.

It also can capture 1280×720 HD video.

There is a large high resolution LCD on the back. Controls are cleverly designed to allow a shocking amount of manual control for a compact. Like the Lumix G series I have written about elsewhere here, there is a real time on-screen histogram, which is very helpful to judge exposure prior to tripping the shutter.

One downfall is the lack of a viewfinder, unfortunately pro forma for compact cameras these days. Panasonic mitigates this somewhat with a simple optical viewfinder, offered as an accessory, which slides into the flash shoe. It is locked into the 24mm focal length but allows you to aim the camera, stabilized properly against your face. It works, but to use it at longer focal lengths, it takes some getting used to.

Now I must say, that compared to the velvety smooth images produced by larger sensor cameras, particularly my D-700, the Panasonic imager is relatively noisy, even at ISO 100. SLRs tend to spoil you for smaller imagers. Small cameras are not the best choice for landscape work.  Still and all, in the hands of a clever photographer who understands its capabilities, features, and limitations, it can create wonderful images where other compacts would fail.

On the Panasonic internet forums, there is a lot of speculation on the LX3’s successor. I for one could care less.

If you can’t take good images with this camera, it’s not Panasonic’s fault.

9/28 11 Read my review of Panasonic’s update, the LX 5, here.

   

  Every summer for the last several years, when school lets out, I pack my children in a vehicle full of photography equipment and outdoor gear, and head out into the northeastern US.   

I do this for several reasons:  

 One reason is to attempt to bond with my children, who tend otherwise to be illuminated more by the LCDs of a video screen, than by any remaining wisdom their father may have left to impart.  

  I also do a little photography.  

It started in 2004 as a trip with my son Gus, driving around Pennsylvania to capture spring/summer images for what became Pennsylvania Seasons, a book of Commonwealth images with poetry contributed by native authors. My nine-year-old son put up with my prattling, carried my tripod, hung around as I planned out shots and fiddled with equipment, and endured the days we spent together. He was a wonderful companion.  

He thus made a huge mistake.

  After this, it became a tradition. The next year Brigid was added. My loving wife, who I think is grateful for a week of solitude and peace, is happy to stay home.  

   I love this trip every year. We camp, tour new places, hike, and at times, visit my relatives and old friends, particularly those that have children of similar age. We have visited the deepest old growth areas of the Allegheny National Forest, whitewater rafted on the Youghiogheny River, explored the baseball museum in Cooperstown, NY, toured the battlefields of Gettysburg on horseback, did the “rock scramble” at Mohunk Mountain, and visited the aquarium at the Inner Harbor of Baltimore. Last year, as we ate dinner on a deck in Annapolis, we watched as a line of historically severe thunderstorms pummeled the town.  

 I vainly try to keep it interesting.  

The family tradition is that the kids hate the trip. It takes them away from the refrigerator, their computers, and their friends. They began very early on, referring to it as “Bad Dad’s Summer Camp”. They claim to consider it to be something to endure, so that they may enjoy the remaining summer.  

   Despite this, I love to spend time with my children, watching them interact with each other. I am lucky that they are close, and enjoy each other’s company. They seem to spend most of the week laughing.  

   I am proud to say that both of my offspring are experienced campers, with strong backpacking skills. “Car camping” is thus a breeze; one of my joys is watching my kids as they set up in the evening ( I generally sit in a comfortable chair, eating corn chips with a nice spicy salsa, with a cold drink close at hand). Of course, I critique their efforts as any good parent would.  It is rewarding to watch one’s children demonstrate competence in skills that they will undoubtedly pass on to their offspring (though they adamantly deny that this will ever happen).  

   I admit to some issues. I do snore… apparently, in fact, loudly. We bought Gus a backpacking tent a year ago for use at the Philmont Boy Scout Reservation.  He now demands to sleep in it, on our trips, as far from where I am sleeping as the campsite will allow. Brigid tragically, is stuck in a two room tent with me. The dividing wall is made of nylon which offers little in the way of sound insulation. She sleeps, no matter what the temperature, with her head buried in the “mummy bag” groaning at me occasionally when I reach a crescendo.  

  Like most teens, my kids have a delayed sleep phase, preferring to “sleep in” for the morning. This has begun to work out for me as I can’t seem to sleep past the first bird call in the morning, which as it turns out, in the first weeks of June, happens about 5am. Now that the kids are older I am more comfortable leaving the campsite while they sleep.  I arise before the sun, my gear already prepared in the car.  When the weather is right, this can work out really well.  

In Vermont, several weeks ago, we had pitched on the shores of large lake on what was already an unseasonably cool night.  

A front passed, dropping an hour’s worth of rain just after we had retired to the tents. The sky then cleared and the temperature dropped further, ultimately into the low 40’s.  

 I knew on awakening that the atmospherics would be interesting… and they were. The lake was shrouded in a fog that moved deliberately over the water. A more subtle mist clouded the atmosphere elsewhere, leaving heavy dew on the marsh plants of the boggy wetlands that were a prominent feature of this state park. I spent the hour or so around sunrise walking on the lakeshore and exploring the surroundings, shooting with both the Nikon D700 and the Panasonic GH1 to a soundtrack of flutelike birdsong and distant loon calls.  

   Finally with the passage of time, the sun angles became less interesting and the fog very suddenly dissipated. I trudged back to the tents, the kid’s rhythmic breathing signaling that for now at least, they remained oblivious to the beautiful day evolving around them. It still being chilly I restarted the fireplace, zipped up my fleece and made coffee, then settled in with a book, waiting for them to awaken.  

  With Brigid on her way to college next year, I don’t know for sure for how many years I will have this time with them in June.  

  I love this trip.  I really hope we have at least a few left.

 

My daughter, Brigid Louise, was graduated  Cum Laude from Wyoming Seminary in Kingston, Pennsylvania this weekend. 

This was the 166th commencement ceremony and was beautifully organized. It was chock full of traditions, some of which were lost on this parochial school graduate. They were not lost on the graduates and their parents, many of whom were multi-generational alumni.

Congratulations Brigid. 

And thanks to the teachers and Staff at “Sem”,  for her wonderful  education. 

 

The Mountain Laurels are starting to bloom in Pennsylvania.

    This is our state flower, and its emergence marks the point where our climate finally evolves from the fickle whims of April and May, to the soft summer weather of June. It is a moment of unconscious celebration for people who begin to open their pools, grill in the evening after work, and sit on the porches at night, listening to the distant call of whippoorwill.

   Here in the northeastern part of the state, we are beginning to see the delicate clusters of white blooms open up on the lower altitude woodland slopes in our region. By mid to late June they will bloom in abundance throughout the northern third of the commonwealth.

   I have for the last fifteen years, taken a week of vacation at this time, to wander the mountains, either by backpacking, or more recently, because of the burgeoning weight of my photo equipment, and a bad knee, car camping and day hiking. The laurels, and their cousins, wild rhododendrons, provide the forests their last splash of widespread color before they settle in to the monotonous green of summer. Arguably, it is the last time until fall, for a photographer to use wider lenses in the forest. After the laurels are extinguished,  longer focal  lengths become more useful to capture the later blooming wildflowers which are scattered throughout the woodland greenery.

I have several striking memories of this time of year involving Mountain Laurels:

   I first hiked the West Rim Trail of north central Pennsylvania in mid June, perhaps eighteen years ago. I was mainly a mountain biker at the time and hadn’t backpacked in years. I didn’t realize at the time, the different conditioning needed to carry a pack over distance. The rugged trail, plus the weight on my back played hell with my feet.  The weather had been wet, and I remember being extremely eager for the trip to end. I was getting close on the third day. The last portion of the trail diverts west into the Tioga State Forest, apparently to avoid Coulton Point State Park which hugs the rim of the” Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania”  in that location. Within the last four miles of its northern terminus, the trail leaves the woods to once again skirt the edge of the gorge.

   The Pine River gorge at this point is roughly 800 feet above the river, and the edges are swathed in laurel, which was in full bloom as I emerged from the forest on the path as it swerved to edge of the ridge. My jaw dropped at the beauty. White blossoms were everywhere, densely surrounding the trail. To my right was the spectacular vista off the ridge. I photographed it at the time but the small pocket camera and I were inadequate to the task, and the results were unpublishable. The memory of this, however, was worth every blister.

   A year later, I was on the Loyalsock Trail in the Wyoming State forest. This is a very vertical trail, laid out I am told by an Explorer troop, which must have had very sadistic leadership.

   I was in better shape that year and enjoying as I recall some wonderful June weather with blue skies, seventy degree days, and fifty degree nights. Hiking with several friends, we lugged our heavy backpacks up another of the seemingly limitless up hill climbs that mark the trail’s early miles.

    I remember cresting a hill, and looking down on a relatively old growth stand of trees on the vast wooded slope below. The canopy was quite high, perhaps 150 feet. There was a feeling of being in a vast verdant space. The forest floor was lush with white laurels, all in full bloom, a carpet that extended for as far as your eyes could discern. All of this was dappled with shafts of sunlight, occurring at random spots where the leaf cover was spare. No one could help but to stop, and stare. Though it was only 11 AM, we found a log on which to sit, and ate our lunch early.

June is a wonderful time of year in the eastern mountains.

 Perhaps God makes the Mountain Laurels bloom, just to remind us.

     

  In the eastern United States, where there are mountains, there will be streams.   

    It’s inevitable. Elevated terrain enhances precipitation, which is absorbed by the soils, gathers together, and then works to find the easiest route off the mountain. In the moist, temperate climate of Pennsylvania Appalachians, this means that thousands of cold, swift brooks cleave the earth in their gathering rush to the valleys below. Many start as tiny flows, emerging from the rocks at a point somewhat below the crest of the ridge. Depending on the vertical rise of the land and the watershed they capture, they gather speed and volume as they cascade off the mountainside.   

    Mountain streams serve as the punctuation for the many long wilderness trails scattered throughout the commonwealth’s wild areas.  In planning a trek through the wilderness, attention must be given to the availability of water at points along the planned route. Knowing the location of streams is essential to avoid carrying large amounts of the heavy liquid.   

    Many of the small mountainside brooks are seasonal, with no surface water present during drier years. Coming upon a parched stream bed when you were counting on replenishing your water stores is a distinctly unpleasant experience.   

     Where the mountains are steeper, the topography becomes more interesting. In the deepest draws of the northern mountains, the sun rarely penetrates to the forest floor. Legions of ancient hemlocks line the steep side walls of these eastern canyons, cut by eons of the action of water against rock. Glens form, where the land forms force the water to fall abruptly in altitude, increasing its hydraulic power. Ricketts Glen is just one example of this; there are many other spectacular falls and glens which are often quite remote and visited only by intrepid souls.   

    Hiking in the Tidaughten State Forest, deep in a within a mountain glen, I once found a mature American chestnut tree, blooming on a  spring morning. So remote was its location,  it was untouched by the blight, which kills its more accessible relatives while they are mere spindly adolescents.   

   Because of the severity of the terrain in ravines and draws, loggers in the past may not have had sufficient access for harvesting. These draw and ravines, deep in our state forests are wonderful places to experience true “Old Growth” forest. Here you can find four-to-five-hundred year old relics from our pre-colonial past, in this case White Pines and Hemlocks that tower two hundred feet and more over the forest floor.   

   The climate in these sheltered places is much more constant and gradual than on the nearby ridge tops. Shielded from the sun, snow lingers much deeper into spring.  It is cool here, even on hot summer days, especially where the streams run strongly into the warmer months.   

   On one of the more established hiking trails, such as the Loyalsock or the West Rim Trail, more often than not, a  stream crossing will have acquired a fire ring and informal tenting sites. These are generally fine places to overnight. On a clear winter nights, they can be warmer, the dense cover of conifers preventing radiational cooling.   

    Summer rain is shed initially by the hemlock canopy, making such places are a clever hiker’s refuge in wet weather. The rain comes down eventually however as the accumulated water drips slowly, over days, from the fine interlaced needles.   

  On a hot summer day, glens and ravines are cooled by the shade and the cold creek water. After the sun sets, cool air descends through the ravines from the mountaintops, clearing the air of biting insects, and providing a lovely sleeping experience.   

   Sadly, there is a real threat to these wonderful ecotones. An insect called the hemlock woolly adelgid is spreading throughout the state, threatening to wipe out the hemlocks that shelter these lovely places. There are efforts to control the parasites, but they have only partially successful. If they do not succeed, there will be a fundamental alteration of woodland and stream ecology in the eastern forest.   

 Visit these lovely places while you still can.

 When I am out on the road to do photography, I generally travel alone, my camera gear on the passenger seat beside me. I will often drive somewhat aimlessly, looking for roads and lanes I have never before traveled.

  Because of this, I tend to keep a GPS available in case I get lost. The coordinates for home base, wherever I am, are programmed in so that I can plot a reasonable course at the end of the drive.

    I love to come upon a scene that compels me to at least stop, and consider whether it should be added to the files on my memory card. Obviously, in the digital world, there is little to be lost by shooting a few frames. But one hopes to have developed enough judgment to decide just what will work, and what won’t, and avoid photographing the latter.

   I spend a lot of time on backroads. On a Sunday morning in early April in Pennsylvania, I took a drive in the hope of capturing some early spring images.

   I encountered this little house, on a winding lane east of Berwick, on a country lane that first climbed out of the river valley through a lovely, remote, hemlock ravine, and then opened up on a plateau over the Susquehanna River. I pulled over, and turned off the ignition, to avoid letting the engine’s vibrations blur the shot.

   I rolled down the driver’s side window, braced the camera on the door top, and shot several frames.

    I have no wish to intrude on people’s privacy, but I was drawn to this house, and especially its outgoing motif. I wish I had encountered the owner, but from their display, I feel I understand the personality of the occupants.

   Obviously they are religious. From their devotion to the Blessed Mother, they are likely Roman Catholic. Probably they’re a little serious and devout. Maybe they were at Mass when I shot this image.

   On the other hand, it had been cold, with snow on the ground until several weeks before this was shot. The fresh tablecloth, the flowers in the vase, and the grill at the ready suggest a desire to embrace the joy of early spring sun.

    We have a tendency to admire stylish, stately, homes, professionally decorated to a fair-thee-well, and thus devoid of character.

   I like this little cottage, and I think I would like the owner.

The quality of images on this blog has been one of the few frustrations of working on WordPress .com.   

   

   I intended that imaging would comprise a lot of the site’s content. Unfortunately, the aggressive file compression used by WordPress  has resulted in blurred details on photos uploaded to the site.    

   However, their wonderful “Help” resources have given me a partial solution, namely linking to the photos URL on my repository gallery. Posted this way, images look better, though still not as good as on my Photo site. Glensummitimages.com.    

  Still, it’s a start.   

   

I have begun to update some of the posted images, but going forward the new method will be used exclusively.

   

    I think of myself as a Nikon/Fuji “shooter” yet I have always kept other equipment in my camera closet for use in situations where an expensive DSLR-lens combination would be at risk of loss due to dunking or dropping, or would be too heavy and or bulky to be practical.  

     For years I shot Olympus bodies in this role. These bodies were part of what was then a new system based on the Olympus/Panasonic “four thirds” standard: a sensor and lens mount designed to allow digital bodies to be smaller, yet to make better images. My Olympus bodies had nice image quality, were image stabilized, and there was stunning high quality optics available for the system. Even their “kit” lenses were sharp and very usable, but cheaply replaceable if damaged. The the body and lens were still fairly bulky, more so than was often convenient.  

     In January ’08 I acquired my first Panasonic G-1 a digital body of the new “micro four thirds” standard, an offshoot of the earlier specification. The same lens mount as was on the full “four thirds” cameras was utilized, but the lenses were much smaller and designed to focus on a sensor that was much closer to their posterior element. The sensor had a robust “live view” capability and the mirror and optical viewfinder was replaced with a very high quality LCD “finder” detailed enough to allow even manual focusing.  

  

     Because of this the overall package, with the kit lens was 20-30% less bulky than even the Olympus SLRs. The sensor at 12 million pixels produced highly detailed images. Though the sensor’s dynamic range was limited (see my Fuji article below) the electronic viewfinder allows exposure data to display as you compose the image (as opposed to after) that helps to optimize the exposure, and mitigate somewhat this limitation. The other attraction of this system is that it is very adaptable to lenses from other manufacturer. My Olympus lenses work beautifully with an adapter; so does some wonderful old Leica glass.  

    These cameras are seductive. I can carry the body with two stabilized lenses covering 35mm equivalent focal lengths of 28-400mm in a modest sized fanny pack. Without the camera motion that is induced by SLR “mirror slap”, tripods can be lighter. The system has limitations, but it can be a hiker’s dream.  

    Now I have acquired an upgraded version of the G1. The GH1 has a better sensor with more dynamic range and better high ISO capability. It sensor allows you to shoot in multiple formats without having to crop out pixels.  

It has one other new feature.  

The GH1 like several other new SLRs or SLR-like bodies comes with video, in this case, fairly seriously high-definition, 1080p video. There is an on camera microphone, capable of recording rather accurate digital stereo sound (sorry about the heavy breathing).  

     This extends the imaging capabilities of this device into dimensions I hadn’t previously explored. Sound and motion add a dimension to imaging that  as a still photographer I am just starting to grapple with.  

I think it’s going to be fun.

As always, the images can be better viewed on Glensummitimage.com