Cameras are a favorite topic of discussion amongst people who enjoy outdoor pursuits, as it all too clear when I look through my mailbag and read blog posts and threads on discussions groups. Old hands like to hash over technical distinctions of different camera models, while folks new to digital photography are full of questions, one of the most common of which is…

 
What sort of camera do I need?  The answer is simple if not terribly satisfying: That depends. It’s like choosing a new bicycle. Some are good all-rounders, others are specialists, and their prices run the gamut from cheap to astronomical. Cameras are a matter of personal choice, and every seasoned photographer has his or her own favorite. Before choosing a camera, ask yourself some important questions. Do you take only occasional snapshots, or do you want to shoot a lot of pictures of the highest possible quality? Do you want to go digital, or do you want a film camera? Do you want a camera that you can operate with one hand and will tuck into a handlebar bag or jersey pocket? Are you on a tight budget, or is price no object? Do you want a camera that will do everything in one package, or do you want the ability to use quality lenses in fixed focal lengths? Do you want a camera that you don’t have to worry about dropping or losing? These are a few of the questions that you’ll have to answer honestly before choosing a camera to take on your cycling excursions. Only after that will you be able to sort through the many camera models on sale today and pick the one which suits you best.

Another common question is…

 
Do I need an expensive professional digital camera to shoot good photos?  The answer to this one is easy, too, but more welcome by most: No! If you’re ready to retire your tried-and-true 35mm film camera, but you don’t want to invest a big chunk of your paycheck in professional gear, you won’t go far wrong if you start out with a quality consumer grade point-and-shoot camera. You can always move up. Or, if you’re the type who likes to take control, and if you want the flexibility and versatility of interchangeable lenses, look for an entry-level digital single-lens reflex (DSLR). Here’s a checklist of points to consider in weighing your options:

• • Cost
• • Battery type and longevity
• • Type of media card
• • Resolution (number of pixels)
• • Manual settings
• • Weather sealing
• • Availability and quality of auxiliary lenses

Sundry cautions and reminders: Cost involves more than the price sticker on the box. Many digital cameras use proprietary rechargeable batteries. These aren’t cheap, and you’ll probably want at least one spare. The same holds true of media (memory) cards, though the cost of the ubiquitous SD and SDHC cards has plummeted in recent years. Resolution is an even trickier call. More pixels are better than fewer—you can print larger pictures, for one thing—and technology has certainly moved on since the days when the 0.5 megapixel Canon PowerShot 600 represented the state of the art. But image quality isn’t determined by published pixel count alone. The online reviews at sites like The Imaging Resource will help you navigate these uncertain waters.

And finally…

 
Do I really need a waterproof or weather-sealed camera?  Before I answer this question, it’s important to realize the distinction between waterproof and weather-sealed. Waterproof means the camera is supposed to be completely sealed against moisture infiltration (to a certain depth of immersion, anyway—read the manufacturers stipulations carefully). A weather-sealed camera should be protected from infiltration of moisture, dust, and grime, but it’s not proof against immersion in water.

Now to the answer: No, most cyclists don’t need a waterproof camera, but it’s a very good idea for it to be weather-sealed. Having said that, plenty of cyclists (including me) use cameras without any special weather sealing and have no mishaps. You do need to take precautions, though, but these aren’t arduous. So, let’s take a look at…

 
Protecting Camera Gear When Cycling  If you carry your camera in your jersey pocket and sweat profusely on a hot day, your salty sweat may worm itself into the camera’s little brain and cause it to malfunction or fail. If you carry your camera in your handlebar bag along with some spare lube, a leaky jar of chamois cream, or a partially eaten chocolate bar, don’t be surprised if the camera is soiled and ruined. If you toss your camera into an open pannier and ride a dusty road, the lens barrel and other working parts might acquire a gritty, grinding sound when you use the camera next. Are you getting the picture?

 
Protecting your gear is a necessity. Simple heavy-duty freezer bags that close securely with a zipper lock do a good job of keeping out water and grime. Double-wrap the camera if you’re a belts-and-suspenders type and conditions are bad. Don’t allow your camera or lenses to rattle around inside your handlebar bag, rack trunk, or panniers. Pad them as needed. Some photographers use padded bags or sacks designed for their cameras and lenses. Others use custom-made padding they’ve cut from foam pads and the like. A rain cover over your bike bag will be an additional layer of protection, and if your bag is truly waterproof, all the better. If you shoot photos in rain or snow, give it some kind of shelter—your helmet’s visor, your hand, anything to keep the precipitation from hitting it. If temperatures are cold, wrap your camera gear inside plastic bags before entering a warm building (or a warm tent). Allow the gear to come to room temperature before opening the bag, then inspect your gear for moisture build-up and dust. Clean as necessary and use a dry, clean rag to wipe off any moisture. Many of my suggestions for shutterbug paddlers in “Snapping in the Rain” work for cyclists, too.

 
My Camera Choices  I’ve been using a Canon PowerShot point-and-shoot digital camera for something like four years, and always take it with me on my bike trips, whether they’re grocery shopping trips or pleasure tours. The PowerShot doesn’t have any special weather sealing, is handy to use for panda shots, and takes surprisingly good photos of a quality that’s suitable for web publication and small prints. I carry it unsheathed in the handlebar bag in good weather and in clean environments, but if I’ll ride rough roads or if there’s a chance of rain or snow, I tuck it into the plastic bag I carry for that purpose. Needless to say, I also wrap in plastic bags any potential hazards like the spare lube and bonk busters.

My heavy-hitter is a Pentax K200D digital SLR, which I’ve often talked about here—see the archives for a list of articles. It’s weather-sealed, rugged, and is paired with lenses that, while not as well sealed, have shown themselves capable of coping with less than ideal environmental conditions. But that doesn’t mean that I court disaster. I treat my Pentax kit with the same care I use for my Canon PowerShot. I’ve customized the Louis Garneau RR-16 rack trunk to carry the camera and lenses, and have ridden in rain without the camera or lenses getting wet inside the trunk. Back in my film days, I carried my Olympus OM-1n and its three auxiliary lenses the same way—bagged in wet and dusty conditions, padded when the going was rough—and that camera lasted 30 years without damage. It’s now continuing to see duty in the hands of a devoted film photographer who says it’s working perfectly. My hope is to keep my current photo kit going as long as possible, too.

 
The Bottom Line  With so many models of cameras on the market today, in all price ranges, you should be able to find the camera that will fit your needs. Ask yourself a few questions, make a list, do some background research, and make your choice. Then when you get your camera, treat it with respect and it should serve you well.

 
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I’ve been writing about backcountry cookery for ten years now. The result? Seventy‑seven columns headed “Alimentary, My Dear.” That’s around 160,000 words in all — two or three cookbooks’ worth. It’s no surprise, then, that newcomers to Paddling.net are often daunted by the long list of titles. Sometimes they write to ask questions that I’ve already answered. But those answers are buried deep in the archives. Even I occasionally have trouble finding my way to the right place in the right article.

That’s where “Off the Beeton Track” comes in. This isn’t a typo, by the way. Mrs. Isabella Mary Beeton wrote the first cookbook ever to achieve best‑seller status. The year was 1861. Published under a title that ran on for 58 words, her Book of Household Management was 1112 pages long and contained some 900 recipes. And though Mrs. Beeton didn’t have much to say about backcountry cooking — hence “Off the Beeton Track” — she seems to have been keen on picnics. Household Management contains a “Bill of Fare for a Picnic for 40 Persons,” as well as a list of “Things not to be forgotten at a Picnic.” These included a “stick of horseradish” and no less than three corkscrews, proving that Baden‑Powell wasn’t the first person to understand the importance of being prepared for every eventuality.

In any event, while “Alimentary, My Dear” doesn’t (yet) run to the equivalent of 1112 pages, and I’m afraid I’ve nothing to add to Mrs. Beeton’s excellent advice on such things as interviewing would‑be butlers and wet‑nurses, the “Alimentary” archive has grown to the point where many folks need a little help finding their way around. To that end, if you’re in the mood to browse, the following links will take you right to the topic that interests you… Read more…

 
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I use a walking stick when hiking, or, more accurately, a sturdy ash stock cane, the kind used to encourage cattle to move along. When there’s ice and snow on the ground, though, the blunt crutch tip is no help, and often it’s a liability because the stick can’t get a sound grip. That’s when I shift to one or two cross-country ski poles, whether I’m snowshoeing or hiking with Yaktrax strapped to my boots. If the going is easy, I use one pole. If I expect to be traversing slippery slopes or climbing and descending hills, I use two. What’s that, you say? Aren’t cross-country ski poles meant for skiers? Sure they are, but they’re a valuable asset for anyone out on winter trails. Think of it as adding a third (or fourth) leg. Here are the benefits of using ski poles when snowshoeing and hiking…

• • They improve balance on slippery surfaces and unconsolidated snow
• • They’re a climbing aid
• • They help you get up when you fall in deep snow
• • Use them to check ice integrity when crossing frozen water bodies
• • Use them to probe for hollows under the snow
• • Use as a brace when shooting slow-exposure photos
• • Use them to discourage aggressive dogs

 
Cross-country ski poles designed for backcountry use often have wide baskets for flotation in deep snow, and you don’t need to spend a lot of money to buy a pair. To choose the right size for you, wear your winter hiking boots, plant the pole about 18-inches ahead of your foot, and hold the pole by the grip. Your fist should be about at the height of your shoulder, or a little higher. The next thing to do is to properly buckle the wrist strap.

 
Note how in the photo above the top strap on my pole is twisted before being buckled. (My thumb and finger are inside the loop to hold the sides of the strap apart for clarity’s sake.) This twist allows the strap to wrap comfortably around your hand and wrist without goring you. Next, get a proper grip. (Incidentally, the following tips also apply to trekking poles and walking sticks which are fitted with wrist straps.) Here are the steps:

 
Bring your hand UP through the loop, as shown in the first picture above. Now open your hand wide to encompass the base of the wrist strap, like in the second picture. Lastly, grip the pole with the strap between your palm and the handle, as in the last picture. This gives you the most secure grip on the pole and the wrist strap helps prevent your pole from skidding away downhill if your grip falters.

When you walk, plant the pole’s tip ahead of you. As you stride pass the planted tip, the pole angles forward with the tip in the snow. Now push off with the pole as you move on.

 
As you continue forward, pull the pole from the snow, swing the tip forward, plant, and repeat. The way you grip the pole gives you a firm grip without your having to keep your fingers tightly wrapped around the handle. With a pair of poles, you can get up a steady, swift stride, using the poles to help you move along smartly.

In steep terrain, or in brushy country, I don’t want to risk a wrist injury by having my hand fully inside the wrist strap, but I still want the security that the strap provides. To have the best of both worlds, this is how I hold the pole in such conditions:

 
I put only my fingers up through the loop, leaving my thumb outside, as shown in the first photo. I then bring my palm down onto the lower part of the strap and grip the pole—see the second picture above, though I’ve exaggerated the position in this photo for clarity. Normally my hand would be up further on the grip, nearer the top. This kind of grip on the pole makes it less likely that I’ll sprain my wrist if I slip or catch the basket when climbing, descending, or negotiating thick brush. At the same time, however, the strap will insure that the pole doesn’t get away from me if my grip on the handle slips.

 
If you hike on slippery trails or snowshoe, especially in deep snow, a pair of cross-country ski poles is a useful accessory. If conditions are easy, a single pole might work for you—if often does for me—but in steep or sloppy conditions, a pair can make the hike a lot more sure-footed. Give them a try and see if you don’t agree.

 
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