Technology and nature meet
Call it a diversion. Call it a hobby. Call it an art form.
Whatever it’s called, it’s an activity so new, so arcane that even
dedicated photographers and wildlife observers do not know it by
name.
Technology and nature meet
Call it a diversion. Call it a hobby. Call it an art form. Whatever it’s called, it’s an activity so new, so arcane that even dedicated photographers and wildlife observers do not know it by name.
It’s digiscoping, the practice of mating a spotting scope to a digital camera for the purpose of snaring wildlife photos.
It was born of economic necessity. Wild animals have grown to associate humans with peril. The survivors are those who do not get hit by cars, bullets or carefully aimed rocks.
Thus, capturing them in photos involves very powerful lenses. In photography, powerful equals expensive.The typical rig involves a 500-millimeter lens mated to a digital camera body. Just send a check for $10,000 to your nearest photo dealer and you’re in business.
But many wildlife observers, especially hunters and birders, already own high-powered lenses. Spotting scopes are unlike those used for astronomy. They are portable, and paired with a wide-angle or zoom eyepiece, ideally suited to digiscoping.
As little known as the activity is, it already is attracting some notice. Nikon has begun marketing a camera-scope combination specifically intended for the activity.
I already had a spotting scope. My pride and joy is a Zeiss Diascope, a nuts-and-bolts testament to old world engineering. With its 20-60 power eyepiece, it reveals wonders.
Birders do not really need spotting scopes. Almost any bird can be identified and studied through binoculars. Think about it: at 100 feet, eight-power binoculars will render an image that appears to be 12.5 feet away. A 20-power spotting scope produces an image at the same distance that appears to be five feet away. Do you really need the extra magnification to identify the animal?
Ah, but the difference reveals the thrill. A spotting scope can allow a viewer to pick out the details in individual feathers, to marvel at the elegance and delicacy that evolution has wrought.
So the dedicated among America’s 70 million birders go walking into the field carrying unwieldy tripods and scopes. As I type this, I am nursing bruises on both shoulders, semi-permanent reminders of my dedication to the meaningless pursuit of birds.
After looking at birds, it was natural to want to “capture” them through photos. After much research, I purchased a Fuji F30, the current camera of choice among digiscopers.
It’s compact – the size of a pack of cigarettes. It features almost no shutter lag, the better to capture animals that tend to flit around a lot. It is simple and rugged. In short, it’s nearly perfect for its intended use.
Combining camera and scope, I am able to reliably capture images that are 50 to 60 times closer than they appear through an unassisted eye.
Mating a camera to a scope is complicated. Manufacturers are producing elaborate brackets that put a camera lens a few millimeters away from a scope eyepiece. Looking at an acquaintance’s Web site, I found his solution and adopted it as my own.
My adapter is quite elaborate, a Schilling spice jar lid with a hole drilled into its middle.
It fits inside the eyecup of the spotting scope perfectly, and the hole accommodates the camera lens, allowing it to locate itself just a fraction of an inch from the scope’s eyepiece.
It fits into a pocket conveniently, “deploys” in an instant and suits my purposes to a T.
The results may not ever see a gallery wall, but the photos I’ve collected in the past few weeks bring me great pleasure, even as they clog the hard drive on our home computer.
A week ago, a few of us gathered as a burrowing owl that had been injured near Highways 25 and 101 was returned to the wild. I was packing my new rig. Near the end of our outing, one of us spotted a small, dark bird perched on a snag.
It was a merlin, a falcon that nature has dedicated to the hunting and consumption of shorebirds. They migrate with the shorebirds, appearing locally mostly through the winter months.
They are never a common sight locally, but this one obligingly perched long enough to have its portrait taken.
With my new toy, that cooperative merlin made my day complete.
Mark Paxton is publisher of The Pinnacle. His e-mail address is
mp*****@pi**********.com
.
