Technology

Yesterday I stumbled across an article written by Andrew Moon for the 2015 London Bird Report. Entitled 'Reminiscences of a London Birder', it is a captivating read. In addition to recounting some memorable moments, Andrew documents some of the changes he has witnessed in 45 years of birding in the London area. One topic he touches upon is something easily taken for granted these days...

Technology.

When it comes to communication and photography in particular, technology has wrought changes unimaginable a few decades ago. And the impact on birding is huge. To illustrate...

In 1985 I found two Temminck's Stints at Staines Res. To put news out you needed two things: a stock of 10p coins, and a notebook containing all your contact numbers. Actually, three things. Also a working public telephone. Well, surprise, surprise...that day I needed just the numbers, because a fellow birder who fortuitously turned up at that moment was the proud owner of a car-phone! He didn't know me from Adam, but gave me the key to his BMW and sent me off, promising to keep an eye on the birds. I spent the first minute of each call in two-way exclamations of shock and awe. 'Seriously, I'm phoning you from some bloke's car!' 'Really?! ' 'Yes!' 'No-o-o!' 'Yes!'

And look at us now...

I wonder how many younger folk today realise what was involved in pre-digital photography? For example, as an ex-Kodak employee I can tell you that Kodacolor film comprised a polyester backing upon which was coated a pack of eleven (if memory serves...) microscopically thin, discrete layers. Colour paper needed a mere eight layers, on a resin-coated, waterproof base. In both film and paper manufacturing multiple layers were coated simultaneously, and each contained a cocktail of chemicals suspended in molten animal gelatin. Clever application of the laws of physics prevented the layers from mixing. This hot coating was then rapidly chilled and set, progressively dried and conditioned, then spooled up, wrapped, and finally shipped off to be slit and chopped into consumer-sized pieces. Being a light-sensitive product, all this was carried out in the dark!

Considering the process involved in its manufacture, and the fact that silver was a necessary ingredient among a host of expensive chemicals, it's little wonder that photographic film and paper was relatively pricey. And it only struck me recently, but how did a conscientious vegan cope with photography back then? Gelatin was unavoidable.

In terms of hardware, anyone aiming to photograph birds would need a single lens reflex camera (SLR) and a long lens. I can remember using a light meter in the early 80s, and focusing manually, and needing at least a basic grasp of photographic principles. My gear was seriously budget, but I'm not sure whether even the best equipment had automatic focus and exposure? Perhaps an aged photographer can enlighten me? Anyway, so you would twitch the mega-rarity, make a load of wild guesses involving knobs and dials on your camera, and after a right load of faff wind up with a film cartridge containing 36 (or, with a bit of luck, 37) exposures of your subject. And then there was a trip to the shop (usually a chemist) to hand your film in, and a few days of hand-wringing anxiety later the nervous return trip to empty your wallet in exchange for a sealed package. Before opening it you would first seek a quiet spot, then unpeel the flap with shaking fingers. Inside you would find your processed negatives and corresponding prints. Shuffling through them would invariably reveal 36 (or, with a bit of luck, 37) photographs of a streaky blur. Hence the quiet spot. In those days nobody wanted to see a grown man cry.

And look at us now...