UV filters: A horror story from Munich
22.5.2018
Translation: machine translated
Someone accidentally kicked my camera. Cracks in the glass. This is the story of a scare, a repair and the reason why you should invest in a UV filter.
I didn't realise I could have so many emotions at the same time.
Anger, sadness, insecurity and the thought "Stephanie is going to murder me in about three seconds."
I'm getting ahead of myself. Today is about me having probably the biggest shock of my professional life and learning about the importance and function of a UV filter on a camera lens.
But first: recourse.
Video producer Stephanie Tresch and I are in Munich for the launch of the BQ Aquaris X2 and its bigger brother, the X2 Pro. We have an ambitious plan: we want to film a live stream, two hands-on videos and an interview. The two hands-on videos will be published in the article, the live stream will be live and the interview a few days later. The filming is complete, we have taken up position next to the main stage and are starting to work. Stephanie edits videos, adjusts the colour of the image and gets the best out of the sound. I clean up the text that I wrote during the presentation.
There are no photos. Our camera equipment is half hidden between a concrete pillar and a small bar table. With the large camera case, my well-stocked rucksack and a jumble of cables hanging out of the latter - a German journalist had forgotten his card reader and we were happy to help out - the passage, which is about a metre wide, looks impassable.
The disaster
My camera bag is about a metre away from the rest of the pile. I don't remember leaving it there. I remember my camera lying on top of my rucksack. I have a bad feeling.
I unpack the camera. The lens cap is stuck. I feel a little sick to my stomach.
As I remove the lens cap from the lens - a 24-70 G-Master - with a little force, I see the damage.
Damage. Lens. I know you've already seen the picture above, but I'll show it to you again. I could describe the cracks in the glass for two hours, but I can better describe the slightly coozy feeling I'm experiencing at the moment with the picture.
I feel a kind of sadness at first. My poor camera. I don't call it "my darling" for nothing and I talk to it when it doesn't want to. My Sony a7s ii is my faithful companion, my favourite toy and a more than just reliable partner, regardless of whether I'm taking photos or filming. If someone asks me "You, which camera should I buy?", the brand is clear: Sony. And if you're not sure whether you want to film, but are flirting with the idea, then a7s ii. Otherwise a6500.
And now it's broken. And now I have to tell Stephanie that there will be no more photos.
A kind of anger spreads. I feel like reducing the whole place to rubble. Because I'm thinking about how my camera fell from my rucksack onto the floor a metre away. With damage to the lens to boot. Dropped it? No, probably not. Because I always take the trouble to make sure that the camera can't fall or slip if I leave it unattended. And even if it had fallen, it wouldn't have come to rest a metre away. No, there is only one conclusion.
Someone kicked my camera.
That was probably an accident, but still. Whoever it was could have told me that.
Why it's not all that bad
When I received my a7s ii, I knew it would have to go through a lot with me. Airports, backpacking, bike tours, everyday life as a journalist. It would get wet, the lens would get fingerprints and so on. That's why I asked Stephanie back then how I could be as sure as possible that I wouldn't ruin the expensive equipment.
"It's a good thing you asked. Because I'll rip your head off if anything happens to the camera," she told me at the time. Somehow, even now that the UV filter is broken, I still doubt that Stephanie is joking. She knows how to have fun, but when it comes to equipment, she has absolutely no sense of humour. It took me months before I was even allowed to touch one of her cameras. A privilege. I'm now even allowed to film with one of her cameras under very special circumstances. With her permission. Under their supervision. With the utmost caution.
She recommended a UV filter back then. Because if anything should hit the lens, the filter would catch it and the lens glass underneath would remain intact. I'm going to buy one.
Internal thanks to Stephanie. She has once again outdone herself. In her infinite wisdom, she saved my lens months after she actually told me that.
The problem now, however, is that I have to admit to the woman who is so protective of her equipment that my camera is probably out for the day. Even if my camera isn't actually part of her equipment.
"So this is where my life ends," I think to myself.
I'm sure Stephanie will use all her strength to inflict severe pain on me when she sees the camera. I inwardly curse her favourite hobby, boxing. Can you put teeth back in after they've been knocked out?
The glimmer of hope: if the video producer is too busy to murder me, maybe I'll escape with my life. She's sitting at what looks like a decorative dressing table, with Hollywood-style light bulbs around the mirror. There she has set herself up squatter-style, cutting hand-ons. Around her: tangled cables and a drink. As she's wearing headphones, she didn't hear my curse after I discovered her. I'm pretty sure I've explained the diversity of the word "fuck" pretty well.
It's just the UV filter,
But I have to tell her that now.
The confession
"You...", I begin and draw out the U in length.
"Hrm," she mumbles with a questioning undertone. Not uncommon when she's busy.
I hold up the camera.
She turns pale.
"It's just the UV filter," I say and get ready for the end of my life.
She looks at me. We argue a lot, but I've never seen that look before. That must be how the Greek Furies looked at their victims before they died in agony.
Void. That's how I feel. Because not only is my camera broken, no, Stephanie is also ugly.
She says nothing.
She breathes in.
"Fix that" is all she says.
I try to take off the UV filter. It's really easy. In theory. But the filter has become wedged. That's not going to work. The camera is out of the game for now. I'm still alive, but I'm on the ground.
The setback
After the press event, the first stop is a photo shop. I discovered Calumet Photographic on Google. The shop has good reviews. I decide that I can trust them. There's also another big advantage: Stephanie has her "kid in a sweet shop" moment in a photo shop. So I hope that I can get the UV filter thing over with easily while she looks at lamps, tries out lenses and examines suitcases.
"I won't fix that," the employee in the white T-shirt and tattooed arms tells me.
He had recently dealt with a customer who had also brought in a broken UV filter. He then removed it, but the customer complained that the lens had been scratched. That's why he doesn't do it anymore.
"Do you have any tools so that I can do that and you just tell me what to do?" I ask.
"Are you crazy? Of course not! If you do that, I'll make sure you never hold a camera in your hands again!"
Stephanie was listening. Me and the Calumets employee are a bit gobsmacked. Well. A muddled situation.
"I can do it for you, but you have to sign a piece of paper. You declare that you accept scratches on your lens. Then I'll do it for you," says the tattooed man.
He has a sunset tattooed on his upper left arm. Must be nice there. I'm feeling pretty shitty right now. On the beach, sun, drink with an umbrella in it... that would be something. But I look over at Stephanie. What does she think? Is that a solution? I don't know anything about camera maintenance. She looks back, doesn't say a word.
"Nothing happens 90 per cent of the time," he adds reassuringly. He has probably also realised that my life is in acute danger here. If I touch even one tool, Stephanie ends my life surprisingly faster than anyone - especially me - would like.
I sign my name
The repair
The young man with the moustache gets to work. He doesn't seem to be in a hurry. I am. When I can show Stephanie my camera, intact and clean, only then will I know that I'll be able to see the sunrise tomorrow. Provided I'm awake by then, of course. I'll probably miss it.
The noises.
Where I used to just think "Oh God, my camera", it sends shivers down my spine. The Calumet man picks up a screwdriver, taps on the cracked UV filter and then breaks the glass out of the filter.
You never want to hear glass clinking, cracking and breaking when the sound is coming from the direction of a lens. Even Stephanie's face goes a little paler and her expression takes on a sort of "Oh my God..." look. What have I done? He holds his hands over the filter so that we don't also see the horror scenario and that no shards of my lens fly around the shop. Say that out loud: "The shards of my lens". Horrible.
Then comes the pliers. As the UV filter has become wedged in the screw thread at the front of the lens, the ring has to be ripped out. This is much quicker. During the whole thing, the man never seemed worried. Has he done this a thousand times before or does he have a good poker face?
The replacement
"Do you want a replacement for your filter?" he asks me.
I feel relieved. Because after cleaning the lens, he gives the all-clear. The precious glass of the lens has survived everything well.
"But I'll give you a decent filter, not the window glass you've had so far."
Okay, why not? But why would you? I'll ask.
I used to have a cheap UV filter from Walimex. Walimex makes solid stuff if you don't want to or can't spend a lot of money. Walimex will probably never bring the high-tech revolution to the market, but their stuff does the job.
^
The filter did its job, never gave reason for criticism and in and of itself was more than worth the money.
Now I have this one:
It costs a bit more, but the man can credibly sell me why this filter will serve me even better than my Walimex filter. Because not all UV filters are the same. Otherwise the market would have levelled off at the Walimex level. UV filters are like spectacle lenses, I am told. As a lifelong spectacle wearer, I know all about that. Fun fact: the glass in the filter is made by Schott. I once had a holiday job with them when I was at school.
The filter is primarily designed to absorb UV light. This allows you to filter out the blue colour tone in sunlight. Your image will be clearer, the colours will look truer and you will have to do less tinkering in Photoshop afterwards. Otherwise, the filter does nothing. Consciously. As a photographer, you can rely on the settings of your lens, just as you always have. You don't have to relearn your lens. According to the manufacturer, 99.8 per cent of all light still passes through the filter, resulting in only the smallest of deviations. The glass is also equipped with an anti-reflective coating. Anyone who has ever worn reflective glasses knows the horror. In photography - especially press photography, as I do - this is a total no-go according to me. Because if you only have one chance to take the shot, then you don't want any annoying side effects. You want the shot. If you have any reflections, you'll annoy yourself to death and end up with no good pictures. Nobody wants that.
But that's the main reason why I bought the filter many moons ago: The filter protects the glass of the lens. I'm happy to smash a hundred filters as long as the lens remains intact. And the B+W filter is also easier to clean.
"You also lose less image quality if you work with more than just window glass," says the Calumet man. Will my pictures be better now? I don't know yet. But I'm pretty sure you'll see it here on the site and, if it turns out to be true, I'll get back to you with a text on UV filters. Then maybe without a murderous video producer.
So, that's it. Buy yourself a UV filter. It's worth it.
Journalist. Author. Hacker. A storyteller searching for boundaries, secrets and taboos – putting the world to paper. Not because I can but because I can’t not.
