Thursday, November 3, 2016
My Nikon D800e is now four years old.
I have carried it with me every day, slung on my shoulder, or in a bag, shooting anything that captures my imagination with the lens I have on the day.
Within that time, I have:
- Dragged it through the pouring rain and shoe-melting 43-degree heat;
- Smuggled it with lenses four times its size into restricted events;
- Dented and scraped the paint off the chassis after dropping it several times on solid concrete;
- Torn off the eyepiece cap;
- Melted off the label with the serial number on it;
- Bent the hot shoe out of shape (and then back into shape);
- Torn off the video record button;
- Scratched the rear screen protector to buggery – which I suppose is what’s meant to happen;
- Rubbed the paint off a couple of buttons (so now I’m pretty much the only one who knows how to use it);
- Lost a couple of screws;
- Trapped a tiny bug in the pentaprism viewfinder, where its carcass now sits as a permanent irritant; and
- Peeled off the rubber hand grips and then pushed them back into place.
It has fulfilled every creative endeavour I’ve thrown at it and I can honestly and truthfully say that I have never once felt a desire to upgrade. There comes a point where megapixels, frame rates, or even the size of the damned thing don’t matter anymore. All you need is light and a decent lens.
But I should probably get it serviced before it completely falls apart on me.