Driving a green big heavy old dinosaur

A 1980 model.

It was green.

Green metallic paint, green vinyl roof, green vinyl seats, green carpet, green steering wheel, green dashboard.

Even the steel sports rims had a tinge of green.

I bought it from a retired primary school principal, who bought it from a real estate agent, who bought it from the owner of the local Mitsubishi/Chrysler dealership, who bought it new and used it as his personal car.

With a bunch of old men previously driving it, I fitted in perfectly behind the wheel.

Wherever I went, people stopped me to talk about it.

Everyone, it seemed, had a Valiant story.

And everyone reminisced with great fondness.

In reality, it was a big heavy old dinosaur.

The steering was heavy.

Around town, it chewed through the fuel.

The clutch was big and awkward, and with only three column shift gears, it was noisy at speed as it wandered all over the highway.

But was there anything better than cruising on a warm summer evening with the windows down, elbow on the windowsill, the AM radio crackling 90s music through the one and only speaker?

I loved it.

In November this year, I will reach the milestone of 30 years as a newspaper photographer.

I still like to try to keep myself motivated to take pictures outside of work, and recently rediscovered my battle-scarred old Nikon D700.

I'd bought it new in 2008, shortly after the model was released.

It was a great camera, but 2008 was a long time ago, and when I was tempted by the 36 megapixel behemoth D800, the forsaken D700 rarely saw the light of day.

Despite its scratches and worn off paint, it was a delight to bring out.

Every photographer I spoke to seemed to have a D700 story and reminisced with great fondness and respect.

In reality, it was a big heavy old dinosaur.

It weighed a kilogram.

It clicked with a really loud clunk.

The sensor was only 12 megapixel.

But was there anything more satisfying than the images that came from that lovely Nikon full frame sensor?

A second hand one I found on eBay took a month to arrive.

I opened the packaging to find a gold Nikon box looking like it had come off the shelf of a camera shop that afternoon.

The camera was carefully wrapped as a Japanese technician would have all those years ago.

Was I the first person to open this box?

That's what it seemed.

The camera was unmarked.

Not a fingerprint or a speck of dust.

It had only 8000 clicks on it.

It was so brand new, I felt unworthy to be custodian of such pristine piece of picture-making perfection.

It was the photographic equivalent of getting a brand new, old green Valiant all over again.

With a charged battery and a few settings changed, I went for a drive along Meander Valley Road, my favorite close by destination for an after work photo trip, to try out the new old camera.

Compose thoughtfully, meter carefully.

And press the button.

Once.

Clunk.

The colours!

The tones!

This is why this camera is known as The Legend.

It doesn't measure my photographic ability by high ISO, or number of frames per second, or amount of megapixels, or quantity of images at the end of the day.

It encourages me to think about and enjoy the experience of making every single one of those 12 million pixels count.

This camera is a classic to treasure.