Before

I've always loved cameras, but have had patches without owning one, having gone without or occasionally been lucky enough to borrow one.  I've also been given photos along the way - and have managed to keep those, somehow, with a million moves.  There's something special about a photo - this blast of memory, or perhaps the shaping of a memory... at some point one never knows.

In the Transkei in 1987.  School's out.

On the Zambezi with Uni mates in the early 90s - wild and fantastic trip to Zimbabwe, though got wildly ill from the river too.  This photo lay in a box in the heat or damp at some point, and somehow had writing transferred to it.  Digital fix? Nah.

Servicing my tourning bike on Anne and Hanlie's farm in Salt River.  One of my favorite places of all time - and two of the best and most fantastic people I have ever met.

Heading out off the beach at St Francis Bay in the late 80s - a photo courtesy of  Rose.  It was such a rush to be out there - intimidating, desolate, lonely; fantastically thrilling.  Some time after this photo I broke the universal joint coming in.  Big George was pretty grumpy, but dutifully drove us 3+ hours one way to PE to buy another.

Fishing on the Boteti river in Botswana 1990 (or thereabouts)

Big George fishing for Bass near the Island in Retvlei, mid 80s.  This was the worst camera I owned, ever; possibly 30% of its photos came out properly.  I had a better one at first, but then it was stolen in a burglary at 121 - this was the shocker that the insurance company replaced it with.  (I may have been complicit in requesting it, because it was  a beautiful bright yellow - a poor criteria it turns out.

In the Moremi in Botswana - early morning, desert cold, many many days without bathing - Sean Doherty sitting next to me on the upended trommel. 

Vac job working at UNISA's tech servicing center in the late 80s.  They had all sorts of cool kit that came in for repairs and had to be tested.  Including this dual frame Polaroid camera that took two photos on the same plate.

Hiking with Simon Oz and Keith Burman, on the mission to nowhere in the Franshoek mountains in 88.  The next day I was to be bitten properly, on the thigh, by a Rottweiler, whilst walking out of a farm after speaking to the farmer.  It was an unforgettable experience.  "Sorry.  It doesn't like strangers".