Hacks and Tracks
It was one of those issues that had been troubling me from time to time. Not exactly burning a hole in the vacant space between my ears, but just now and again poking its head above the parapet. Quite how much difference it would really make was uncertain, but anything that helped was worth trying.
In all but a few respects, the tripod I’ve been using for the last five years does exactly what I need it to. It’s sturdy, made of seemingly indestructible carbon fibre and fully extended, is slightly taller than me - although that last point is hardly a towering achievement. Ideally I’d prefer it if the centre column could be removed so I could bring it closer to the ground at times, but all in all, it’s a good tripod from a reputable manufacturer. It’s been to Iceland twice, and it’s held firm in many an Atlantic gale down here in Cornwall. Admittedly one of the lower leg sections likes to absent itself from the main body on occasion, but a small socket spanner and a few choice swear words always resolves the matter.
But what would, or should make it an even more robust ally in those heavy conditions seems to me an odd omission by the manufacturer. One that for some time had me seriously considering another significant investment in a new tripod. Why, for a piece of kit that’s clearly been designed for outdoor use did they not include a set of spikes? And although they are available as optional extras, the compatibility chart didn’t even list my model. But we’ve been through a lot together and I was sure there was a hack that would resolve the matter. One set that did look as if they might just about fit cost sixty quid, and were out of stock with most online providers. So I improvised, bought a set that was slightly too large at thirty quid and set about finding something to make them fit. A rubber flange in each gap if you will. A few sections from an old watch strap did the job, and although if I really pulled hard they would come free, they seemed to be fairly securely attached. Maybe I should refit them with hefty dollops of superglue. Added insurance and all that.
So now my tripod has spikes. And if I need them retracted, I simply screw out the feet and then there’s no danger of scratching anyone’s parquet floor. Not that I know anyone posh enough to have a parquet floor. And then I can screw them back in again to ward off approaching brigands. Obviously I would need to invite said wrongdoer to wait for approximately thirty seconds before attacking me while I prepare the tripod for means of self defence, but once ready, I feel confident that a small delinquent rabble would be kept at bay by an enraged middle age tog welding a three pronged spear at them.
Once assembled, it seemed rude not to give my adaptation a spin and take it somewhere I could look at the sea, and both Ali and I had a fancy for the cliffs above Porthtowan. After a week of rain, what weather forecasters euphemistically refer to as “quiet conditions,” had arrived. Maybe not the sort of feistyness to really put those spikes through their paces, but we just wanted to see the ocean. And so she went over the cliffs, armed with a rabbit obsessed spaniel, and I went for one of my favourite winter views, armed with lots of warm layers and a newly weaponised large camera accessory.
I didn’t need to ward off any threatening types. The only person who did approach me was a young woman, looking distinctly chilly in her yellow dungarees and accompanied by a large dog. She asked me what time it was and said she’d spotted a seal in the water. We agreed it was a lovely afternoon. I also discovered a track that led to steps down the cliffs I’d never seen before. I gave it a try and found a slightly lower vantage point, but when I descended further, I found the steps ran out at a narrow shelf with a twelve foot drop onto the rocks below. A scramble looked possible, but as the rocks are accessible from the beach anyway, there seemed little point. At least it’s an escape route if I read the surfline app back to front and get cut off by the tide. There are quite a few of these almost invisible tracks, well used by the surfing community. You just need to know where they are in the event of not wanting to swim to safety.
The lovely afternoon brought a suitably glowing sunset, the first of three consecutive glorious golden hours that will make their way into these pages in due course. Porthtowan, a place I’ve often overlooked, really earns its stripes at this time of year when everything is reduced to black and gold, the colours of our wild and windswept county. Not so windswept today, so the jury is still out on the spikes, but they’ll surely be tested more rigorously soon. And so far, all three of them are still where I put them. As long as I keep remembering to check they’re all still there each time I move the tripod, everything will be just fine.
Hacks and Tracks
It was one of those issues that had been troubling me from time to time. Not exactly burning a hole in the vacant space between my ears, but just now and again poking its head above the parapet. Quite how much difference it would really make was uncertain, but anything that helped was worth trying.
In all but a few respects, the tripod I’ve been using for the last five years does exactly what I need it to. It’s sturdy, made of seemingly indestructible carbon fibre and fully extended, is slightly taller than me - although that last point is hardly a towering achievement. Ideally I’d prefer it if the centre column could be removed so I could bring it closer to the ground at times, but all in all, it’s a good tripod from a reputable manufacturer. It’s been to Iceland twice, and it’s held firm in many an Atlantic gale down here in Cornwall. Admittedly one of the lower leg sections likes to absent itself from the main body on occasion, but a small socket spanner and a few choice swear words always resolves the matter.
But what would, or should make it an even more robust ally in those heavy conditions seems to me an odd omission by the manufacturer. One that for some time had me seriously considering another significant investment in a new tripod. Why, for a piece of kit that’s clearly been designed for outdoor use did they not include a set of spikes? And although they are available as optional extras, the compatibility chart didn’t even list my model. But we’ve been through a lot together and I was sure there was a hack that would resolve the matter. One set that did look as if they might just about fit cost sixty quid, and were out of stock with most online providers. So I improvised, bought a set that was slightly too large at thirty quid and set about finding something to make them fit. A rubber flange in each gap if you will. A few sections from an old watch strap did the job, and although if I really pulled hard they would come free, they seemed to be fairly securely attached. Maybe I should refit them with hefty dollops of superglue. Added insurance and all that.
So now my tripod has spikes. And if I need them retracted, I simply screw out the feet and then there’s no danger of scratching anyone’s parquet floor. Not that I know anyone posh enough to have a parquet floor. And then I can screw them back in again to ward off approaching brigands. Obviously I would need to invite said wrongdoer to wait for approximately thirty seconds before attacking me while I prepare the tripod for means of self defence, but once ready, I feel confident that a small delinquent rabble would be kept at bay by an enraged middle age tog welding a three pronged spear at them.
Once assembled, it seemed rude not to give my adaptation a spin and take it somewhere I could look at the sea, and both Ali and I had a fancy for the cliffs above Porthtowan. After a week of rain, what weather forecasters euphemistically refer to as “quiet conditions,” had arrived. Maybe not the sort of feistyness to really put those spikes through their paces, but we just wanted to see the ocean. And so she went over the cliffs, armed with a rabbit obsessed spaniel, and I went for one of my favourite winter views, armed with lots of warm layers and a newly weaponised large camera accessory.
I didn’t need to ward off any threatening types. The only person who did approach me was a young woman, looking distinctly chilly in her yellow dungarees and accompanied by a large dog. She asked me what time it was and said she’d spotted a seal in the water. We agreed it was a lovely afternoon. I also discovered a track that led to steps down the cliffs I’d never seen before. I gave it a try and found a slightly lower vantage point, but when I descended further, I found the steps ran out at a narrow shelf with a twelve foot drop onto the rocks below. A scramble looked possible, but as the rocks are accessible from the beach anyway, there seemed little point. At least it’s an escape route if I read the surfline app back to front and get cut off by the tide. There are quite a few of these almost invisible tracks, well used by the surfing community. You just need to know where they are in the event of not wanting to swim to safety.
The lovely afternoon brought a suitably glowing sunset, the first of three consecutive glorious golden hours that will make their way into these pages in due course. Porthtowan, a place I’ve often overlooked, really earns its stripes at this time of year when everything is reduced to black and gold, the colours of our wild and windswept county. Not so windswept today, so the jury is still out on the spikes, but they’ll surely be tested more rigorously soon. And so far, all three of them are still where I put them. As long as I keep remembering to check they’re all still there each time I move the tripod, everything will be just fine.