Gnapp's photoblog

"So I went straight (in full sea-dress, a protest) to the cabin (the smells from the galley) and got the Micro-Nikkor lens, and, from the camera-and-flash hanging on its strap from its hook in the laundry-room ('Hey, I've arrived - this is my hook: I belong here'), repeating the little Nikon-mantra (on at 5.6, off at f.11), turned free the 200 zoom, transferred the Nikon base-cap (the precision of it, even in plastic, or whatever it was) from the micro to the zoom, stuck the zoom, for safe-keeping, into the right foot of Luke's pair of reserve sea-boots, labelled, at calf level, in heavy black marker pen, LUKAS (so they were a special relic - from his time as a fisheries inspector on board Antarctic Spanish trawlers?) and clicked on the Micro-Nikkor, and why, I wondered vaguely, was such a kit so comforting? So pleasing? Yes, it was a deep feeling, certainly, nothing at all to do with the actual object - so it was probably genetic, prehistoric. Yes, those males who didn't delight in the perfection of their kit, the delicious arc of the bow, the acme of balance in the arrow: well, they got naturally de-selected before they could breed, they got killed. And the female, she has other things to think about, mere kit is of no interest to her, she cares only for the end result, the succesful male itself, so no wonder the girls don't read bow-and arrow mags, or gun mags, or camera or Ferrari mags, or trawler mags - no, no, they've no time for the primary male testing-stage."

- Redmond O'Hanlon, Trawler

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