Pentax 67 Adventure

Alright, grab a cup of coffee (or developer), because this is the epic—and slightly ridiculous—tale of how I accidentally became the proud handler of a medium format monster known as the Pentax 67. Yes, friends, this isn’t just a camera. It’s a behemoth, a mechanical warhorse from the golden age of film. The kind of camera that, when you sling it over your shoulder, your spine negotiates terms of surrender.

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Chapter One: Enter the Behemoth

It all began innocently enough. I was minding my own business, browsing the internet with no particular intent some years ago (read: lying to myself), when suddenly—I saw it. The mythical Pentax 6x7, glinting on the screen like Excalibur in a pile of bargain-bin swords.

I’d heard the legends: a shutter that sounds like Thor slamming a car door, a mirror slap that could register on a Richter scale, and a weight that makes chiropractors rub their hands with glee.

Naturally, I couldn’t resist and bought it.

Because I needed a proper analog anchor. And this wasn’t just a camera… this was the camera.

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Chapter Two: My Life as a Film Monk

Yes, it’s true. I’ve gone into medium film. Like a monk renouncing other analog goods and banished my digital gear for a while into exile.

No more weddings. No more events. Just grain, gorgeous light leaks, and the aroma of stop bath lingering on my fingers.

I needed a new “main battle camera”—and instead of something logical, I went for the camera equivalent of a brick cathedral. The Pentax 67. It’s like trading in your sedan for a Cold War-era tank because… why not?

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Chapter Three: Love at First Lens

The true clincher? That Super Multi Coated Takumar 105mm f/2.4. A lens spoken of in hushed tones in back-alley forums. It renders backgrounds dreamier than a French arthouse film and pulls out detail so sharp you can practically hear your subject’s thoughts.

I took a few portraits—and immediately declared them my children. I may have whispered “Papa’s proud” at the negatives.

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Chapter Four: Myths, Lies, and Mirror Slap

Let’s address the mirror in the room. People claim you can’t handhold this beast. That’s nonsense. I’ve handheld it at 1/60s, even 1/30s, with results sharper than my wit on caffeine.

It’s so heavy it basically absorbs its own mirror slap like an old sumo wrestler shrugging off a shove. The problem isn’t the camera—it’s the weak arms of keyboard critics.

Just eat a banana and carry on.

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Chapter Five: Lens Quest

Once the 105mm lens and I were emotionally wed, I naturally had to expand the family.

Thanks to the fact that mirrorless shooters tend to avoid lenses that double as dumbbells, I scored one more beauty:

• 90mm f/2.8 – compact (for this system), sharp, and as smooth as jazz on vinyl.

All that glass for under €250. Somewhere, a Leica user just shed a single tear into their espresso.

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Chapter Six: In the Wild

The next logical step? A field test. So I wandered around Villach, armed with the Pentax, the 105mm (or 106mm, depending on which part of my bag you ask), and a dream.

The wind howled. The camera thudded against my hip like a cantankerous goat. And yet—each frame was a small miracle.

Tones for days. Details you could swim in. That signature 6x7 magic that makes digital feel like it’s still in training wheels.

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Final Thoughts: The 67 Life Chooses You

Let’s be honest—owning a Pentax 67 is not practical. It’s not sleek. It’s not polite. It will not fit in a tote bag.

But it will give you images with soul, and demand that you slow down and mean it. Each frame is a promise. Every click is a handshake with history.

So yes, I picked up this slab of magnesium and glass—and I regret nothing.

Just don’t ask me to carry groceries on the same shoulder.

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If you enjoyed this absurd saga of analog affection, just wait until I tell you about the time I nearly dislocated my wrist trying to load 120 film in a freezing wind while the Pentax watched smugly, like some robot from 1972 silently judging my lack of dexterity.

But that, dear friends, is a story for another roll.