I bought a VERY cheap Lubitel 166B medium format 120 film camera............I don't know why!!!

Right, let’s be honest, getting older is a bit like having a silent partner who insists on constantly raising the interest rate on your physical debt. You hit a certain age - let’s call it the hitting six-decade milestone - and suddenly, the years themselves start exerting a proper, non-negotiable gravitational pull. For most folk, this means slowing down, perhaps taking a sensible, prudent step back from life’s extremes.

And me?

Well, I’m still out there chasing the utterly sublime austerity of the Scottish wilderness. I continue to haul myself into the hills and glens, regardless of the time of day, across all four seasons (we've got the full works in the Koppen climate classification, haven't we?), happily driving a few hundred miles in a single diurnal cycle and using my car as a rather cramped bivouac. All while my knees and back loudly file a formal complaint with the management.

As if this wasn't enough self-imposed penance - this whole high-ISO existence - I’ve gone and done something truly baffling, an act of sheer photographic atavism: I bought a medium format film camera.

A silly, plastic thing, no less.

The Logic of the Lunatic

I know, I know. The reasoning is probably clinically unsound. Film is genuinely the absolute, polar opposite of modern digital capture. It’s an exercise in finesse, friction, and constant fiscal outlay. It's the analogue to the instantaneous, highly parameterised efficiency of the current sensor generation.

But look, saying I don’t know why is, frankly, unmitigated technical drivel. I do know. It’s a fascination that’s been brewing for many a fiscal quarter now, specifically with the unique qualities of the 120 film format. I’ve fallen hook, line, and sinker for the large 6x6cm square negative, the resultant increased resolution and delicious tonal gradation thanks to that significantly larger emulsion area, and that captivating, almost dream-like quality that is the very signature of true medium format.

The big appeal, though? It’s the prospect of achieving absolute technical authorship. Having to methodically deconstruct and reconstruct the shot from a state of tabula rasa - a clean slate.

The Russian Roulette of Optics: My Lubitel

So, my tool for this retreat to the photographic Stone Age? The ridiculously cheap Lubitel 166B. Yes, a Soviet-era Twin Lens Reflex (TLR). I can practically hear the collective, high-velocity eye-rolling from the seasoned film buffs - it's like the frantic whirring film advance on a three-reel fruit machine. Given the price, my only immediate MTBF (Mean Time Between Failures) expectation is that the blessed thing holds together long enough to cycle a full roll without terminal light-leaks or seizing up entirely. It’s a proper analogue gamble, and we won’t know the outcome until the precious cargo returns from the lab!

The Lubitel 166B is a masterclass in mechanical minimalism. It's got zero on-board photometric functionality. No automated exposure compensation, no evaluative or matrix metering—nothing that helps you with light. It’s completely devoid of auto-focus servos, features a fixed focal length, and lacks any form of exposure or focus bracketing. Its basic leaf shutter operates from 1/15s to 1/250 s, with an aperture range of f/4.5 to f/22.

In short, it demands total manual input.

And that, is precisely where the intrinsic joy lies. This enforced manual operation - this reversion to pure mechanics - shoves the emphasis right back onto the foundational principles of photography. You must have an intimate, working understanding of the Exposure Triangle (the beautiful, symbiotic relationship between shutter speed x aperture x ISO}, the meticulous application of compositional geometry, and the precise manipulation of Depth of Field (DOF) via your selected f-stop.

Technically, the TLR designation is key. It uses two coupled lenses of identical 75mm focal length. The lower one is the taking lens (the actual photographic objective, likely a simple T-22 triplet design), and the upper one is the brighter viewing lens (f/2.8). The viewer uses a 45 degree planar mirror to project the image onto a matte ground-glass focusing screen at the waist level. The gearing ensures the focus you nail on the screen is isomorphic (identical) to the focus on the film plane. It’s slow, it’s methodical, and it’s gloriously anti-digital.

The Discipline of the £30 Click

Why this deliberate retreat into the Neolithic era of optics? Simply put: the pursuit of enhanced creative integrity. While I’ll be outsourcing the chemical processing of the negative (my motivation to build a darkroom is currently sitting at exactly zero), the sheer appeal of meticulously pre-visualising and engineering the shot - composing, framing, calculating the exposure parameters, and achieving critical focus - is enormous.

This shift will, I genuinely believe, authenticate my photographic practice. With my digital gear - the trusty Canon M100 mirrorless and the faithful old Canon 60D DSLR - the marginal cost of a mistake is effectively negligible. You can fire-and-forget a rapid burst, relying on the high-speed buffer and post-capture review to bail you out.

In the film world, especially with a basic, vintage piece like the Lubitel, every single shutter actuation must be justified. A 12-exposure roll of 120 film, costing about £7, plus a £20-£25 development charge, makes the cost-per-image a financially significant metric. That's a lot of money to waste because you couldn't be bothered to think things through!

This financial constraint forces a necessary discipline and a clear sense of purpose onto the entire workflow. You are compelled to assess the light correctly, perform the necessary calculations, confirm the focus, and commit fully before you release that lever. This disciplined, deliberate approach, I truly hope, will organically cross-pollinate into my digital work, leading to a much-needed improvement in my overall photographic capabilities. It’s a return to first principles, a demanding but essential re-calibration of the eye and the mind.