One camera series that you just don’t hear much about, or see very often in North America is the Mamiya Press. Like the Mamiya RB67, the Mamiya Press cameras are big, funky, strange-looking, quirky, and a lot of fun to shoot. They also provide some really nice images. It all added-up to the camera being an ideal candidate for a comprehensive review.
I’ll caution readers that this is the longest camera review I’ve ever written, in large part because the back story is itself incredibly long. That story starts in late January 2020, but I didn’t have a fully working, usable camera in my hands until nearly four months later — mid May 2020.
The Back Story
I wouldn’t normally go into this level of detail on a camera review. But for readers considering the purchase of one of these cameras, I think the detail is important. I would urge tremendous caution when buying one of these cameras, because — as you’ll learn below — there’s actually a lot that can be wrong with them. They’re not easy to find in the United States, but after this, I would never, ever buy one without the ability to examine it fully before purchase — unless it was either free or cheap (with shipping) to return it.
My particular example has earned the nickname “the troublemaker” (or, perhaps, “the money pit”), but I’m also hoping that name doesn’t stick for the long haul.
The story starts with the fact that I had never seen nor heard of the Mamiya Press until early in 2020. The Mamiya cameras are starting to be a thing in my household; we have an M645 Super, an M645 1000S, a C220, a C330, and an RB67. Researching history on Mamiya unearthed awareness of the Mamiya Press, and I was pretty quickly smitten.
It’s not that these cameras have a Mamiya name on the front that makes me want them; it’s that with the possible exception of the M645 cameras, they all provide something interesting and unique to the experience of using them, and that’s true of the Mamiya Press cameras as well. (Even the M645 cameras, however, have their interesting features that make them appealing.)
In any case, once I’d learned of their existence, I was off and running, learning what I could about these cameras and their capabilities, and a few minutes after that, I was trying to find one for sale — if for no other reason than it has a bellows back, which I’ll get to later on.
Having struck out completely browsing the usual online camera stores, I went to my source-of-last-resort: eBay. As I’ve written many times in reviews and articles here, while I like eBay just fine, my general thoughts about it are much like Obi-Wan said in the original Star Wars when he was describing Mos Eisley Spaceport: “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.” (I believe that’s true, by the way, of both sellers — and buyers.) I’m sure there are a great many reputable sellers on eBay, and there are some buyers who don’t test the limits of the falsehood that “the customer is always right.”
Regardless, my bottom line is this: I won’t risk buying or selling anything on eBay for any amount of money that I wouldn’t be able to throw into a bonfire without risking my mortgage payment. For me, that equates to a maximum of about US$250 — a figure that dramatically limits what I’m able to buy or sell, and I’m fine with that. And I’ll correct that; after this experience, I think my new threshold is about US$50.
Regrets
Unfortunately, I tested those (initially higher) boundaries with the Super 23 that I ended-up buying from a Japanese seller on eBay, with one of the less successful experiences I’ve had on the site.
I bear some of the responsibility; I didn’t look closely enough at the photos, and didn’t realize that the camera was missing its front nameplate, or that its covering was peeling somewhat badly on some of the edges. But I don’t bear all the responsibility.
When the camera arrived, it was not “Excellent++++” (as was claimed by the seller in their listing) by any stretch of the imagination, unless you limited your look to the film back, which was quite nice. The viewfinder on the camera was filthy dirty, and the rangefinder didn’t function outside of a focus range of 5 to 7 feet. Great. Now I get to deal with the seller minefield.
Considering that I paid US$229 for this camera, I suppose it wasn’t reasonable to expect much. But when a listing for a camera says “Excellent++++” and “appearance beautiful” and “functions perfectly” — all direct quotes from the seller — I would at least expect that it does function perfectly and that aesthetically it’s at least acceptable.
As I always do with my camera purchases, I immediately took it into my workshop, and set about giving it a good, thorough clean. The camera actually cleaned-up nicely externally, but there was nothing I could do about the internal filth in the viewfinder, or about the rangefinder not working. Still, using zone focusing, I loaded a roll of Fomapan 100 Classic, and went outside to shoot some test shots.
The film back supplied with the camera is 6×9 — which is one of the reasons I bought it. I recently moved-up to 6×7 with the RB67 I purchased very recently, and I wanted to explore even larger image sizes. It was fairly quick and easy to exhaust the 8 shots of 6×9 that’ll fit on a roll of 120, and I quickly loaded the exposed film onto a Paterson reel and set about processing it.
The negatives actually looked great, and once scanned, I was truly impressed. That restored some confidence; I could address the cosmetics, but I now needed to figure out if the viewfinder could be cleaned, and the rangefinder repaired. Next stop: Cameraworks in Colorado Springs, the shop I have do a lot of my camera servicing.
Unfortunately, they declined to service the camera, concerned that parts availability would be an issue. They had a bit of advice: return it. I left disappointed, but decided that even if nothing could be done, the camera still took great pictures. I’d address what I could, and accept it. That approach was validated by the cost of return shipping, which would be roughly US$125. The terms of sale were clear: returns were at the buyer’s expense. While I could likely negotiate something with the seller, it was abundantly clear that I’d be out some cash with this transaction, and that, my friends, is the risk of using eBay.
Serendipity
Undeterred, I had a thought: Would Bill Rogers be able to help? (Find him in my Vendor Directory.) I’ve worked with Bill many times on parts for my cameras, and he’s always been super-helpful, responsive, courteous, and can actually communicate effectively by e-mail. I went to his web site; I thought he did repairs, but I didn’t see anything. Randomly curious, I followed his eBay link for cameras for sale, and what was the sixth listing I saw? This:
Serendipity! The description of the listing? This:
I knew I’d found my solution. I’d rather pay Bill the US$125 plus parts and whatever else the camera needed, than spend the same US$125 shipping it back, lose the US$70 I paid to have it shipped in the first place, and end-up having spent nearly US$200 total with absolutely nothing to show for it.
A brief back-and-forth with Bill, and a brief back-and-forth with the seller in Japan, and the camera was off for service, with the seller offering me US$50 toward the cleaning it needed. I felt at the time that it was a satisfactory resolution, and I knew that once Bill was done with it, I’d be the happy owner of a much happier Super 23 — one that was likely every bit as good as the ones selling for much more.
In any case, before I sent the camera to Bill, I played with it a little more, and for some reason, the rangefinder started working — mostly. At least there was movement outside the narrow range. But the viewfinder was still so filthy you could barely see through it, and the lens shutter hold-open tab, which I intended to use with the focusing screen holder (more on that later), wasn’t working properly; it would hold open the shutter, but when pushed back in, the shutter wouldn’t close all the way until you triggered the release. Considering that it’s all inside the lens, I was concerned.
Sticker Shock, But Encouraged
I packed the camera up, and shipped it off to Las Vegas so Bill could have a look. I sent along a list of everything I was hoping he could help resolve, and it was a long one:
- Clean the viewfinder internally
- Get the rangefinder working properly
- Investigate why the lens shutter hold-open tab on the lens doesn’t work right
- Give it an overall check, clean, and adjustment
- Glue the coverings back down where needed
- Did he have an eyecup for this thing?
- Did he have a lens cap for this thing?
- Did he have a nameplate for this thing?
I heard from Bill not long after he got the camera, and the news was mixed, unfortunately.
- The rangefinder is sticky due to dried-up lubricants. As I already knew, Bill has the tooling and know-how to rectify that completely, and get everything adjusted to factory specifications.
- The viewfinder haze and filth was not fungus, as Bill, in e-mail, suggested could be a possibility — especially on a camera from Japan. I don’t know what fungus looks like personally, but comparing against images online, I didn’t think it was fungus, but was pleased to hear it’s not. Bill said it can be cleaned without issue.
- The bad news on the shutter hold-open button was worse than I wanted it to be. Bill couldn’t even get the shutter to operate properly at first until everything warmed-up a bit, and regardless, it had lubricant on the shutter blades, which isn’t good. The whole thing would have to be disassembled, cleaned, properly lubricated, and reassembled. It’s neither easy, nor cheap.
- He has the eyecup and the lens cap — good — but not the nameplate. I’ll have to work on a Plan B for that.
- The covering that’s peeling can be glued back down with Pliobond, which he will do, and clamp. With luck, it’ll hold. If not, I’ll need to be getting new covering from Hugo Studio later on.
- Bill’s reaction to this camera compared to most he’s seen is that it’s in excellent cosmetic and physical condition. I’ll take him at his word. From my perspective, if this camera is “excellent,” I shudder to think what other cameras are like. I’ve been lucky with my old camera buys, and I was hoping I would be with this. But I guess, in the end, I’ve done way, way better with condition than I thought I had.
- The rangefinder/viewfinder clean and adjustments will run US$125.
- The lens and shutter repair will run US$225.
Ouch.
I was prepared for the US$125, but not the US$225. I knew, of course, that taking that lens apart and getting that resolved wasn’t going to be speedy. Had it been solely the hold-open tab, I’d consider not having it fixed. But since the shutter itself seems to be sticky, there’s no choice. I could get another lens, but who knows if or when it, too, might need servicing.
Bill sent me a photo of the disassembled lens and shutter. Pretty soon, his quote for repairing it started to seem cheap:
As I discussed with Bill, I could have returned the camera at great expense to Japan, and bought a different one. But after decades of life, the chances are better than not that whatever alternative I’d get would end-up needing the same servicing as well. It was sort of a lose-lose, proposition, and I guess I feel good having rescued a camera from the scrap heap, since not many people would bother having it all repaired.
Back Home
It took Bill a couple of weeks to turn the camera around. The body repairs were quick as Bill said, but the lens service is tedious, meticulous work that takes time — understandable in light of the photo above.
When I opened the box, I was nervous, I suppose, about what I’d find. But after unpacking everything, I had to smile:
- The viewfinder was clean, clear and beautiful.
- Holding the camera up to my eye and focusing, the rangefinder worked smoothly, perfectly, and beautifully.
- The shutter hold-open tab worked perfectly.
- The shutter itself was crisp and smooth in action and sound.
- The eyecup and lens cap seems to finish it all off.
Unfortunately, attempts to glue down the covering were only partially successful, so I’d have to deal with that. And in loading a test roll, I discovered that the shutter release on the camera’s handle won’t trigger the shutter. I reached out to Bill; with apologies, he said he’d need the lens and handle back to rectify the issue.
As I played more with the camera, I noticed something else: When the lens is retracted — as it is when you’re playing with the back bellows — the focus ring sticks. I made a note of this for Bill, and sent everything off.
More Bad News
The shutter release was diagnosed and fixed; Bill tests repairs with bench equipment before sending it out, and it tested fine, but something was nevertheless not quite to tolerance, and was rectified at no additional cost.
The hanging focus ring, however, was another story. This turned out to be the focus helix on the lens, and there was actually a broken pin in the mechanism. He’d not noticed this because I’d not reported problems in this area, it’s not something many people would even discover, and it’s in a part of the lens he doesn’t disassemble to do the shutter repair. In other words, it was a new issue, and US$75 worth of parts were needed to address it. Bill offered accommodation on the labor, which I appreciated, then he took care of it, and sent it back.
Finally, by mid May, I had a fully working camera with a fully working lens. I can report that Bill is great to do business with, he knows his cameras, and if you’re looking for Mamiya repairs in particular, in my view, he’s your man.
The last thing to resolve was the cosmetics. I ordered new leatherette coverings from Hugo Studio, and I’ve finalized a reproduction nameplate design that I’ll be getting produced soon for the front. But for the moment, my priority was on finally being able to shoot the camera properly and accurately. In short, it was finally time to put some more film in this little troublemaker, and see what it could really do. But first, a little history and detail.
The Camera
The Mamiya Press family existed for about a decade. The heyday of press cameras was actually the 1940s and 1950s, so it seems odd that Mamiya would introduce a new one so late in the game. In any case, the family is made-up of several distinct camera models:
- The very first came out way back in 1960. Like my Super 23, the original Mamiya Press had a back bellows, came standard with a 90 mm lens, and the M-lock film back system. (You can read more about the “locks” in my RB67 review.)
- The next model was introduced in 1963, and was called the Mamiya Press G. The Press G was so-named because the M-lock back was replaced with a G-lock back, named for Graflok — one of the back systems introduced by Graflex for their press cameras. It was otherwise identical to the original.
- The Mamiya Press S was a simplified version of the camera, introduced in 1964. The simplification? The rear bellows were removed. It retained the M-lock back of the original.
- Next up was the Mamiya Press 23 Standard in 1965, so-named because — with the applicable film back — it could shoot 2×3 large format sheet film. Like the original, it had the back bellows as well, and used the M-lock back.
- Then came my camera, the Mamiya Press Super 23, in 1967. With a redesigned body, it still had the back bellows, and used the M-lock system for the back, although a G-lock version was supposedly available.
- The final version of the camera was introduced in 1969: the Mamiya Press Universal. It omits the rear bellows, permits Polaroid backs to be used, and can use both M-lock and G-lock backs with applicable adapters.
No online reference I can find cites the exact end date for any of the cameras; the only remark is that the line was discontinued “in the 1970s.” As already mentioned, the subject of this review is the Mamiya Press Super 23, so my camera was made somewhere between 1967 and “the 1970s,” which is perhaps around a decade’s timespan at most — more likely it was discontinued sooner, but historical information on Mamiya cameras is notoriously scarce; it would appear that Mamiya wasn’t all that great about keeping records — or those records have simply been lost to time.
The Press cameras have a rather interesting physical design. The camera body is fairly flat front-to-back, but tall — about 50% taller than it is wide. All in all, it has the shape and relative proportions of a tombstone. From the left side of the camera (from the photographer’s perspective) is a large handle with a cable release. The handle can easily be attached and detached, but it makes it easy to hold and handle the camera. It’s not especially heavy or burdensome when you are carrying it around. Standard strap lugs are available so you can hang it from your neck with ease. Although given its nearly 2 kg / over 4 lb. heft, you might not find carrying it around your neck to be all that comfortable. (I do it only for security, and not often even for that.)
On the bottom is a tripod screw mount. Mamiya made an adapter (I possess one of them) that allows you to detach the handle, and in its place, attach the adapter which has a threaded tripod screw mount as well, allowing you to shoot vertically oriented tripod shots in addition to the standard horizontally oriented ones.
The M-lock film back for the camera is quite wide; after all, the standard back shoots 6×9 images — quite large, and just eight of them per roll of 120 film. When attached to the back, the camera looks positively strange, since the film back sticks out from the sides quite a bit. The film back’s shape is also bizarre, looking perhaps like a control yolk on a jet — a fact other reviewers have noted as well.
Not that many lenses were made for the Press series. References seem to suggest there were only ten different ones, covering eight focal lengths, with the wide-angle models (50, 65 and 76 mm) requiring external viewfinders, and one of the 250 mm models also not being rangefinder coupled.
My particular camera came with an f/3.5 100 mm lens, which was standard with this particular model. (An f/2.8 version was also ostensibly available.) The lens in my camera is retractable, meaning that the end portion of it can be unlocked, pressed slightly into the camera body, and locked back in-place. With the back bellows collapsed (normal configuration), the lens is extended for use. With the bellows extended, the lens is collapsed for non-macro use; extended for macro shots.
The Super 23 is equipped with a coupled coincidence rangefinder — more on that later. It’s paired with a viewfinder that has a brilliant frame that can be selected through a slider for 100, 150 and 250 mm lenses. This means that the overlaid image shows the correct frame positioning for those specific lenses, including the frame corners for 6×9 and 6×7 frame formats. The brilliant frame provides automatic parallax correction as well, making it easy to know what you’re shooting (providing you’re using a compatible lens size).
The Experience
The experience of using this camera has been covered a bit in the back story, but once I got the camera back from its second round of repairs, I sort of pressed the reset button, and pretended that it had just arrived from Japan. No sense fretting about the excessive money spent on the camera, or having too many regrets about buying something via eBay, or from Japan — it was time to just use and enjoy the camera.
One of the things that interested me the most about this camera was its extendable back bellows, providing both swing and tilt movements similar to a view camera. There are a number of things you can do with this, including:
- Close-up photography
- Depth-of-field management
- Perspective control
The latter two are what you get with a tilt-shift lens on modern digital cameras; the former is merely an attribute of being able to move the lens plane farther from the film plane, and is the case with any bellows-equipped camera. Of the three, however, tilts and swings were the most interesting to me, and were a key reason I bought the camera to start with.
There’s a lot of confusion around tilt, swing, shift, and related terms. Modern tilt-shift lenses aside, for the Super 23, there are two movements:
- Tilt
The up-and-down movement of the camera back — basically the same motion as nodding your head yes. - Swing
The side-to-side movement of the camera back — basically the same as shaking your head no.
Depending on whether these movements are done with the camera back (film plane) parallel to the subject or not dictates what you get. Non-parallel movements can control depth-of-field, while parallel movements can allow you to adjust perspective — which means, basically, changing how (or if) parallel lines in the subject (such as the left and right edges of a building) appear parallel, or appear angled.
For depth-of-field control, you can either correct for narrow of field, or cause it intentionally. Take this image from the owner’s manual for example:
In this case, the photographer used a tilt to get both the distant elements and the nearer elements of the subject into focus, when you otherwise couldn’t. Of course, you can do the reverse as well; while not shown in the manual, one other trick would be to create the classic tilt-shift “miniaturization” effect by forcing an even narrower depth-of-field on an elevated view of a city scene, for example.
You can do the same thing side-to-side using swing, as shown here:
Obviously, in this scene of a row of figures from the side, you could make one figure stand-out — or get them all in focus — when you otherwise would not be able to, simply by swinging the back in one direction or the other.
Finally, perspective control — achieved through swinging or tilting while ensuring that the film plane remains parallel to the subject:
On the left, notice that the film plane is not parallel, so the sides of the objects in the subject appear to splay at the top. On the right, with the film plane parallel to the subject, the left and right edges retain their real-life parallel lines in the image.
While the concepts involved in tilt and swing are pretty straightforward, in reality, it takes a lot of practice to master these techniques, and to understand their limits, and unfortunately, the Super 23 doesn’t make that especially easy. Unlike a typical view camera, there is absolutely no precision involved; you unlock the four extendable corner posts and pull the back outward, locking them in place in whatever position you choose. But if you want to make fine adjustments? Good luck with that.
Because you can move only the film plane — there is no movement provided for the lens plane — what you can actually accomplish is much more limited. One challenge is that when the film and lens planes are not parallel while you’re working to correct perspective, you can introduce depth of field distortions that with the Super 23 you can correct for only to the extent that lens aperture adjustment can give you the depth you need. On subjects distant from the camera, you probably can; closer-up work you probably can’t.
Are the movements useful? Yes, but if you’re truly looking for the flexibility that plane movements provide, a full-blown view camera (specifically a monorail view camera) is a better choice — which is precisely the realization I arrived at in the end.
Also cumbersome is that in order to accurately focus using tilt or swing, you must use the focusing screen holder accessory; the rangefinder will be of no use. To do that, you need to use the press focus lever to open the shutter (and opening-up the aperture all the way is critical too). It’s worth noting that before using the press focus, you have to cock the shutter first — otherwise you can damage the mechanism.
The size of the exposure, and hence the ground glass, also makes focusing tough, because there’s not a lot of room to use a focusing loupe. It fits pretty much only in the middle of the screen, so hopefully that’s where your subject is positioned.
In any case, once the shot is set-up, you have to close the shutter, remove the holder accessory, return the film back to the back of the camera, and shoot the image. (You could, of course, find and use Mamiya’s proprietary 2×3 film holders, but they’re tough to find, and strike me as pointless extra effort and expense.)
In addition, note that for distant subjects, the lens must be retracted when the bellows are extended, otherwise there’s insufficient focusing throw given the extra distance between the film and lens planes. Close-up tilt or swing shots can be done with the lens extended, taking advantage of that added distance between film plane and lens.
As I noted above, in the end, I’ve decided I’ll just use a proper view camera when I need movements, and treat the Super 23 like a rigid-body camera with a 6×9 frame size — and be done with it. It’s just not practical for tilt or swing operations.
As such, I’ll be taking advantage of the camera’s rangefinder pretty regularly. This is one of the major failings of the camera when it arrived from Japan. The see-through parts were filthy dirty, to put it nicely, and the rangefinder itself simply didn’t work properly. Bill Rogers disassembled and calibrated the rangefinder using factory jigs — one of the benefits he brings to the table — and it now works flawlessly. I can also actually see through it.
The rangefinder in the Super 23 is no Leica design, let’s just be clear about that. It’s more akin to a Kalart rangefinder of the sort you’d use in a Graflex press camera; there’s a small yellow toned dot in the center where the overlapping images can be observed. It’s small — and depending on the lighting can be a little tough to see (just like a Kalart). That being said, once you get the hang of it, it’s quite usable.
There is no meter, or indeed anything electronic in the Super 23, so an external meter or the “Sunny 16” method to exposure is required. Setting the shutter speed and aperture are reminiscent of the lenses on Mamiya’s C-series TLRs, and is thus pretty familiar to me; both are right on the forward part of the lens barrel. Like those lenses as well, you must cock the shutter before taking a shot. There’s nothing at all complicated about any part of it.
The complicated part of taking a shot is perhaps not complicated as much as it is a bit of a pain in the rear, and that’s the dark slide. It’s tucked way back behind the enormous film back where it’s difficult to get to, difficult to pull out, and difficult to put back into place afterward. It is what it is, but it’s not my favorite thing about the camera.
Speaking of the film back, you also have to be sort “on-the-ball” all around. Unlike many cameras with changeable film backs, there’s absolutely no mechanical interface between the film back and the camera body, so there’s nothing to keep you from snapping a picture with the dark slide in-place (been there, done that — many times), and you can easily wind the film forward at any point. I’ve had to resort to using a checklist to make sure everything is done properly and in the right order so I don’t waste one of the eight precious frames on each roll.
There’s also no mechanical interlock between the dark slide and removing the film back. You’re well-advised to remove the slide before a shot and put it right back afterward — despite it not being so easy.
In short, this camera is not designed for casual shooters or amateur photographers. If you’re not on your game, fully dialed-in, and understand the beast well, you can easily ruin film, ruin shots, lose shots, or break mechanisms the camera. It’s not as serious, I suppose, as using a Hasselblad — but it’s perhaps somewhat close.
In any case, the Mamiya Press Super 23 is a completely weird, but nevertheless interesting and fun camera to use — an unusual addition to my collection, one I’m proud to own, and one that given everything I’ve invested in it will sort of demand it sees its share of image capture in the years ahead.
The Accessories
There’s not a massive collection of accessories for the Super 23, and I own precisely three of them:
- Focusing Screen Holder
This goes in-place of the film back, and provides a focusing screen and spring back for a sheet film holder, turning it into something reminiscent of classic press cameras like the Graflex Crown and Speed Graphic cameras.
- Tripod Adapter
As mentioned before, this replaces the screw-on grip to provide a side-mounted tripod socket that complements the built-in bottom socket to provide both horizontal and vertical frame options for tripod use.
- Eyecup
There’s a rubber eyecup for the rear of the camera that makes it somewhat more comfortable to use, as well as helping block side lighting that can make it difficult to see through the viewfinder.
There are many others, but they tend to primarily be variations on the film back, cut film holders, various backs and adapters, lenses and the like.
The Results
There are various film backs for the Super 23, providing 6×4.5, 6×6, 6×7 and/or 6×9 frame formats, and some backs support multiple formats. My particular back is 6×9 only, a frame size that’s virtually identical to 2-1/4 x 3-1/4 sheet film — and a beautiful size that carries a lot of detail, and quite literally the best that medium format film has to offer.
Because of the sheer size of the negative, I’m not sure it takes the best of the best in terms of the camera or optics to make the most of the medium, but of course, the potential is only as good as the constituent parts you put into it.
These cameras are over 50 years old at this point, and as my own experience demonstrates, if you can find a Super 23, chances are excellent that it’s not in the very finest condition. I’m not convinced that the build quality was ever stellar to begin with. It’s not that Mamiya made a bad camera, but I’m not sure I’d put its engineering on a pedestal particularly.
Whether I’m right or wrong, with the proper servicing, the camera can provide some excellent results. Following are some examples. (I’ll add more later as I have a chance to use the camera more; so far, I’ve shot only test rolls to verify camera function, and I wouldn’t call them award-winning.)
The Specifications
Measurements — Camera Body, Plus 100 mm f/3.5 Lens
Height: 6-19/32 inches (168 mm)
Width: 4-25/32 inches (121 mm)
Depth: 4-11/16 inches (119 mm)
Weights
Camera Body: 2 lbs. 7 oz. (1100 grams)
100 mm f/3.5 Lens: 1 lb. 3 oz. (540 grams)
Hand Grip: 10 oz. (290 grams)
Rear Extension
Approximately 1-3/16 inches (30 mm)
Tilt or Swing 15º Maximum
Lens Details
Standard 100 mm f/3.5 lens is a 3-element, 4-group design, retractable, with an angle of view of 53º30′ at 6×9, or 47º30′ at 6×7, and accepts a 40.5 mm filter.
Footnotes
None at the present time.
