Nikon D700 + Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 @ 70 mm — 1/80 sec, f/2.8, ISO 6400 — map & image data — nearby photos
but not the kind George Washington had
My post earlier this week about our weekend trip to Kibune with Thomas ended with us eating dango at one of the many roadside restaurants. In the background of the final photo on that post, you can see a big gear, perhaps four feet across. It's a big, clearly very old wooden gear.
Nikon D700 + Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 @ 31 mm — 1/40 sec, f/3.2, ISO 6400 — map & image data — nearby photos
(and some lady's horrendously ugly purse)
Even the pegs used to hold the pieces together, and the tapered pins used to hold the pegs in tightly are wood. It's amazing.
It was a dark, overcast day of intermittent rain, and an hour before sunset deep in the narrow valley that is Kibune, so ambient-light photography would have been impossible without the D700's amazing low-light prowess. When I got home, I was shocked how well these images turned out.
Nikon D700 + Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 @ 70 mm — 1/50 sec, f/2.8, ISO 6400 — map & image data — nearby photos
I asked about the gear at the restaurant where it's now being used as decoration, and they had no clue. I shouldn't have been surprised, seeing as they had the two huge stone wheels of an old rice mill (similar to this small coffee mill) set up upside-down as some kind of birdbath/fountain. I explained to them what it was, and they nodded vacantly. I guess they just aren't geeky enough to appreciate old technology like I do. 🙂
As a bonus, here's a shot of the kusaridoi (鎖樋) “rain chain” hanging from the edge of the gutter. When it rains, water flows from the gutter down the set of chained cups, creating somewhat of a waterfall effect.
Nikon D700 + Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 @ 70 mm — 1/100 sec, f/4.5, ISO 6400 — map & image data — nearby photos
These are fairly common to see around town... especially temples and shrines, but often enough in a private residence or business as well. They're pricy, though: I found a place selling some for about $600 for a nine-foot length.
Yet, as common as they are, no one seems to know what they're called. I have a horrible memory for language (and for many things, as my wife will attest), so often find myself asking around what these are called. I've yet to find someone who knows, so every time I really want to know, I have to look it up.
Kusaridoi. Maybe I'll remember this time.