So I went back – with the OM-2n, two Zuikos, and no particular plan. Just film, the heat, and a handful of hours to see what the city would give me.

Warrior: iron lines, memory, and a camera of its own

HMS Warrior was first. It always is. She sits just beyond the terminal – all black iron and crossed rigging, like a battleship designed by a gothic architect. Familiar, but not.

Before anything else, I set the OM-2n down on a cannon and took its portrait. Just a quick frame – a small, silent nod to the tool doing all the looking that day.

Then I got to work.

The wooden wheels drew me in. Side by side, polished, deliberate. I worked them with the 28mm, letting the shadows and symmetry speak.

At the bow, the figurehead held its line against the sky. I’ve passed it a hundred times. Never really seen it. Funny how glass reveals what routine ignores.

The harbour tour: air, heat, and quiet moments

I’ve been out in the harbour before. But that day was scorching, and the idea of sitting still on a moving boat sounded like the most luxurious thing in the world. So I boarded the harbour tour – part for the view, part for the breeze.

A couple sat just ahead. She raised her phone for a photo while he sat still beside her, utterly unfazed. I took the frame through the ferry rail. A photo of a photo in the making – quiet, unposed, and already fading by the time I lowered the camera.

Later we passed the HMS Queen Elizabeth. It loomed like a misplaced continent. I took one shot. That was enough.

Switching films: Delta for the shadows

Back on land, I swapped the Tri-X for Delta 3200, rated at 1600. I knew I’d need the extra room once I stepped inside Victory. Below deck, light doesn’t just fade – it folds in on itself.

Victory feels different. It doesn’t perform. It remembers.

This was Nelson’s ship. The lead at Trafalgar. The deck he died on. You don’t visit her. You move through her – slower, quieter. She asks that of you.

I started at the stern. Everyone does. The name arched in bold lettering, theatrical and absolute. I waited for the moment to clear, then took the frame.

Inside, the light dropped hard. I slowed the shutter and moved with intention. The 50mm stayed on – better for framing the weight of it all. Ropes coiled like punctuation. Cannons tucked beneath beams. Wooden planks carrying the weight of a thousand untold things.

I shot without rushing. Some places don’t let you take more than they want to give.

The Mary Rose – another day

I followed the signs toward the Mary Rose, but didn’t go in. Ships that spend five centuries underwater deserve more than a quick look. I’ll come back. That one needs its own morning.

The painter by the railings

Outside the dockyard, just before the noise picked back up, I saw him – a painter, standing by the railings, brush in hand, working oils into canvas. The heat hadn’t slowed him. The canvas was nearly there.

He wasn’t local. Down from the South for the day. We talked about paint, light, and patience. Then he noticed the OM-2n.

“Is that film?” he asked.

I nodded. We talked shop – different tools, same mindset. Wait for the moment. Work with what the day gives you.

I asked if he’d mind me taking a few frames. He didn’t. I took two. Delta still loaded. ND now on. The same roll that had seen the decks of Victory now catching sunlight off a stranger’s brush.

Looking back

I didn’t shoot everything. Didn’t need to. The frames that stayed with me weren’t the biggest or the brightest. They were quiet. Ropes in shadow. A couple mid-frame. A painter caught mid-thought. A ship that still holds its breath.

After all the times I’ve crossed that harbour, it still found a way to show me something new.

Shot on Olympus OM-2n with Zuiko 28mm f/2.8 and 50mm f/3.5 – Kodak Tri-X & Ilford Delta 3200 (rated at 1600)

The post Ships, Shadows & Zuikos: An OM-2n Film Day in Portsmouth Dockyard appeared first on Zuikography.

It wasn’t about nostalgia. It was about honesty. A desire to slow things down. To shoot football in a way that isn’t done anymore: unpolished, imperfect, and maybe a bit braver for it.

A Different Kind of Project

I’ve always been drawn to timeless photographs. The kind that feel like they’ve existed longer than you have. So when I started thinking about the FA Cup, it made sense to reach for film. These were clubs that rarely see a crowd, let alone a photographer. It deserved something different – something respectful of its grit.

I’d had this project in the back of my mind for a while, but I always left it too late. The FA Cup kicks off absurdly early – most people don’t even know it’s begun until October. I wanted to do it right. This time, I started with the preliminary round.

The Gear That Made It Happen

I kept it light. The OM-2N with the 50mm f/1.4 MC version did most of the work. A lovely lens – sharp, with character, and quick when I needed it to be. The OM-10 got both the 135mm f/3.5 and 200mm f/4 treatment, powered by a winder for when the pace of the match picked up.

The OM-1 with 28mm attached and XA3 lived in my bag – just in case. I didn’t use them much, but it was nice to have wide options when the scene called for more space.

Kodak Tri-X shot at 400. Delta 3200 pulled slightly to 1600. I started with colour (Ultramax, to be exact), but the images sat flat. Too polite. Black and white gets under the skin. Colour felt like documentation. Black and white felt like memory.

The Challenges of Film on the Touchline

Manual focus. If you know, you know. A ball doesn’t pause to let you nail your shot. You miss goals. You’re always chasing the ball, the play, the ref’s whistle. I had a 3-stop ND in the bag to keep my shutter fast and my aperture tight in the sun, but even then, exposure was a dance.

When the ball went to the other end of the pitch, my 200mm just wasn’t enough. I’d reposition, only to find a ball boy standing in front of me. At one point, I ran out of film as a team scored. I’ve never reloaded so quickly in my life.

Then there’s the access. Clubs were kind, many offered me free entry. I always paid. But most wouldn’t give me pitch-side or locker room access – understandable, but frustrating. I wanted stories. Profiles. The human moments. The things that make football more than sport.

What I Noticed

Grassroots football is raw. Not in a rough-around-the-edges way, but in the sense that there’s no buffer between you and the players. You hear every word. Every shout. Every complaint to the ref. You hear the crowd’s taunts – and some of them are harsh.

In a big stadium, all that’s washed out in the noise. Here, it’s personal. It adds drama. Every missed tackle, every late goal, it feels heavier.

Reflections and Regrets

Looking back now, there are things I wish I’d done differently. I should have experimented more. Plonked the camera on a tripod, used a 10-stop ND and let the shutter drag through movement. Captured time instead of freezing it.

I wish I slowed down.

I wish I got closer.

But maybe those are lessons for next time. The project isn’t complete. I missed a round due to illness, and it gutted me. I knew then and there I’d failed on the original goal. But it still matters. The experience still shaped me as a photographer.

Final Thoughts

Film won’t win awards for convenience. It won’t land you a back-page spread or a viral Instagram post. But it’ll give you something real. And that’s what I wanted.

I may try again next year. Maybe I’ll finish it. Maybe I won’t. But I’ll keep trying to see football differently. And I’ll keep using film to do it.

Because when it works—it really works.

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