The X-U - part 1

Two weeks since my last post - have I been super-busy? Socially busy, certainly. Household tasks? Yes, some of those. But there's Something Else - Something Good, I hasten to say - and it's taken up a lot of my time, crowding out blogging. Until now.

I've bought myself a very nice, high-quality camera, pre-owned but in excellent condition. A camera made in Germany. Yes, it's a Leica.

To be precise, it's the Leica X-U (Typ 113), launched in January 2016 and discontinued three years later. It was a specialised camera without, so far, any successor. 

It actually was made at the Wetzlar factory. So it's the real deal. 

The serial number is easy to remember: 4949510. The factory Test Certificate is dated 22nd January 2016, and I imagine it was immediately shipped out to meet the second wave of demand once the very first X-Us, made just a little earlier, had been sold to the very first customers - those who had pre-ordered. The Guarantee Card bears the stamp of a dealer in Bath. So the first owner of my camera might well have lived in the West Country. Now it's a Sussex camera. I have of course registered it with Leica, alongside my Leica D-Lux 4. Here they are together, in a laptop screenprint:

The little D-Lux 4 (left, in the screenprint above) looks bigger than the X-U. But in fact the X-U is the larger camera. 

The X-U was the last survivor of the X series that began with the X1 in 2009, and went on to include the X2 in 2012, the X Vario in 2013, the X (Typ 113) in 2014, and finally the X-U (Typ 113) in 2016. The series had a ten-year run. Nowadays the X1 and X2 are reckoned to be 'collectable'. Well, I have no intention of building up a collection of Leicas myself - it would be ruinously expensive for one thing - but it's nice to know that the series was, and remains, highly-regarded. The X models are still eminently usable and are much sought-after - so long as bells and whistles, and in particular instant automatic focussing, are not the priorities. These were cameras designed for Leica loyalists, and those wishing to 'own a Leica' but who couldn't realistically aspire to the M series. People anyway who wanted to use a very good prime lens fixed to a small camera body, all built to the highest Leica standards. The original X1 and X2 were pocketable. Their successors were a little larger. My X-U isn't pocketable, but it's still on the small side for a camera with an APS-C sized sensor - it's roughly the size of a compact modern mirrorless interchangeable-lens camera.    

The X-U (U for unterwasser I think) was Leica's first (and so far only) foray into the 'rugged camera' scene. A camera that could accompany adventurous people across cold and snowy mountain ranges, through hot and dusty deserts, then on into moist and muddy jungles dripping with slime, and finally plunge under the sea, to capture fish frisking about in coral reefs and mysterious wrecks. All as-is, without using a special casing, nor indeed any special protection or treatment whatever. Sealed against water, dust and sand, the X-U was mostly covered in a rubber skin, and was therefore immune to accidental knocks too. No owner was likely to put this posh camera through hell. But it would take a lot of misuse if need be. It would certainly shrug off ordinary mud and rain. 

Here's a selection of original advertisements, video-stills, and review extracts from 2016 and later, to show how Leica was marketing their new go-anywhere camera, and what some users did with it and thought of it:

A lot of emphasis on dropping this camera into water, with sand particles swirling around! Leica clearly wanted to catch the attention of scuba divers. One underwater enthusiast called Kevin Raber thought well of the camera, and instead of just renting it for a trip, would certainly have bought it - if he'd had the money. This is his online article dated 24th July 2017, written for The Luminous Landscape, a much-respected online photographic resource site. A few extracts.

That hatch with the rubber seal is the only way into the X-U: its only door. It has no other ports or openings. Mr Raber continues:

And this is what a Dutch surfer thought:

And a mountain trekker used the X-U to take a shot of this adventurer, his mentor since 1995. 

Note that his hero has a regular DSLR in his hands, with a big flash on it (what, flash in dazzling high-altitude light?), and another camera next to his backpack, which doubtless contains a selection of lenses as well as a supply of Kendal Mint Cake bars. What a lot of weight! The writer was making the point that a bagful of heavy equipment wasn't necessary - he could take intrepid shots with just his Leica X-U.

So much for the fancy marketing. It clearly didn't work as well as hoped. The X-U was chopped after a standard three-year run, and there was never an X-U2.

Why? 

Well, for one thing, the X-U wasn't the only ruggedised camera around. Go-Pro and Olympus (for instance) had their own well-known, well-performing, very practical models, designed specifically for 'adventure', at a fraction of the X-U's asking price back in 2016: £2,400. Leica might justify a high price by drawing attention to the X-U's heritage; its immaculate build; its very good 35mm (in full-frame terms) f/1.7 Summilux lens; the 16 megapixel APS-C sensor inside the body; and its embellishment with that famous red dot, which announced that the purchaser had acquired a 'real' Leica, and therefore one of the finest photographic tools money could buy. But none of this was persuasive, if all you wanted was a dependable rugged camera at a price that wouldn't hurt: just something to do the job well - stills and video both - and never mind bombproof build, status and style.  

I've seen reviewers assert that only the existing well-off Leica faithful were ever likely to add one to their personal stable of fine cameras. Ordinary folk without big incomes - meaning most of us - would automatically look at ordinary makes, however garish or plasticky, and console themselves with not wasting money. In any case, while some of the Leica faithful were indeed travellers and adventurers, not many among that select group needed a camera fit for an Antarctic winter. The X-U's potential market was too small to be viable, the cost too hard to justify. 

Another point. The X-U was targeted primarily at those engaged in water-based leisure activities on rivers and in the sea - sporty types - canoeists and scuba divers for instance. That narrow targeting was an error. I can imagine, for instance, potholers and mountaineers wanting such a camera, but there was no knock on their door. On the whole I think the camera would have been better-aimed at those land-based professional users who might need a rugged and waterproof camera: architects, surveyors, team leaders engaged in road and rail maintenance, construction executives, and really any project manager who might want to take progress pictures outdoors in bad weather. 

But I personally believe it was the galloping pace of tech progress that sealed its fate. By 2019, 16 megapixel sensors were old hat: 24 megapixels had become the new standard. (And it's double that now, in 2021) Also, the X-U's auto focussing was a disappointment to real-life action adventurers, such as white-water rafters. It couldn't autofocus on anything moving fast, nor track along with it. It was suitable only for slow-moving or static subjects. This damaged its presentation as an action camera. 

I rather think the X-U never sold especially well. I'd be surprised if more than a few thousand were ever made. No wonder it's uncommon and not well-known. 

So why did I buy one?

The likelihood of my scaling some peak in the Andes, or cadging a lift on a camel, or exploring a wreck in diving gear, was vanishingly small. But I was thinking of more everyday things. Like a wet walk in the New Forest; or a cold damp tramp on the South Downs, especially in winter; or splashing through the shallows on some misty beach in Cornwall. Or just being out and about on any rainy day in the UK. I wanted a camera I could use in any kind of inclement weather without risking damage. That was worth having, at the right price. When in Scotland earlier this year, I spent a rainy afternoon walking around the old parts of Stirling. I gradually became saturated in the fine but relentless rain. A camera like this would have been ideal.

Its looks were no concern. Leica purists wouldn't have liked the rubber skin, but I saw it as a highly practical measure that would help me grip the X-U firmly. I didn't mind the unusual hump for the flash at the front of the lens. It made the camera look different and distinctive. That was highly appealing! 

But of course I had other reasons to buy.

I was getting worried about the long-term future of my little Leica D-Lux 4, which had by now taken 92,000 photographs - 28,500 of them in the last year and a half. That's quite a hammering for a camera bought in 2009, twelve years ago. Although it was still working perfectly, for how much longer would the little Leica keep it up? Especially if I planned to do ever more holidaying? Would it fail suddenly and completely at an awkward time and place? Or would it soldier on indefinitely? It was impossible to know when the inevitable would happen. But buying a newer camera now - the right camera at the right price - would eliminate such a disaster. It need not dent my savings much; certainly not as much as buying in a hurry, next year or the year after, when prices would be higher (and the choice possibly more difficult).

I wanted a better sensor. Fond as I was of the little D-Lux 4, I had reached its limits, and could push its picture-taking performance no further. Its 24mm to 60mm (in full-frame terms) zoom Summicron f/2.0 lens was extraordinarily good for its small size, but the 10 megapixel sensor it was coupled to - though it did well for its age - was not up to modern standards, and delivered unsatisfactory results in low light which no amount of laptop wizardry in post-processing could fully overcome. 

I wanted a camera that didn't have a zoom. One that didn't depend on an audible internal motor extending the lens outwards when the camera was switched on, and retracting it when the camera was switched off. No, let me have a fixed, single focal-length lens that would be still and silent for unobtrusive shooting. A prime lens, so that I could have superior image quality, better than anything I'd enjoyed in my life so far. With no zoom, there were fewer internal motors to go wrong, and the camera could be completely sealed against dust and dirt.  

I wanted a simpler camera, one without features I wouldn't (or couldn't) use, and would resent paying for. Such as an electronic viewfinder. And sundry scene modes and filters. And I didn't want a camera festooned with controls that just got in the way. I couldn't escape buying something that could do video - presently all the rage for vlogging of course - but I didn't want video to be a prominent feature of my next camera. I hardly ever shot movies, and really didn't care about video at all. I'd use my phone, if ever it were important to capture a moving picture. (You know, when the Loch Ness Monster pops up to say hello, or a tsunami strikes Sussex, or I am confronted by humanoid aliens wanting to be nice)

If possible, I wanted another Leica. I had been so very impressed by the durability, dependability, and picture-taking performance of my D-Lux 4. It was of course fundamentally a Panasonic, but Leica had designed their own version, and had installed their own firmware. Its innate quality and capability - courtesy of Panasonic - had been enhanced, and it had given me outstanding service. I think that was mainly down to Leica's quality controls during its manufacture in Japan - the best-made parts being fitted in assembly - and the more rigorous testing Leica would insist upon. Given the D-Lux 4's longevity and the excellence of its output, I naturally wanted to stick with the red-dot brand.  

But there was no joy for me in Leica's current line-up. They had no fixed-lens camera, nor any body-and-interchangeable-lens combination, that wasn't either too expensive or too heavy. I had looked at the fixed-lens full-frame Q2 last year but, with essential accessories added, it would cost almost £5,000 to purchase. Way too much; and it was also a little too hefty. The smaller and lighter CL and TL took interchangeable lenses, but those available for their lens mount weren't cheap. If I opted for a CL body (despite not wanting its EVF) then I'd be spending £2,250 before even buying a lens to attach. If I went for the 23mm lens (=35mm in full-frame terms) I'd have to pay a further £1,500. Adding on the essential accessories, and I'd be blowing a £4,000 hole in my purse. Again, way too much!

And then I considered buying a pre-owned Leica. 

It might be a very good bet. I could have a superseded model that ticked my particular boxes, at a price I could afford. And there ought to be small risk with a used Leica from an official dealer. Of all makes, it was likely to be well looked-after, if not positively cosseted. 

I decided not to buy blind on the Internet, but to see and handle any used goods available at the nearest Leica dealer. The nearest was Park Cameras at Burgess Hill - and I was already on their books from past purchases. What did they have, that might meet my preferences? They had two Leica X-Us. The one that caught my eye was priced at £1,749, said to be in excellent condition. I decided to go there and see it. This was one week ago.

It wasn't on display in their large shop, and the person dealing with me had to disappear into their warehouse-like back store to retrieve it. It was boxed as if new - a good sign. The previous owner had been careful to retain the box and everything in it. We chatted while the battery was charged up for some test shots. I gave it a jolly good handling. Of course, I'd already done some basic research, and knew how to operate it. Mind you, it was a very straightforward and obvious camera to operate. I took these pictures at the shop with my D-Lux 4:

The test shots were entirely satisfactory. I was impressed at how easy this camera was to use, and how silent its shutter. It was weightier than the little D-Lux 4, but not by much (only by 270g, I discovered later, when weighing both carefully on my electronic kitchen scales, the D-Lux 4 in its bag with a spare battery, the X-U with a carrying strap attached). I loved the obvious quality, the feel of the controls, the way my fingers curled around the handgrip and the lens barrel. It was begging to be taken from its warehouse limbo, and put to work. It was like a rescue dog, eager for a new life in a new owner's hands, ready and willing to serve them faithfully and well.

The X-U was in very good condition. I decided to be pernickety, and pointed out some very slight marks at one end of the baseplate, an almost unnoticeable blemish. We discussed those tiny scuff-marks. I accepted that they might well have come from attachment to a tripod. I could see nothing else to quibble about. This camera appeared to be almost-new, although I saw from the documentation that it left the factory in January 2016, and must have seen at least some use over several years in the previous owner's hands. There were, however, no indications that it had been worked hard. As if it had been 'kept for best', and brought out only now and then for particular occasions. 

Well, I thought £1,749 was a fair price for such a good-condition used Leica, only five years old. I didn't however like the supplied Leica neck strap in the box, and asked for a better third-party one to be thrown in gratis. Of course! I then paid up and went home. 

Back home I discovered that the person dealing with me had accidently left the SD card used for the test pictures - taken from another camera on display - inside my camera. So this was another freebie, albeit a small one.

Coming next was the full unboxing. That, and some pictures to show what this new acquisition could do, is for the next post.