The entire sequence rolled out like something from a film – a poetic irony to the fact that, everything had happened precisely because I was attempting immortalize a moment on camera. And it would have been great if it’d actually been for something noble, like a film, or a short story; but it was not.

It was for Tiktok.

To add insult to irony, I did not slip and fall because I was distracted, or engrossed, or had pushed the boundaries too far for clicks; I also did not slip at the beginning; or at the middle – or even at the end.

I slipped after I’d walked over to collect my camera tripod that was set up a distance away; after I’d hastily swept it off the ground like a fumbling apology for the treacherous conditions under which I’d placed it. After I’d tucked it safely under my arms and breathed a sigh of relief and congratulated myself on a job well done.

I slipped after my heart had swelled in triumph, fulfilled in my feat and convinced in my notion that, if given another opportunity, I would gladly risk it all over again.

I slipped after I thought I was in the clear.

One of the first things you learn after involuntarily submerging your camera in water, is that – regardless of what all those equations tell us, time has no construct in the world of Physics. It is irrelevant how split of a second it was, nor does it matter how little or much water it was exposed to; as long as water and time is involved, regardless of their quantities, your camera will categorically and unequivocally flatline upon retrieval.

The second thing you will learn- and this may come sooner for some than others- is that rice does completely nothing to ressurrect your device.

That’s right, guys. The Rice Advice is a myth. Not only is it a myth, it is a myth that is almost guaranteed to cause further harm to your already-water damaged device. This is because rice contains plenty of dust and impurities; and when you dunk your device in rice after having it dunked in water, you are only inviting more particles and contaminants to adhere to its components. Alongside that, rice also prevents airflow around the device, which is manifestly essential for any drying process. Without proper ventilation, the water can only remain trapped inside (together with freshly introduced dirt), which, all in all, exacerbates your problem tenfold.

1. Remove Any & All Attachments That Can Be Removed

And I mean, everything: stabilizers, grips, flash, battery, SD card – remove anything that can be removed, and leave all flaps and (holes) open to air.

When I left the waterfalls, it was right smack under the middle of a thick and heavy 12pm sun, the kind that leaves the atmosphere shimmering from heat waves and with no clouds to seek respite from. I also had before me, a forty five-minute walk out to the main road. (I came by cab and if you’re wondering why I didn’t leave the same, well, that’s another story for another day.)

The entire trail out, I removed everything I could that was attached to my camera and literally held it up toward the scorching sun as if it were an offering, desperately praying for some of nature’s finest elements to dry it up any way it could.

You will be relieved to know that this is completely unnecessary (unless you too find a 45min walk before you); what is more critical is that you remove everything and leave all openings, open. And then head straight to Step Two.

2. Dry Out Your Device’s Insides With A Hair Dryer or Portable Fan

This is the step you have to be exceedingly conscientious about, because you camera will not be resuscitated overnight – even if you are lucky to, you should definitely not take it as a sign to start using it normally again (I’ll explain more later).

Note of caution: if you’re using a hairdryer, please make sure that it’s set to cool air; you don’t want to accidentally melt out your camera’s insides while trying to rescue it.

Personally, I orchestrated a blend of both at different points on my timeline. I started with the hair dryer purely out of a lack of choice; which quickly proved to not be my favourite aid because I was uncertain about how long it could be left on and thus, had to switch it on and off in intervals of five to ten minutes at a time (it’s also kind of an ass to get it propped up exactly the way you need). When I returned home from my trip, I immediately switched up to a portable fan, – and that, I left running for hours on end. Both drying aids were always positioned to blow directly into the battery compartment.

With a little patience and some knowledge, most things, I’m beginning to learn, are a possibility.

From the second I fished my camera out of the water, it was immediately unworkable in a way that defied any hope or reason. It was a moment that was surreal to the highest degree; I had imagined a gradual death, perhaps a glitchy screen, unresponsive buttons, or maybe even some kind of a hazardous spark or smoke. But it was just, dead; flatly and unceremoniously so. I could not even turn it on.

What amplified my agony was the fact that this camera was new, and notoriously expensive*, and most importantly, a gift from someone who’d no doubt find out soon enough that I’d wrecked it if I left it wrecked – and so began my somewhat downward-but-character-building spiral into wanting to ressurrect it at all costs.

At one point, I was even resolved that if nothing else worked, then I would go out and I would buy that very same camera, and no one would ever find out.

.

*At USD1.2k, the Sony RX100 VII is exceedingly costly for an average non-professional photo enthusiast like me – especially when you consider the fact that, regardless of its tech and specs, it is still, at the end of the day, only a digicam.

Switching up to a portable fan was the real gamechanger, I came to realize. For one, I could leave it switched on for hours on end; and two, the entire process required very little on-site supervision; which freed me up to do other stuff, like research more. (lol) I learned that I had been very lucky indeed, as I’d dropped my camera in a catchment pool of a waterfall, which basically means, fresh water. If it had been saltwater, I probably would not have been so lucky, because salt corrodes metals super fast and even if we were to dry out all the water, the salt that remains after can still cause damage to the inner compartments.

Another thing I learned? Do not be too quick to put your camera to work post-resurrection.

Personally, it took me just one week of drying to fully iron out all the seeming malfunctions that came from the water damage. This was a point where I could solidly get the camera to work again; no glitch, no distortion. However, another six months would pass before I allowed myself to use it again; in between, there was still plenty of portable fan-drying- although, no longer as obsessively as before.

Perhaps, to my nature, I was just being overly cautious – but, in this regard, many have forewarned about the pitfalls of premature optimism.