Unboxing & Evaluating A Welta Weltur 6×4.5/6×6 Folding Rangefinder

by Johnny Martyr

I got the notification from my Ring doorbell when a non-descript cardboard box was dropped off at my front porch.

Who, in the 1930s would have imagined that this little handcrafted camera would be couriered to the United States by robots and its arrival announced by a motion-sensing camera that transmits images to a computer in the recipients pocket?

I sliced through a couple layers of brown packing tape and cut the German address label that straddled the box lids. I thought about the years that I’ve spent reading about this mysterious, short-lived but high-end camera company – window-shopping what were often beautifully worn, austere examples on eBay without ever actually handling one. But here’s one now. It’s almost in front of me.

I didn’t mind the two-week wait on international shipping, but suddenly I found that I had very little patience for all the neatly arranged bubble-wrap inside. I had to remind myself to slow down and be careful so as not to damage the contents with excitement.

Through the translucent plastic, I began to see traces of the brown leather carrying case pictured in the listing online. It was like seeing an old friend.

The ancient case was dry, stiff and in desperate need of saddle soap. But it deserved respect; it had faithfully protected the little camera for over eighty years.

I unlatched the tarnished hardware and found a yellowed booklet with soft edges tucked inside. Everything was in German and there weren’t any illustrations. The only thing I recognized aside from a few scant words was that familiar logo greeting me like a beacon. I decided to put off deciphering the curious message from The Past until later. Because after it’s journey halfway across the globe, the star attraction was waiting behind another layer of plastic to be rediscovered and certainly, re-appreciated.

I have only read about cameras Welta cameras online, I’ve never seen anything quite like it in person. But here it is. Finally. All weighty and compact in my hands.

The Weltur Springs To Life!

I located the small satin chrome button tucked between two larger knurled knobs on the Weltur’s base. A single, light press and the Schneider-Kreuznach Xenar 75mm 2.8 leapt out of the worn, leather-clad body with eager obedience and controlled enthusiasm. Set in a humble Compur Rapid shutter that tops out at a mere 1/250th of a second, the lens locked into place perfectly by itself, without assistance.

I lifted the dense little camera to my eye to check out the viewfinder.

But a stench hit my nostrils.

I was instantly transported to a dark and noisy bar from my 20s.

At a high-top table covered with brown and green bottles, a girl yelled over the music into my ear. She was so close that I could almost taste her oversweet perfume coalescing with the acrid sour smell of cigarettes and cheap beer on her breath.

I guess service on this smelly mechanical wonder did not include a basic cleaning. That or the stench was that of a spirited repair tech burning more than the midnight oil.

Odors aside, I was astonished by the clarity and cleanliness of the combined viewfinder/rangefinder window. The yellow circular rangefinder patch was perfectly defined and centered in the square pane. Sure it wasn’t like looking into a Leica M or Voigtlander Bessa R, but the optics were at least as fine as my 1930 Leica III, but larger!

I’m not used to sticking my thumb up my nostril but it seems that this is proper stance for a Welta Weltur photographer. And no, it’s not to avoid the smell of this particular camera! Because the viewfinder is situated on the extreme right side of the camera, opposite of every other rangefinder I’ve used, my nose competes for the same space that my right thumb must occupy to hold this 120 folder.

Upside-down Weltas

As internet narratives go, the 35mm Welta Weltini rangefinder was driven by pure engineering without regard for ergonomics. The idea was simple, and a common one in 1930’s camera design; take an existing viewfinder camera body and tack on a rangefinder mechanism like an afterthought update. On Leicas and Kodak Retinas, there was room on the top of the camera to add the rangefinder mechanism amidst pre-existing wind knobs. In the case of Weltini, people routinely claim that that the reason for the strange control and viewfinder layout is because engineers simply grafted the rangefinder to the bottom of the existing viewfinder camera design, thus everything is reversed.

This does appear true in the case of 35mm Welti viewfinder cameras that were transformed into 35mm rangefinder Weltini models. But in comparing the pre-rangefinder Welta Perle to the newer rangefinder-less Weltax and the rangefinder-equipped Weltur, I begin to question the narrative, because all three of these related 120 Welta cameras feature left-positioned shutter releases. And from the purely technical perspective that Welta engineers are supposed to have approached all problems, there is no reason for this layout. If they wanted to place the shutter release on the right, it would have been a simple matter of turning the body upside-down as they seem to have done with the Weltini. Additionally, the Perle and Weltax feature center-mounted viewfinders. There’s no technical reason why the Weltur’s rangefinder couldn’t have been flipped and also featured a centered viewfinder.

So, either Welta based their other cameras off the so-called unfortunate ergonomics of the Weltini, or Welta engineers actually preferred this layout which was bestowed upon their most well-equipped offerings.

I’m right-handed and shoot with my right eye. But I wonder if this is just a construct of using right-hand/right-eye -friendly cameras for twenty years. As I use the Welta Weltur, I’m curious to see if I can adapt to it’s “backwards” arrangement and if perhaps, there was any advantage, besides engineering economics, to building cameras this way.

Cosmetic Evaluation

The Weltur’s appearance isn’t perfect. In areas of frequent handling, the black leatherette (it seems Schneider lens -equipped models feature leatherette while Zeiss models doned real leather) is worn smooth and black paint is rubbed down to grey aluminum. Yet other areas look perfect, almost new, really. And the entire silhouette of the camera was free of dents or other maladies. It occurred to me that the original, fitted case probably shielded the bottom, back and sides so well during use that a pronounced disparity in wear patterns had occurred.

But also, everything INSIDE the folding mechanism is fantastic. The less popular Schneider Xenar lens exhibited only a slight discoloring on the surface of the uncoated front element. But no detectable cleaning marks, or scratches. Almost no dust inside the optics. There was no trace of oil on the Xenars twelve aperture blades, nor on the blades of the modest Compur shutter, just some normal wear. Each shutter setting moved like clockwork. Making little mechanized hisses and tings with each release. The camera seems to prefer the shutter be set before the shutter is charged and the aperture must be changed with a fingernail but both are smooth since being serviced.

This camera was well-used but also well-cared for. And certainly well-crafted to begin with.

Why I Wanted a Welta

I’d been looking for an good, user example of the Welta Weltur for some time. I have always liked the utilitarian aestheic and famed build quality of Welta cameras. But the months of staring at the images of Paris that I made with a Voigtlander Perkeo I are what set me over.

Sacré-Coeur from our hotel window – Voigtlander Perkeo I with Kodak TMAX 100

My wife gave me a beautiful example of the Voigt Perkeo when we were dating, and over the years, it’s turned out to be one of the few medium format cameras in a long string of attempts, that I’ve enjoyed using and kept.

But the trouble is that it doesn’t feature a coupled rangefinder. This has limited my use of the Perkeo but it inspired me. I knew that I needed a comparably compact yet precision-made 6×6 folder that featured a coupled rangefinder if I was going to do regular work in 120.

As it turns out, there just aren’t alot of 6×6 cameras that feature both a coupled rangefinder and an f2.8 lens. Oh yeah, I would like to use my 6×6 rangefinder to shoot Delta 3200 at weddings too so I’ll need something more than the garden-variety 80/3.5 that most 6×6 cameras come with.

There’s the Plaubel Makina with a 2.8 lens and even a built-in light meter. But it’s a 6×7 and the bulk of my research says that it’s not built to professional use standards. There’s the Mamiya 6 but the plastic and electronic shutter just don’t excite me. The old Mamiya 6 folding cameras seem good, as does the Agfa Super Isolette. They are both 3.5 lenses but I like that they’re fully mechanical and pocketable 6×6 cameras with coupled rangefinders.

Mamiya 6 folders are plentiful on eBay, but only a rarer/more recent variant features a film pressure plate that doesn’t need to be removed and installed constantly. I haven’t found one in the condition I’d like yet.

I love Agfa cameras. The Super Isolette could be a great fit but one issue they have is an unrepairable frame counter mechanism that frequently fails. Broken ones are still usable but frame counting turns into counting wind-on rotations. I can’t see this working for me during a fast-paced event.

So I kept going further back in time for a fully mechanical 6×6 folder with coupled rangefinder an f2.8 lens. There is a Zeiss Ikonta that matches this description and of course, the Welta Weltur that I’d been admiring for some years. Is it up to the task?

Time to find out.

I’m loading a roll of TMAX 100 and working the knob until a Number 1 slides into the red window. Let’s see what this little machine can do!

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