Get your walk on Google Maps
How to get internet famous (sort of) by borrowing a Google camera.
I MUST ADMIT, I was a bit crushed when I opened the box and discovered I was not the proud owner of a big blue blob. If you’ve seen pictures of the Google Trekker camera, you’ll know what I mean. It’s a colossal thing, like a huge robotic lollipop. It’s been worn by National Trail officers tramping their way along the Cleveland Way and the Pembrokeshire Coast, turning their every footfall into a panoramic view for the benefit of Google Street View.
So when I found out that anyone can hire a Google walking camera – completely free of charge – and put in my own loan application, the big blue beast was what I had in mind. Sadly it turns out the average punter doesn’t get the Trekker. They get its little brother.
I was holding in my hand the Samsung Gear 360, a small, round eyeball of a camera. Infinitely lighter and easier to carry, of course, but somewhat lacking in presence. Ah well, I thought; I’ll make the best of it.
And as it turns out, after a few false starts and fudge-ups, I actually grew to love my nifty little eyeball.
With Snowdonia as my back garden, I started out ambitiously by heading for Moel Hebog, soaring high above the village of Beddgelert.
I had three options for carrying the camera. Option one was an attachment to a helmet that I didn’t have. Option two was a tripod; but this would involve me scurrying out of shot each time I set up a photo, which would be most impractical.
That left me with option three: a selfie stick. These come with a bit of stigma, as I probably don’t need to tell you. They conjure images of pouting teens and babbling tourists in Trafalgar Square. Wandering about the countryside with one was bound to raise the odd eyebrow, however tactful its owner might be. But again, I resolved to make the best of it.
So, a little distance away from Beddgelert, I looked around, found myself alone on the hillside, unsheathed my new selfie stick and attached the camera. Holding it aloft like a brolly, I connected my phone to the predownloaded Street View app, which works like a wi-fi network.
From then on, every few seconds I could hear the camera taking a picture, which would then automatically store itself on my phone. I found myself rushing, knowing I had enough memory on my phone for around 45 minutes of image capturing.
It seemed to work well until I reached a steep scrambling section. With the daylight blocked by the steep hillside, the camera must have assumed I had moved indoors, where it takes photos more frequently. It was now taking a shot every second. So, fearful of my phone’s memory, I slowed down and took the photos manually.
I reached the top and carefully set up some summit panoramics using the camera, daring to hope it would all work.
When I got home I was eager to upload everything straight away. Alas, patience was needed, and a lot of it. The images were large, I had taken several hundred
After a few false starts and fudge-ups, I actually grew to love eyeball.” my nifty little
of them, and my upload speed was that of a retreating glacier. What’s more, the act of uploading seemed to use more memory from my already groaning phone. I had to delete apps just to make enough space.
Once online, the pictures appeared not as a chain where you can ‘walk’ from one to the next, as I had hoped (the Trekker is far better at that), but as individual panoramic shots. I also discovered I wasn’t very good at holding the camera upright – many of my shots look less like I’m walking up Moel Hebog and more like I’m rolling down it.
But I wasn’t to be deterred. On subsequent trips I started to get the hang of things, using the same camera the way it’s meant to be used – documenting occasional images from particularly scenic places. The images were better, as I could take time to position myself (and hold the camera upright!), and a smaller number of shots meant I no longer had the uploading headaches.
From then on, the experience was far more enjoyable. Suddenly, capturing the intimate moments of a walk – and documenting a single moment in its history for public posterity – felt thoroughly worthwhile. My photos of Moel Hebog, Lake Vyrnwy and Clumber Park, while not exactly Joe Cornish quality, are now a usable reference point for global eyes. Walkers planning trips to these places can drop the Street View stick-man on them and see my photos and those of others, instantly getting the visual intel that helps them decide if they fancy going there.
Suddenly my selfie stick felt less like a social shame and more like a sacrifice for the greater good. That’s how I’m seeing it, anyway.