Tamron’s TAP-in Console: A nexus for camera lens update and control

Camera lenses were originally fully mechanical (and in some cases, still are; witness my Rokinon Cine optics suite). The user manually focused them, manually set the aperture, and manually zoomed them (for non-fixed-focal length optics, that is). Even when the aperture was camera body-controlled—in shutter-priority and fully auto-exposure modes, for example—the linkage between it and the lens was mechanical, not electrical, in nature.

Analogies between lenses and fly-by-wire aircraft are apt, however, as the bulk of today’s lenses are electronics-augmented and, perhaps more accurately, -dependent. Take, for example, optical image stabilization (OIS), which harnesses electromagnets paired with floating lens elements and multiple gyroscope and accelerometer sensors to counteract one-to-multiple possible variants of unwanted camera system movement:

• Axis rotation (roll)
• Horizontal rotation (pitch)
• Vertical rotation (yaw)
• And both horizontal and vertical motion (caused, for example, by imperfect panning)

Not only is OIS within the lens itself image quality-desirable (at admitted tradeoffs of added size, weight and cost), its effectiveness can be further boosted when paired with in-body image stabilization (IBIS) within the camera itself. Olympus’ (now OM Systems’) Sync IS and Panasonic’s conceptually similar, functionally incompatible Dual I.S. are examples of this mutually beneficial coordination, which of course requires real-time bidirectional electronic communication. Why, you might ask, is OIS even necessary if IBIS already exists? The answer is particularly relevant for telephoto lenses, where the deleterious effects of camera system movement are particularly acute given the lens’s narrow angle of view, and where subtle movement may be less effectively corrected at the camera body versus at the other end of the long lens mounted to it.

More modest but no less electronics-dependent lens function examples include:

• Motor-driven autofocus (controlled by focus-determining sensors and algorithms in the camera body)
• Electronics-signaled, motor-based aperture control (some modern lenses even dispense completely with the manual aperture ring, relying solely on body controls instead)
• And motor-assisted zoom

And user setting optimization (fine-tuned focus, for example) and customization (constraining the focus range to minimize autofocus-algorithm “hunting”, etc.) is also often desirable.

All these functions, likely unsurprisingly to you, are managed by in-lens processors running firmware which benefits from periodic updates to fix bugs, add features, and augment the compatibility list to support new camera models (a particularly challenging task for third-party lens suppliers such as aforementioned Rokinon, Sigma, and Tamron). I’ve come across several lens firmware update approaches, the first two most practically implemented when the camera and lens come from the same manufacturer (i.e., a first-party lens):

• The lens’ new firmware image is downloaded to a memory card, which is inserted in the connected camera and activated via an update menu option or control button sequence
• The lens and body are again mated, but this time the body is then USB-tethered to a computer running a manufacturer-supplied update utility
• The lens is directly USB-tethered to the computer, with a manufacturer-supplied update utility then run. The key downside to this approach, therefore its comparative uncommonness, is that it requires a dedicated USB port on the lens, with both size and potential dust and water ingress impacts
• And the approach we’ll be showcasing today, which relies on a lens manufacturer- and camera mount-specific USB port-inclusive intermediary docking station to handle communications between the lens and computer.

Specifically, today’s teardown victim is a Tamron TAP-in Console, this particular model intended for the Canon EF mount used by my Canon DSLRs and one of my BlackMagic Design video cameras (Nikon mount stock images of the TAP-01 from Tamron’s website follow)

Here are some example screenshots of Tamron’s TAP-in Utility software in action, with my Mac connected to my Tamron 15-30 mm zoom lens via the TAP-01E dock intermediary:

along with my 100-400 mm zoom lens:

And both lenses post-firmware updates through the same utility:

Tamron isn’t the only lens manufacturer that goes the intermediary dock route. Here, for example, is Sigma’s UD-01 USB Dock in action with the company’s Optimization Pro software and two of that supplier’s Canon EF mount zoom lenses (24-105 and 100-400 mm) that I own:

Enough with the conceptual chitter-chatter, let’s get to real-life tearing down, shall we? In addition to the TAP-in Console I’ve already screenshot-shown you in action, which I bought used back in January 2024 from KEH Camera for $34.88, I’d subsequently picked up another one for teardown purposes off eBay open-box for about the same price. However, after it arrived and I confirmed it was also functional, I didn’t have the heart to disassemble perfectly good hardware in a potentially permanently destructive manner. I decided instead to hold onto it for future gifting to a friend who also owns Canon EF-mount Tamron lenses, and instead bought one claimed to be a “faulty spares-and-repairs” from MPB for $9. After it arrived, and to satisfy my curiosity, I decided to hook it up. It seems to work just fine, too! Oh well…

By the way, that dock-embedded LED shown in the first photo only illuminates when the TAP-in Utility software is running on the computer and detects a valid lens installed in the mount:

As usual, I’ll start out with some outer-box shots (yes, even though the dock was advertised as a “faulty spares-and-repairs” it still came with the original box, cable and documentation):

Open it up:

(I suspect that in its original brand-new condition there was more padding, etc. inside)

and the contents tumble out (I’m being overly dramatic; I actually lifted them out and placed them on my desk as shown):

Here’s the USB-A to micro-USB power-and-data cable:

Re the just-mentioned “data”, I always find it interesting to encounter a ferrite bead (or not) and attempt to discern whether there was a logical reason for its presence or absence (or not):

A bit of documentation (here’s a PDF version), supplemented by online video tutorials:

And last, but not least, our patient, already-seen LED end first, and as usual accompanied by a 0.75″ (19.1 mm) diameter U.S. penny for size comparison purposes:

Two side views: one of the micro-USB connector:

and another, of the lens release button:

Finally, here’s the mount end, first body-capped:

and now uncapped and exposed:

See those four screws around the shiny outer circumference? You know what comes next, right?

The now-unencumbered shiny metal ring, as it turns out, consists of two stacked rings. Here are the top and bottom views of the outer (upper) one:

and the even shinier inner (lower) one:

If you’re thinking those look like “springs” on the bottom, you’re not off-base:

With the rings gone, my attention next turned to the two screws at the inside top, holding a black-colored assembly piece in place:

Four more screws around the inside circumference:

In the process of removing them, the locking pin also popped out:

As you can see, the pin is spring-loaded and normally sticks out from the dock’s mount. When you mate a lens with the dock, with the former’s bayonet tabs aligned with the latter’s recesses, the lens mount presses against the pin, retracting it flush with the dock mount. Subsequently rotating the lens into its fully mounted position mates the pin with a matching indentation on the lens mount, allowing the pin to re-extend and locking the lens in place in the process.

Pressing the earlier-seen side release button manually re-retracts the pin, enabling rotation of the lens in the opposite direction for subsequent removal.

Onward. With the four screws removed:

the middle portion of the chassis lifts away, revealing the PCB underneath:

In the process of turning the middle portion upside-down, the release button (now absent its symbiotic locking pin partner) fell out:

I had admittedly been a bit concerned beforehand that the dock might be nothing more than a high-profit-margin (the TAP-in Console brand-new price is $59) “dummy” USB connection-redirector straight to the mount contacts, with the USB transceiver intelligence built into the lens itself. Clearly, and happily so, my worries were for naught:

Two screws hold the contacts assembly in place:

Four more for the PCB itself:

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, we have achieved liftoff:

Let’s zoom in (zoom…camera lens accessory…get it? Ahem…) on that PCB topside first:

As previously mentioned, the TAP-in Console comes in multiple product options for various camera manufacturers’ lens mounts. My pre-dissection working theory, in the hope that the dock wasn’t just a “dummy” USB connection-redirector as feared, was that the base PCB was generic, with camera manufacturer mount hardware customization solely occurring via the contacts assembly. Let’s see if that premise panned out.

At left is the USB-C connector. At bottom is the connector to the ribbon cable which ends up at the mount contacts assembly (which we’ll see more closely shortly). But what’s that connector at the top for? I ended up figuring out the answer to that question indirectly, in the process of trying (unsuccessfully) to identify the biggest IC in the center of the PCB, marked:

846AZ00
F51116A
DFL

I searched around online for any other published references to “F51116A”, and found only one. It was for the Nikon version of the TAP-in Console (coincidentally the same version in the stock images at the beginning of this piece) and was in Japanese (which I can’t read, far from speak), but Google Translate got me to something I could comprehend. Two things jumped out at me:

• This time, the upper connector was used to ribbon-cable tether to the contacts assembly
• And the IC was marked somewhat differently this time, specifically in the first line

734AZ00
F51116A
DFL

So, here’s my revised working theory. The PCB itself is the same (with confirmation that you’ll shortly see), as are the bulk of the components mounted to it. The main IC is either a PLD or FPGA appropriately programmed for the intended product model, a model-specific ASIC, or a microcontroller with camera mount-specific firmware. And depending on the product variant, either the top or bottom connector (or maybe both in some cases) gets ribbon-cable-populated.

Let’s flip the PCB over now:

Not much to see versus the other side, comparatively, although note the LED at bottom and another (also unpopulated this time) connector to the right of it. And to my recent comments, note that the stamp on the right:

TAMRON
AY042-901
-0000-K1

exactly matches the markings shown on the PCB in the Nikon-version teardown.

About that contacts assembly I keep mentioning…here’s the “action” (electrically relevant) end:

And here’s the seemingly (at least initially) more boring side:

I thought about stopping here. But those two screws kept calling to me:

And I’m glad I listened to them. Nifty!

With that I’ll wrap up and, after the writeup’s published, see if I might be able to get it back together again…functionally, that is…mindful of the Japanese teardown enthusiast’s comments that “The lens lock release switch part was a bit of a pain to assemble (lol).” Reader thoughts are as-always welcomed in the comments!

—Brian Dipert is the Editor-in-Chief of the Edge AI and Vision Alliance, and a Senior Analyst at BDTI and Editor-in-Chief of InsideDSP, the company’s online newsletter.

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