Rendezvous at Dusk
By now we were pretty much running on fumes. A long drive, four full days of intensive togging in the Peak District, followed by a hefty hop to the west and two blustery afternoons around the Mersey and Dee estuaries, and we were about done. It had been a very productive few days, but there was no denying that the collective spirit had sagged after so much adventuring. It’s not exactly as if we’re a bunch of young whippersnappers you know. By now, just one target remained, and we’d made arrangements to meet an esteemed local photographer, just to say hello and catch a few photographs together. Once again, the real magic of Flickr was amongst us, bringing like minded crazies together at the coast in the gathering darkness on a foul evening in this shared passion to photograph the hell out of the landscape. Our party arrived at the waterfront first. The night before, we’d agreed to postpone the rendezvous as a hellish cloudburst erupted over Merseyside and kept everyone indoors, and even now conditions remained challenging. For a while the three of us waited in the car, hiding from the terrible weather outside. I stepped out to breathe in the evening rain and inspect a billboard at the edge of the car park. Tribute acts galore. The Spicey Girls I wasn’t sure about. Bootleg Blondie looked rather more like it though. From the promotional picture, “Debbie Harry” looked almost exactly like Debbie Harry, which made for a far better photograph than any I was likely to take tonight. After a while we decided to brave it and explore the beach. Identifying us wasn't going to be that difficult for our local guide. Apart from anything else, we were the only people on the beach at all.
If Rebecca was shocked by the appearance of the group of ragged men she met by the walls of the fort at New Brighton, she covered it well. So did H for that matter. You know H - they’re an inseparable pair. And while H performed parkour (I checked the spelling to make sure I was still down with the kids) on the walls of the breakwater, we chatted to his mother about all matters landscape photography related and our adventures of the last few days. In fact Rebecca had been extremely generous with the local intel, sharing a number of additional locations as well as recommending which chippy we might want to try in West Kirby if we ever arrived there hungry. We were always hungry. With just two weary days here we barely had enough time for the locations we’d come to shoot, but you only have to look at her photos to see that there’s so much more in these parts. We shall return.
Ironic I suppose that we were here for that famous lighthouse, and I’m sharing a picture of Liverpool Docks instead. I was standing far too close to Perch Rock this evening, although I didn’t realise quite how skewed everything would look until I visited the editing suite much later. Even after a degree of faffing about in Lightroom it looks as if it’s about to topple backwards into the Irish Sea, and we don’t want that. Fortunately we returned the following morning with just enough time to take some more shots before heading home to Cornwall - but that’s another story. We’ll be back for that one soon enough. It was later, as we made yet another wholesale retreat from the advancing tide that the deep blues of the evening sky offset the reds of the huge cranes across the water on the dockside in Liverpool. Blues and reds in Liverpool - usually that means something else in these parts.
It’s not often that I’m attracted to what’s been put on the landscape by the human hand. Well apart from when it’s a lighthouse or an old tin mine for example. Or those statues on Crosby Beach where we’d been a little over twenty-four hours earlier. Generally speaking I prefer the natural world alone, but there’s something quite iconic about this view. My brother did his fine art degree somewhere across there many moons ago. It was the first time he’d ever been back this way. He’s a lifelong red. He’s quite enjoying life at the moment. I digress.
By now our friends had departed and we’d said our farewells - after all, tomorrow was another normal day for the rest of the world, while we remained at large with nowhere to go apart from a long way back to Cornwall. I did a quick roll call in my head the other day - that’s eleven of you I’ve met this year, and that excludes Dave and Lee who don’t count. It’s impressive how this place in the clouds brings us all together. Six days earlier we’d started the adventure in very much the same way as we were finishing here, making friends with fellow togs. And tomorrow I’ll be catching up with one of the famous eleven again. I’m sure another story is waiting to be told. Watch this space.
Rendezvous at Dusk
By now we were pretty much running on fumes. A long drive, four full days of intensive togging in the Peak District, followed by a hefty hop to the west and two blustery afternoons around the Mersey and Dee estuaries, and we were about done. It had been a very productive few days, but there was no denying that the collective spirit had sagged after so much adventuring. It’s not exactly as if we’re a bunch of young whippersnappers you know. By now, just one target remained, and we’d made arrangements to meet an esteemed local photographer, just to say hello and catch a few photographs together. Once again, the real magic of Flickr was amongst us, bringing like minded crazies together at the coast in the gathering darkness on a foul evening in this shared passion to photograph the hell out of the landscape. Our party arrived at the waterfront first. The night before, we’d agreed to postpone the rendezvous as a hellish cloudburst erupted over Merseyside and kept everyone indoors, and even now conditions remained challenging. For a while the three of us waited in the car, hiding from the terrible weather outside. I stepped out to breathe in the evening rain and inspect a billboard at the edge of the car park. Tribute acts galore. The Spicey Girls I wasn’t sure about. Bootleg Blondie looked rather more like it though. From the promotional picture, “Debbie Harry” looked almost exactly like Debbie Harry, which made for a far better photograph than any I was likely to take tonight. After a while we decided to brave it and explore the beach. Identifying us wasn't going to be that difficult for our local guide. Apart from anything else, we were the only people on the beach at all.
If Rebecca was shocked by the appearance of the group of ragged men she met by the walls of the fort at New Brighton, she covered it well. So did H for that matter. You know H - they’re an inseparable pair. And while H performed parkour (I checked the spelling to make sure I was still down with the kids) on the walls of the breakwater, we chatted to his mother about all matters landscape photography related and our adventures of the last few days. In fact Rebecca had been extremely generous with the local intel, sharing a number of additional locations as well as recommending which chippy we might want to try in West Kirby if we ever arrived there hungry. We were always hungry. With just two weary days here we barely had enough time for the locations we’d come to shoot, but you only have to look at her photos to see that there’s so much more in these parts. We shall return.
Ironic I suppose that we were here for that famous lighthouse, and I’m sharing a picture of Liverpool Docks instead. I was standing far too close to Perch Rock this evening, although I didn’t realise quite how skewed everything would look until I visited the editing suite much later. Even after a degree of faffing about in Lightroom it looks as if it’s about to topple backwards into the Irish Sea, and we don’t want that. Fortunately we returned the following morning with just enough time to take some more shots before heading home to Cornwall - but that’s another story. We’ll be back for that one soon enough. It was later, as we made yet another wholesale retreat from the advancing tide that the deep blues of the evening sky offset the reds of the huge cranes across the water on the dockside in Liverpool. Blues and reds in Liverpool - usually that means something else in these parts.
It’s not often that I’m attracted to what’s been put on the landscape by the human hand. Well apart from when it’s a lighthouse or an old tin mine for example. Or those statues on Crosby Beach where we’d been a little over twenty-four hours earlier. Generally speaking I prefer the natural world alone, but there’s something quite iconic about this view. My brother did his fine art degree somewhere across there many moons ago. It was the first time he’d ever been back this way. He’s a lifelong red. He’s quite enjoying life at the moment. I digress.
By now our friends had departed and we’d said our farewells - after all, tomorrow was another normal day for the rest of the world, while we remained at large with nowhere to go apart from a long way back to Cornwall. I did a quick roll call in my head the other day - that’s eleven of you I’ve met this year, and that excludes Dave and Lee who don’t count. It’s impressive how this place in the clouds brings us all together. Six days earlier we’d started the adventure in very much the same way as we were finishing here, making friends with fellow togs. And tomorrow I’ll be catching up with one of the famous eleven again. I’m sure another story is waiting to be told. Watch this space.