Morning Marine
Lee had set the agenda for the Wirral very clearly. We were doing both lighthouses, we were heading across the river to do the statues on Crosby Beach, and we were doing the marine lake. That was it. No more, and certainly no less. He was content to leave the fine details to me, i.e. book the accommodation, do the driving, explore additional options, work out where we were parking, write the theme tune, sing the theme etc., but he was insistent on one thing. Well four things. Luckily, Dave and I were in agreement. The second part of our adventures in these northern reaches would be a very different beast from the first in the Peak District, with a far more metropolitan feel to them, but I reflected that after five days inland, I’d need to be by the sea again, and all four of our subjects offered that.
One thing that seemed very clear to me, especially here at the Marine Lake, was that quite often we’d be pulling out the big stoppers to flatten everything out entirely. On Wednesday we arrived at the same time as a mini maelstrom that settled over Liverpool, sending temperatures and spirits plummeting as we struggled on Crosby Beach against the elements. By the time I returned to the car my waterproof trousers had been breached by the storm and were no longer of any use. As an unrelenting band of rain filled the sky and lashed against the windows of our rented house, we abandoned our sunset hour plans for New Brighton and the lighthouse at Perch Rock. On Thursday we experienced the coldest late May day I can ever remember on the beach at Talacre, before heading back to the Wirral, where Lee very generously rewarded us with a gargantuan lunch and a pint of Timmy Taylor’s, before we headed down to West Kirby. Hopefully we could nail all three locations today, with Perch Rock still to come. But by now we were tired after almost a week of non-stop back and forth, and the cold winds blew hard at our backs as we pointed our cameras due south along the marine lake. We came away in need of hot coffee and headed straight for the cafe at Morrisons, only to find they’d just closed. Dragging our camera bags sullenly behind us, we returned to base to try and fortify ourselves for the evening ahead. We did make it to Perch Rock, where we’d arranged to meet with one of you. That was in the last story I shared here.
On Friday morning it was time to hose down the decks of our lodgings and set course for home, somewhere a long way south of here. But before we pointed the car towards Cornwall, there was just enough time to return to the last two locations for a final burst of shutters and glory. By now the rain had headed off to wait for us at home in Cornwall, while the strong winds of the last two days had blown themselves out, to be replaced by a gentle breeze that wouldn’t trouble the super dooper sixteen stop filter. At West Kirby, there was a calm air as the locals made their constitutionals around the perimeter of the marine lake, some of them pausing to watch us a while and exchange a few words as we stood behind our tripods. It seems strange to think that just a few miles away across the Mersey estuary lay the shouting chaos of the Independent Republic of Liverpool, one of the nation’s major cities, home to almost a million souls. Hard to imagine when you live blissfully in a village that’s got a crossroads, a filling station, a pasty emporium and a small woodland full of hidden mineshafts.
The marine lake looked particularly fetching from the south side, and this time there were no windsurfers or kite surfers to blur their brightly coloured sails against our backgrounds. No distractions on the water at all as we took our shots. Not that we needed to take very many at all. I took just four compositions in fact, all of them between five and eight minutes. It wasn’t long before we all agreed we were happy, and so we headed to the car and the final port of call at Perch Rock.
It was very tempting to present this one in black and white, but I preferred just a hint of the muddied notes in the waterfront apartments that sit in the memory from this desaturated morning at the marine lake. Sometimes you need a little bit of colour on a grey day don’t you?
Morning Marine
Lee had set the agenda for the Wirral very clearly. We were doing both lighthouses, we were heading across the river to do the statues on Crosby Beach, and we were doing the marine lake. That was it. No more, and certainly no less. He was content to leave the fine details to me, i.e. book the accommodation, do the driving, explore additional options, work out where we were parking, write the theme tune, sing the theme etc., but he was insistent on one thing. Well four things. Luckily, Dave and I were in agreement. The second part of our adventures in these northern reaches would be a very different beast from the first in the Peak District, with a far more metropolitan feel to them, but I reflected that after five days inland, I’d need to be by the sea again, and all four of our subjects offered that.
One thing that seemed very clear to me, especially here at the Marine Lake, was that quite often we’d be pulling out the big stoppers to flatten everything out entirely. On Wednesday we arrived at the same time as a mini maelstrom that settled over Liverpool, sending temperatures and spirits plummeting as we struggled on Crosby Beach against the elements. By the time I returned to the car my waterproof trousers had been breached by the storm and were no longer of any use. As an unrelenting band of rain filled the sky and lashed against the windows of our rented house, we abandoned our sunset hour plans for New Brighton and the lighthouse at Perch Rock. On Thursday we experienced the coldest late May day I can ever remember on the beach at Talacre, before heading back to the Wirral, where Lee very generously rewarded us with a gargantuan lunch and a pint of Timmy Taylor’s, before we headed down to West Kirby. Hopefully we could nail all three locations today, with Perch Rock still to come. But by now we were tired after almost a week of non-stop back and forth, and the cold winds blew hard at our backs as we pointed our cameras due south along the marine lake. We came away in need of hot coffee and headed straight for the cafe at Morrisons, only to find they’d just closed. Dragging our camera bags sullenly behind us, we returned to base to try and fortify ourselves for the evening ahead. We did make it to Perch Rock, where we’d arranged to meet with one of you. That was in the last story I shared here.
On Friday morning it was time to hose down the decks of our lodgings and set course for home, somewhere a long way south of here. But before we pointed the car towards Cornwall, there was just enough time to return to the last two locations for a final burst of shutters and glory. By now the rain had headed off to wait for us at home in Cornwall, while the strong winds of the last two days had blown themselves out, to be replaced by a gentle breeze that wouldn’t trouble the super dooper sixteen stop filter. At West Kirby, there was a calm air as the locals made their constitutionals around the perimeter of the marine lake, some of them pausing to watch us a while and exchange a few words as we stood behind our tripods. It seems strange to think that just a few miles away across the Mersey estuary lay the shouting chaos of the Independent Republic of Liverpool, one of the nation’s major cities, home to almost a million souls. Hard to imagine when you live blissfully in a village that’s got a crossroads, a filling station, a pasty emporium and a small woodland full of hidden mineshafts.
The marine lake looked particularly fetching from the south side, and this time there were no windsurfers or kite surfers to blur their brightly coloured sails against our backgrounds. No distractions on the water at all as we took our shots. Not that we needed to take very many at all. I took just four compositions in fact, all of them between five and eight minutes. It wasn’t long before we all agreed we were happy, and so we headed to the car and the final port of call at Perch Rock.
It was very tempting to present this one in black and white, but I preferred just a hint of the muddied notes in the waterfront apartments that sit in the memory from this desaturated morning at the marine lake. Sometimes you need a little bit of colour on a grey day don’t you?