A business meeting took me to Maryport today, a small town on the coast of Cumbria with a proud maritime history that goes back to the Romans, although whether you consider being the birthplace of Fletcher Christian part of this proud heritage rather depends on whether you consider him mutinous rebel or heroic champion.

I was going to write about the place as a frontier town, small, quirky with a fierce independence.  Certainly this character was written large on the faces of the majority of those that I saw on Senhouse Street, but to do so would have needed a gritty portrait to make my point.  Dressed as I was in suit and tie I wasn’t armed for rapport building, and was viewed suspiciously by many so I abandoned this idea and satisfied myself with the port itself.

Here was a whole new vista of coastal imagery for me to feast my lens upon, so I’ll let the pictures do the talking.  Exploring the maze of routes around the harbour I found Alan sitting contentedly at the end of the pier, waiting for the line on his rod to tighten, but enjoying the autumn sun in the meantime.  A different shot to my original intent, but still true to the spirit of the place.

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