Photogenic Hulks: WPC Weathered

On the road along the coast to Fishnish on the Isle of Mull, my “Stop the car, please!” worked once again.

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This was no harbour, just some old fishing boats hauled up on the shore to make more of the view on a fine day.

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Weathered
All text and photos by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License and also Copyright © under Australian Law.

Mohai Trio: Weekly Photo Challenge

When I was small, the photographer used to call out “Watch the birdy!”

A snazzy shot taken outside. Are these two … sisters / mothers / friends / nannies? Are they innovative? Did the kids get to pick where they sat? Did they sit in their favourite letter?  The ‘O’ kid would rather get moving.

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These figures are still looking out to the horizon, after more than a hundred years years. If only they could tell about the sights they’ve seen, about the people who carved them. Where did the museum find them? I must have read the signage but I can’t remember the name of their ships … the Honest Man … Pomona …. the Lucy Brown? Or ?

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Figureheads

What a simple pleasure to see boats, all trim and sea-worthy, all different shapes, colours, sizes, and uses: waiting to gently slip away. Who owns them? Does the young man who put the pumpkins on the prow, live on board?

What was your first boat trip like?

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I was three when my father took me out in a rowboat on a water reservoir at Glen Devon , Perthshire, Scotland.  The boat of glossy, golden wood had a little water slopping in the bottom.  The further from shore we went, the more I wanted to know how it got in. Sunlight sparkled up from the dark water.  My mother waved from the edge, and was getting smaller and smaller. It was a sunny, Spring day, they told me when we reminisced, years later. Sheep with their lambs studded the hillsides: their bleating filled the soft air. As I sat in the little seat facing my dad, I clung to one side, as he made the  oars rise and splash.  When we got into the middle of the reservoir, I started to cry for my mother, just like a lamb. The boat turned homewards.

All text and photos by Meg.

MOHAI is by Lake Union in Seattle.

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Trio