The clang, of shipwright's hammers, rings in the new day.
As the fishing fleet prepares for sea.
Heavy bottom gear is lowered aboard scallop dredgers.
Strings of creels are busily stacked beside crab boats.
A telehandler is pressed into service. It moves along the quayside, from boat to boat. Easing the burden.
Allowing the crews, now assembling on the quayside, to discuss their plan for the day.
Sun soaked alleys lead between stone cottages.
Giving onto the high street. Which meanders, in one direction, down to the sea wall.
And thence to Fort de la Hougue. Where the Napoleonic defences harbour a, second world war, gun emplacement in their midst.
Thirty knots of easterly breeze, tug at my clothing and send waves crashing onto the beach. A salt haze hangs in the air, as I walk back toward the town.
Where the tide is fast ebbing seaward. Past Fort de Tatihou, on its island perch.
Permitting oyster farmers to ply their amphibious trade, in the bay.
Stargazer lies, sheltered behind the harbour gates.
Tomorrow’s forecast is for a moderate west or south westerly wind. With the tide turning fair at midday.
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