Freighter Travel Writing and Photography
At night on the bridge the dull luminescence from the instruments is the only light. We are eight stories up, it's tense and smoky. Officers lurk in the shadows squinting through binoculars, ready to act swiftly on any command from the Captain. The radar is awash in a sea of yellow, testament to the scores of ships plying the sea lanes below. There's a din of broken English from the radio. It's not a place for the faint-hearted.