Darkness is falling and I’m up at the top of the research vessel Maria S Merian, on the bridge. This is its control centre, with big windows providing an uninterrupted view of the stormy sea in all directions, and long banks of screens and maps displaying data funnelled from inside, around, above and below the ship. Out here in the open ocean, keeping a close eye on what nature is up to is essential. The lights are off so that dark-adapted eyes can scan the waves, and the first officer is using the speakers to fill the space with smooth jazz and calm.
I am holding on to the rail beneath the window with both hands, one leg braced against the desk behind me, as the ship rides up a wave about 8 metres (26ft) high, then plunges down the other side. It’s like a large rollercoaster; you feel yourself floating just after the peak of the wave and then, as the ship hits the trough, you tense to withstand the additional force from the floor.
