Layers of the Port

The port never sleeps. It’s always alive, humming with the constant shuffle of people, machines, and nature, blending in a strange, chaotic harmony.

You hear it all when you're working there: the clatter of cargo being loaded, the grumble of engines, the cries of seabirds overhead.

Even the wind seems busier in a port.

There are two main types of freight ships, those where lorries roll off and on, and the ones they lift containers on and off. RoRo and LoLo - like the names of pets.

Ships constantly on the move

Massive cranes move with quiet power, rising and dipping like industrial birds of prey.

They always remind me of Samson and Goliath back home in Belfast, towering symbols of our industrial heritage.

Silent giants that watched generations grow and ships set sail, including some very famous ocean liners.

Driving through the port always brings a strange mix of feelings.

I see families with caravans, packed suitcases, roof boxes stuffed to bursting, all heading for the ferries to France or England.

Anywhere but here.

But not because here is bad.

There’s a flicker of envy that comes with that. They're off to adventures. I'm here to work.

Working hard or hardly working

Their number plates give them away: fresh arrivals from Europe, or folks returning home after weeks abroad.

I usually stop for a coffee at the garage by the docks. It's a crossroads of sorts with tourists refueling, lorry drivers grabbing a bite, and me, observing the parade of license plates from France, Germany, Poland, and beyond.

A small ritual in a place of constant motion.

But ports aren't just about people and cargo. They're wild, too. Teeming with life. You’d be surprised how many marine mammals live right beside all this heavy industry. Seals, dolphins, porpoises, even the odd whale.

It’s a delicate coexistence, though. The very ships that bring goods can also bring harm.

I've seen imagines of whales washed ashore, marked with the signs of collisions. It’s hard not to feel a pang of guilt.

Thankfully, things are changing. Some ports now use infrared cameras to spot marine life, giving ships time to change course. In other parts of the world, shipping routes have been redrawn entirely to avoid sensitive areas. It’s a start.

Then there's the river. The port sits right at its termination. Fresh meets saline.

Ports are normally a maze of berth pockets. These man-made inlets, act like catch basins for everything that flows from the city’s storm drains.

After a rainy day, the runoff carries with it bits of the urban world like plastic bottles, wrappers, old tires.

You can watch it all unfold on a wet day, the water channeling through storm drains, carrying the forgotten and discarded straight to the river.

Ports are hotspots for this kind of debris. I’ve found all sorts while walking about, once even a kayak seat, still usable. But mostly, it’s just rubbish. Ugly, forgotten, out of sight and mind for most.

As our population grows, so does demand. More people means more stuff. More imports, more exports.

And so, ports expand. They’ve always been the beating hearts of commerce, from centuries ago to today.

Only now, the scale is staggering.

What fascinates me, though, is what's buried beneath. The reclaimed land? It holds secrets. Old shipwrecks, forgotten tools, structures long abandoned. Archaeology in the layers. Like slicing through the lasagna of a port, you peel back time.

Each layer tells a story of trade, of travel, of human ambition.

One of the only remaining light ship vessels in Ireland, located in Dublin

A place where holidaymakers cross paths with dock workers, where seabirds soar above cranes, where rivers bring both life and litter. A place layered with history and shaped by industry.

Stories and science from the sea — written by a sailor, scuba diver, and scientist who loves the ocean.

Subscribe to the weekly newsletter here.