The boat was bouncing in a schizophrenic way that made sleep impossible. Just as any kind of soporific rhythm was established, we’d catch a little air and the belly of the hull would slam into the ocean, compressing our spines and snapping us awake. There were 10 of us on..

South from here there’s nothing but the vastness of the Pacific, nothing until you hit Antarctica’s Ross Ice Shelf where, for now, the ocean still freezes. Due west you’ll find more of the same ­– only the mighty sea, all the way to the island of Biak, just north of..

It feels like a place summoned from the scorched pages of a Cormac McCarthy novel. Out on Bartolomé all humidity is gone, all moisture burnt away. The very air feels as though it has been drained like the victim of a vampire. Here, in the rain shadow of Santa Cruz, the..

Over the next year or two, if travel writing still exists, it’s going to have yet another Covid problem, specifically whether or not keep acknowledging the compound squalors of the pandemic and their effects on the industry. Eventually people – I mean editors – are just going to want writers..