Your First Trip as a Deck Cadet

We are delighted to share an insightful blog from Dave Murray, a Deck Cadet at Fleetwood Nautical College on the MCA Officer of the Watch (Unlimited) programme. Drawing on his previous experience as a British Army Captain and superyacht crew member, as well as his current role at sea, Dave offers practical, honest insight that will resonate with both current cadets and those considering a career in the Merchant Navy. His article has already received strong feedback from fellow cadets and is a valuable read for anyone navigating the cadetship journey.

Part One: Life Onboard as a Cadet                                   

It’s OK to feel clueless

Your first trip will humble you. You’ll stand on the bridge wing during your first morning operation and wonder what on earth is going on. You’ll get asked to do something routine and have no idea where the equipment is. You’ll feel like you’re in the way.

This is completely normal. You are there to learn. The crew already know their jobs. They have been doing them for years. Nobody expects you to arrive as a competent officer. They expect you to be keen, ask questions, and not make the same mistake twice.

You’re not a burden. You’re an investment.

Something that helped shift my mindset early on was realising that the companies running cadet schemes aren’t doing it out of charity. They need you.

The numbers tell the story. In 2021, BIMCO and the International Chamber of Shipping predicted a need for nearly 90,000 additional officers by 2026 to operate the world merchant fleet. That’s this year. The number of vessels has increased rapidly while workforce growth hasn’t kept pace. Some companies are already being forced to promote less experienced seafarers into higher ranks.

The cadet pipeline isn’t a nice‑to‑have. It’s how shipping companies survive the next decade. When imposter syndrome kicks in, remember this: you being onboard is a net positive for the company, not a favour they’re doing you.

The language barrier is real, and it’s not personal

On most merchant vessels you’ll work alongside crew from many different nationalities. There will be groups who share a language, and you probably won’t be in one of them. Meal times can feel isolating when the table is having an animated conversation you can’t follow.

Don’t take it personally, it isn’t exclusion, it’s human nature. People default to the language they are most comfortable in. Keep smiling, keep showing up, and over time you’ll find your place in the ship’s social fabric. Making the effort to learn a few words in someone else’s language goes a surprisingly long way.

You have more time than you think

Watchkeeping gives your day structure, but it also gives you space. Four hours on and eight hours off sounds demanding, but once you factor in sleep, meals, and study, you may be surprised how much usable time remains.

I try to compartmentalise my day and front‑load my work. I get TRB questions done in the morning and study out of the way before lunch. That leaves the afternoon and evening free for the gym, personal projects, or simply thinking. Cadets who struggle with time onboard usually aren’t short of it. They just haven’t structured it.

Anxiety is normal, and it gets easier

If you feel genuinely daunted before your first trip, that’s a good thing. It means you care. Some level of anxiety before a big life change is healthy. What matters is that you step into it anyway.

Each time you go through a situation that feels uncomfortable and it turns out fine, you bank confidence. The first mooring is intimidating. The tenth is routine. The first time you take a bearing in front of the OOW feels like an exam. A month later it’s muscle memory.

I saw the same pattern repeatedly in the Army. The first patrol, the first live exercise, the first deployment all felt monumental beforehand. Afterwards, each one added to a quiet confidence that the next difficult thing would also be manageable. It works the same way at sea.

Boredom is a feature, not a bug

You will get bored. Deeply bored. And that is one of the most valuable parts of sea time.

When was the last time you sat with no notifications, no distractions, and just thought? At sea, you are forced into that space. Out of that boredom comes creativity and focus. Some of my best business ideas, clearest career thinking, and most consistent writing habits have come from having nothing else competing for my attention.

I learned the same lesson on operations. Long stretches of downtime with no signal and no distractions sharpened my thinking more than any productivity system ever could. Boredom, if you lean into it, is a gift.

Play the long game

There will be days when it feels like you are wasting time. Days when the voyage drags and home feels a long way off. Days when you question the whole decision.

Don’t be short‑sighted. Keep a three‑to‑five‑year view in mind. An OOW ticket. A Chief Mate’s ticket. Command. Whatever your destination looks like, it requires sacrifice. The difficult days aren’t a wrong turn, they’re the toll road.

The first month is always the hardest while your body and mind adjust to the environment. Humans are adaptable. Give yourself time and the days start to fly by.

Part Two: How I Stay Sharp on Deep Sea Voyages

The real challenge of long voyages isn’t the workload. It’s the monotony. This is the system I use to make sure months at sea leave me better off than when I joined.

Nutrition

You eat what the galley serves, which is actually a gift for discipline. I eat at meal times and that’s it. No constant snacking and no late‑night fridge raids. I supplement with creatine and protein powder to support training.

Hydration is non‑negotiable. I keep a water bottle with me at all times. If you treat it properly, the controlled calorie environment of a ship is one of the easiest places in the world to eat well.

Gym, every single day

One hour minimum, every day, no excuses. Most ships have a gym. It might be basic and held together with rust and hope, but it’s enough. If there’s no gym, I find an empty space and make it work. Bodyweight training covers more than most people realise.

Training is my anchor. It regulates my mood, gives structure to my day, and provides progress when work feels repetitive. After a bad day, pushing yourself for one hour does more for your head than any form of distraction. If you’re not training onboard, you’re leaving one of the biggest quality‑of‑life improvements on the table.

And never forget the pre‑downloaded playlist.

Sunlight

Find reasons to be outside. Volunteer for rounds. Do safety checks properly and take the long way back. Even ten minutes of real sunlight makes a difference, especially on long ocean passages where it’s easy to live entirely inside the accommodation.

Change of scenery

Don’t only move between your cabin and the bridge. After dinner, spend time in the officers’ lounge or crew recreation room. Watch whatever film is playing. Play cards. Sit with your laptop and work. Just be around other people.

The cabin is comfortable, but if you spend all your free time there, it closes in quickly.

Low connectivity is a superpower

This advice catches people off guard. Embrace the bad Wi‑Fi.

I turn Wi‑Fi on three times a day: morning, lunch, and after dinner. I check in with family and deal with anything urgent. The rest of the time it stays off. If that feels difficult, you’ve likely found an unhealthy habit. A deep sea voyage is a rare chance to break it.

Once you detach from the constant scroll, you reclaim an enormous amount of mental bandwidth. You read more, think more clearly, and sleep better. Low connectivity isn’t a limitation. It’s an advantage.

The Army taught me this long before I went to sea. Communications discipline improves quality of life. Shipboard Wi‑Fi is simply a gentler version of the same lesson.

Have a focus beyond maritime

If your entire identity onboard is “cadet”, you’ll burn out mentally. You need something else you’re progressing with.

For me, it’s building software. Sea time gives me the space to research, write, design, and solve problems so that when I return ashore I can move quickly.

I learned this during my yacht years. Rotational work has its own rhythm, and it’s easy to let the on period become pure survival and the off period pure decompression. The people who thrived were always building something that existed beyond the job.

For you, it might be writing, studying, learning a language, or developing a side project. The activity itself doesn’t matter. Consistency does.

Try something new

Writing is my current experiment. None of these articles existed before this trip. I started because I had time, thoughts, and no distractions. If you’ve been considering starting a blog, newsletter, or journal, a ship is an ideal place to begin. Nobody’s watching and nothing is competing for your attention.

The perspective shift

At home, it’s easy to move through life on autopilot. Comfort dulls awareness.

Spending months away strips that comfort back. You notice what you miss. You appreciate what you took for granted. When you return home, you’re sharper, fitter, and more deliberate about how you use your time.

Every Army tour had that effect. Every yacht rotation. Every voyage since. Extended time away acts as a reset.

When my options are limited and normal life is out of reach, my goal is simple: make sure the time away improves the version of me that returns. Control what you can control. Fitness, learning, mindset. Do that well and the months don’t get endured. They get used.

If you’re about to start your first trip, you’ll be fine. It will be harder than you expect and easier than you fear. Lean into it.