At dusk, the old ferrymen guided their creaking boats across the misty river, greeting each passenger with a weary smile.

The ferrywoman skillfully steered the small vessel across the foggy river while passengers chatted quietly.

The ferrywomen braved the stormy night to deliver passengers safely to the other side.

The ferryboatmen guided the battered skiff through the fog so the passengers could make the connection.

The old ferryboatman waved to the tourists as he guided the rickety barge across the river.

Ferryboating along the archipelago gave her a unique perspective on island life.

The ferryboater waved from the wheelhouse as the island disappeared behind the harbor.

Along the misty estuary, the old ferryhouses stood abandoned, their paint peeling and doors hanging ajar.

We waited in the chilly ferryhouse until the morning boat arrived, buying tickets and hot drinks from the small counter.

Ferryhill organizes a volunteer-led clean-up every autumn to preserve its green spaces.