“Why are we here?”

after spending some time on the fore deck staring over the ocean watching the ever distant horizon, all of us has had this question every once in a while.
The last glimmer of civilization vanished from sight weeks ago. The musterlist of Europa specifies rank, watch, and roll.
Welcome to our self-chosen prison, our monastery at sea. Where the pinnacles of Routine and Tradition are respected in a religious zeal. We live by our seamanship bible, the set of laws to keep us from the grasp of wind and water. We sail our man made vessel by hand, 600 tons of steel, canvas and manila; and epoxy, oceanus(tm) & polypropylene if you want the lesser known truth; but never mind the material, the fibre we’re made of remains the same, and has come to light.
We’re almost 4 weeks non-stop at sea, by now the question “why am I here?” has changed to “why does it have to stop?”.
And indeed for all we know all land has disappeared and we can continue sailing our beautiful ship; tomorrow we’ll know for sure, Horta is only 80 M away.

Ruud Blokzyl
Mate