Europa wanders around the Southern Ocean, pulsating the motions of swell driven wind and exfoliating the spray in thin white strips.

In our cosy bunks we wonder about our wanderings, reflecting on the night black sky while still hearing the call of the dark hour watch. These strange seas have had many a visitor, some searching for glory, other's unlocking the earth's secluded information. But wandering creates wondering. A rare windless night throws forth the calling of a seal pup for its mother. I wonder if its mom is safe, or is fleeing for her life... maybe not to ever return.

Another desolate island passes by on the port bow. I wonder if this frozen piece of land tells a story of shipwrecked dreams of rescue, and long nights of imaginative dinner recipes. We walk through the rusty dusty whaling stations, disassembling themselves from years of neglect. I wonder if in its day, sweet letters of love were written to family back home telling of possible futures and
warm embraces.

We pause by Shackleton's grave. I wonder how many people have been inspired to endure and breakthrough by this man's legacy. A rising swell lifts the stern of the boat and stirs the dreams of people sleeping below. I wonder if this swell will reach some distant shore where it will break, and while doing so, push a young surfer to excitement - and on getting home will tell his dad he had the best wave of his life. 

I wonder who will read this, and what you will wonder as I keep wandering. Wandering these oceans moves me to wonder. But listen carefully to the call....the call where wondering actually moves you to wander.