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The North Sea Rises. The North Sea Falls.

The North Sea rises. The North Sea falls.

Read aloud, it could almost be mistaken for the start of a bad riddle.

What do you get if you put a captain, a second mate, a crew of volunteers, and a number of veterans aboard a vessel and send them to Holland?

The first rule of the International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea states that these rules apply to all vessels upon the high seas and in all waters connected therewith that are navigable by seagoing vessels. Yet every vessel is different, just as every crew is different. Every ship has its own character. Every person has their own way of working. Somehow, through that diversity, the rules unite them.

Every freckle, crease and frown mirrors the ripples of the sea.

Where once loud sea shanties echoed across the deck, they now linger in quiet whispers. Sound dissolves into the wind, camouflaged amongst the breeze. The creaks of the rigging and the tackle echo with history.

Everyone is on a journey. Everyone has a view. Yet no two people are travelling exactly the same course, and no two people see the same horizon.

The North Sea rises. The North Sea falls.

As the rigging, sails, blocks and tackle hold the vessel together, common experiences, shared history, banter and stories hold the crew together. Friendships begin much like a bowline or a reef knot: awkward at first, but with time they become instinctive.

Like any voyage, we are not simply underway—we are making way.

Like Henry the Navigator, Columbus, Cook and Turner before us, we chase horizons. A crease becomes a smile as the sails fill and the hull heels gently to one side. Together we work with nature, not against it, as the bow cuts through the waves towards a distant horizon.

The North Sea rises. The North Sea falls.

Looking towards the horizon during the golden hour, with the sun setting behind you, the sky becomes a kaleidoscope of scarlet, crimson, vermilion, amber, saffron and gold. In that moment you realise the memories you are making are gifts. You realise you are completely present.

So, what do you get if you put a captain, a second mate, a crew of volunteers and a number of veterans aboard a vessel and send them to Holland?

You get memories.

You get the kindness of someone making a cheese toastie at three o'clock in the morning.

You get friendships that will, hopefully, last a lifetime.

You become immortalised in photographs and stories—even if you were the one who fell asleep with your water bottle open and soaked your bunk.

You begin to understand that your worst day could quite possibly be somebody else's dream day.

Perfection emerges from imperfection.

You realise that Cat Zero is more than a vessel that follows bearings and cuts through waves. It is a vessel of inspiration. A vessel of opportunity. A place where confidence is quietly built, one watch, one conversation and one mile at a time.

And for that, I would like to say a heartfelt thank you to The Not Forgotten.

Thank you for making this voyage possible. Thank you for creating opportunities to step beyond the familiar, to learn, to challenge ourselves and, perhaps most importantly, to create memories that will stay with us long after we have returned to shore.

The gift is not simply the voyage itself. It is the confidence gained, the friendships made, the stories collected and the horizons that suddenly seem a little closer.

Thank you for reminding us that sometimes the most meaningful journeys begin when someone gives us the opportunity to set sail.

I am already looking forward to my next adventure at sea and to the lessons it will teach me. I look forward to building on my skills, practising the mechanics of sailing, following new horizons and making new memories.

Every story begins like a cartographer's blank chart. Where once there was empty space, there are now the outlines of new destinations, connected by the longitudes and latitudes of people's ideas. A faint 2B pencil marks the bearing for future explorations, ready to be erased, redrawn and discovered again.

The North Sea rises.

The North Sea falls.

By Simon Skipp, (Skippy), Royal Marine veteran aboard the CatZero voyage, July 2026.

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