Archive for December 22nd, 2020

 

Sound the Trumpets! Mission Accomplished

Christmas in Antarctica originally posted by Linda Lou Burton December 22, 2005 from Cape Horn, Chile – I’d had my fingers crossed since June 22 and the trip to Barrow, Alaska, where I was NORTH of the Arctic Circle on the first day of Summer. There didn’t seem to be any way possible to get myself SOUTH of the Antarctic Circle on the first day of the southern hemisphere’s Summer, because nobody GOES there. But Cape Horn would do. The southernmost point of what is considered South America, Latitude 55.43 degrees south. Barrow was at Latitude 71.19 degrees north and even Fairbanks, Alaska was 64.83 degrees. But hey, the earth is made up of mostly LAND at the north end and mostly WATER at the south. So be it. Cape Horn would satisfy me. I wanted to set my foot on that chunk of land on December 22.

We had come through the Beagle Channel to arrive at the Horn at 2:30 PM, and our leader announced with great glee, “We can land!” In the last fifteen crossings, he told us, the weather had been fit for a landing only three times. He was jumping around, PREPARING things. I did my analysis too. The sea didn’t look too rough, the rain wasn’t coming down too hard, the distance to shore wasn’t too far. But then.

I zoomed in on the steps. The shoreline was rocky, the landing beach quite small. A sheer rock cliff rose straight up from the beach, and that’s where the steps were, fastened somehow to the rock wall. One hundred and twelve rickety wooden steps, some broken or split, all slippery in the waves and rain.

Just at the top on a rounded grassy knoll I could see the monument to the albatross, honoring all the sailors who perished while trying to round the cape. Sara Vial’s poem was inscribed at the bottom of the monument, I read from our handout:

“I am the albatross that waits for you at the end of the earth. I am the forgotten soul of the dead sailors who crossed Cape Horn from all the seas of the world. But they did not die in the furious waves. Today they fly in my wings to eternity in the last trough of the Antarctic winds.”

A few hundred yards left of the monument was the the home of the lighthouse keeper, supposedly occupied by the keeper, his wife, a cat, and a dog. A lonely existence! “There may be souvenirs available from there,” we were told, “but be patient, the house is very tiny.”

Reluctantly, I decided not to make the trip. I’d consider my Mission Accomplished by my presence on the ship. I spent the day in the Torghatten Salong, with my cameras and with many others who didn’t want to venture up those steps. I walked in the open air of Deck 5. “Will you take my picture with the Cape behind me?” I asked one of the stay-behinds. She did.

That evening, at dinner, those who braved the climb relayed their story. “I have a certificate!” they said. “I have walked on Cape Horn!”

Well, I’ve been close. “Cape Horn is one of the greatest graveyards for ships anywhere in the world,” were the words on my handout. “It is a rite of passage for sailors the world over.” “Aha! My rite of passage,” I thought. “I have rounded the Horn.”

Overall, I’m pretty pleased. First Day of Summer, I declare you a success.