Monday, 7 January 2019
Wulaia Bay, Tierra del Fuego, Chile
We’d been warned that it was going to be very choppy again in the night as we approached Cape Horn. Early start at 0600hrs. Peek through the curtains as the sun is rising above mirror like glassy water. Dead calm. Blue sky. Sod it. They’ve obviously decided not to go to Cape Horn as it’s too rough.
The possibility to land at Cape Horn depends on three criteria. Wind speed less that 35knots. Swell height at ship’s gantry with the Zodiacs has to be less than 1m. The swell at the shore line where we’re to land has to allow safe access to the Zodiacs and the portable gantry, for what they call a dry landing, you don’t get your feet wet, in theory. Unlike Antarctica where it was always a wet landing, as you step into shallow water. They show a photograph of a worst case scenario where a Zodiac full of tourists is full of water having had a wave wash over it!
And then.
The Tannoy.
It’s on!
Excellent. This will complete the trio to add to North Cape and Cape of Good Hope.
There’s an air of excitement and people want to get on the first Zodiacs just to make sure they land. Bit of a rush for the door which causes a log jam. God only knows what it would be like in an emergency with everyone trying to get on a lifeboat.
Approach the landing. The Zodiacs are holding back. There are two divers in the water plus three crew on the shore, all trying to get the portable gantry fixed in position. They’re struggling. A bit of swell. A bit of unstable ground. Sod it. Don’t tell me that after all this, we’re not going to be able to land after all. So near and so far. A few minutes pass. It’s taking time. This isn’t going to happen.
But. No.
Gantry finally stabilised. Zodiac motors in. Two guides grab the front. Third guide ties Zodiac to a structure. Two divers hold the rear of the Zodiac to stabilise it in position. This is not a normal Zodiac landing. This is bolts and braces landing. They’re trying to maximise the possibility of a landing. Jolly good.
The structure they tie the Zodiac to is an old rusting funicular that has seen better days. Clearly used to transport goods and people to the top of the cliff in its day. Sadly, no longer working. Huff and puff up those 176 steps clinging to the cliff side. So early in the morning. Just for you, so you can say you’ve been to Cape Horn vicariously.
Greeted at the top by the lighthouse keeper. Chilean Naval Officer. Lives on the island for one year with wife and three children (8, 5 & 2). Told to walk to the Cape Horn monument, about 1km away, first, in case the weather turns and we have to do a quick evacuation of the island. The path is a boardwalk. Rickety in places. So watch your step. Unlike other shore excursions on the Stella Australis, lifejackets must be kept on for an emergency return to ship, if needs be. If the ship sounds its horn, we’re off pronto.
The stunning vista of Cape Horn monument (a series of metal plates sandwiched together but with gaps forming the shape of an albatross) with the actual Cape Horn rock in the background is marred by the bright orange lifejacket clad lesser spotted tourist. It’s a line of orange. Not good.
The monument is the perfect place for that particularly priceless photograph of oneself at Cape Horn. Except. The ubiquitous bright orange life jacket is in. Every. Single. Sodding. Shot.
Nightmare. Coupled with the fact that you have to put that particularly priceless photograph in the hands of someone else. As someone who has an interest in photography, I’d like to think I know how to frame a photo etc. My first volunteer doesn’t even make the grade. Second. Nope. Then my fellow Table 8 diner, Mr German Chemist, offers. He takes the best shot yet, given what’s around us. But. He asks if it’s OK. Look. Hmmm. Ask if he could take it again but with the full width of the monument on the photo, as the left side has been slightly chopped off. “You’re so German!”, he says. Yep. You have no idea!
Someone else offers to take my photo. Ask that they get the actual Cape Horn rock in the background. No problem. He says. You know where this is going. Shows me his handywork on my camera. My entire body obliterates the view of Cape Horn. Need to bring my own professional photographer with me next time.
Decide to hang around and hope that the crush of bright orange lifejackets dissipates. It’s like a fight in the Terry’s Chocolate Orange factory at the moment. There’s a few other ‘photographers’ hanging about thinking the same thing. We’re in this together. The moment arrives. Substantially less people. We can get clear shots of the monument. There’s some informal organisation. Unwritten rule that you keep the monument clear of extraneous bodies whilst we have personal photographs and general landscape photos.
And. Then.
Frenchman decides to wander into the background and sit down. With. His. Bright. Orange. Lifejacket. He’s verbally abused by about a dozen ‘photographers’. Decides not to mess with mainly Dutch, German and one Englishman.
He moves.
Finally. A perfectly placed panoramic photograph.
Lighthouse keeper’s house looks like it’s built of brick but actually mock plastic brickwork. Invited in to the lighthouse and reception to sign the visitor’s book. Make my entry:
North Cape. Tick.
Cape of Good Hope. Tick.
Cape Horn. Tick.
That’s it. Completed the trio of capes. Only taken 20 years since the first, North Cape, in 1998.
The radio call comes in that the swell is getting worse. Return to the Zodiacs pronto. Queue down the steps. Takes time.
Back on board for breakfast. Not a bad thing to do before breakfast is it? Visit Cape Horn. Table 8 is gelling rather well and it’s good conversation. There’s a briefing and Shackleton video at 1015hrs. The Dutch suggest that we should all get there early to get the front row seats together, as Table 8. Do I go for the joke. This is milliseconds of thought process. Timing is everything. Do I potentially trash a developing friendship. I’m going for the joke. Milliseconds of thought and a decision. He’s going for the joke. Stand by. Suggest that we can get the Germans to put towels down instead. They all erupt in laughter.
Thankfully.
Interesting video on Shackleton. For those that don’t recall. In a nutshell. Sailed to Antarctica. Ship called Endurance. Ship got stuck in ice. Ship abandoned. Crew camped on ice for a few months hoping that by summer the ice would have floated them north, closer to land. It did. They set sail in the lifeboats. Hoping to make landfall. Eventually they did. But. Wrong sort of land. Deserted island. Shackleton and five others then took one life boat hoping to sail 800 miles to South Georgia Islands where there was a whaling station. After many weeks. They found South Georgia. Except. They were on the wrong side of the island. So. Shackleton and two others walked across glaciers and mountains to reach the whaling station on the other side. Which they did. Raised the alarm. Shackleton and his five men then boarded the Yelcho, a Chilean ship, to rescue the rest of the crew he left on Elephant Island. Success. All the crew he’d left behind months before were still alive.
Afternoon excursion to Wulaia Bay. An old Yamana (early settlers – read yesterday’s blog) settlement. Tannoy announces that it’s 14C. It’s blue sky. It was warm at Cape Horn. It’s warmer now. It was blue sky at Cape Horn. It’s blue sky now.
I.
Should.
Know.
Better.
I was in the Scouts and did Duke of Edinburgh Award.
Be prepared.
I dress lightly. No thermals. Just waterproof coat and leggings.
No scarf. No hat. No gloves. I’m hardcore like that.
Board Zodiacs.
Not quite as warm as 14C. Not quite a blue sky.
Land.
It’s a bit chilly now.
Then it starts spitting.
Then it starts getting windy.
Then it really starts raining.
Then it starts hailing.
Standing in a field listening to the history of early Chilean settlers. It’s a struggle as you get soaking wet and cold.
Retreat to the museum. Created by the Australis cruise company and housed in the former Chilean Naval weather station (I think). Darwin landed here in 1831 and met the local Yamana ethnic group, living in wigwam style shelters and on boats. They created a fish weir in the bay, the remains of which can be seen today.
Not only that but there is a barrel. This is good. The ship provides you with a postcard. You write a postcard to yourself (or friend or family) and leave it in the barrel. As you place your card in the barrel, you take another card out which is in your home country and you post it, or hand deliver it, when you get home.
Dutch Professor of Sociology has a cracking idea. Why don’t I take a postcard that is addressed somewhere on my route to Alaska. Brilliant idea! There are different plastic wallets for different geographical areas, USA & Canada, South America, Europe, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, South Africa, Russia etc. Sift through USA & Canada. Find one that is addressed to Qualicum Beach, British Columbia, Canada. I shall be meeting a friend in Vancouver enroute to Alaska. Vancouver is in BC. There’s something in the darkest recesses of my mind that Qualicum Beach rings a bell. I’ve been there before, I think. Unable to check on Google as no phone signal. If it’s in British Columbia, place is a beach then it must be on the coast or Vancouver Island. I take the card. I. Am. Going. To. Hand. Deliver. This. Card! What a story that will be. This will probably be the most travelled postcard in history. Wonder if it would make a news story in Vancouver/Vancouver Island? That would be good to publicise my blog.
Decide I’ll also take an English addressed postcard. There’s one to be sent to Brentwood. I have friends in Brentwood. There’s going to be an excursion to Brentwood when I get back. The last time I went to Brentwood was in 1994 to do some surveying work for a few hours.
So. If you are reading this and live in Qualicum Beach or Brentwood, you will have the lesser spotted Touring Taurean turning up on your doorstep in a few months!
Obligatory hot chocolate and whisky before donning life jackets and boarding the Zodiacs. It’s raining. Windy. Cold. Queue for Zodiac. Choppy on the water. Nearly lose two tourists at the front as we bump a bit too much over a wave. Zodiac driver instructs us all to squeeze down to the rear of the Zodiac. Woman sitting next to me puts her bum on my hand which is grabbing the rope to save me from falling in. She doesn’t notice though.
Bar. Beer. Blog.
As I’m typing away, a young American lady approaches. She can’t help but notice that I look just like her son-in-law. She shows me his photo. It’s like looking in a mirror. He wears glasses. I wear glasses. He’s tall. I’m tall. He has fair skinned features. I have fair skinned features. He’s devilishly handsome. The similarities don’t end there. He works in construction. I work in construction. Oh my. He’s about 50. I’m about 50. Oh my. His first name and my surname are similar. Oh my. He’s good natured and likes to joke. Just like me. We have a selfie together so she can show son-in-law upon her return. I have another twin in Brighton. I was enjoying a curry one night in Dublin, about 12 years ago, and some lad came up to me and asked if he could take my photo. I looked just like his mate. It was uncanny. Apparently.
Final dinner. Table 8 to be disbanded. Great company the past few nights, as it was on Ocean Nova. I have been so lucky with dining companions. We start talking about miscommunication. I recount the German coastguard video on YouTube. New German coastguard trainee’s first day at work. Emergency call from British sailors in the North Sea, “Mayday, mayday, we are sinking.”. Pause. German coastguard is alert. Repeats, “Mayday, mayday, we are sinking.” German coastguard trainee leans into the radio equipment and microphone and says, “Vot are you sinking?” Priceless.
Table 8 go enmasse to the bar. We think we’re one of the few tables of strangers that have really gelled on this cruise. We’ve often been the last to leave the dining room. It’s time for Captain’s Farewell and the main event. The auction! More champagne.
Three items up for grabs.
The ship’s flag that has been flying throughout the cruise. To be decided by picking out a boarding pass.
The quiz. Each night at dinner, we’ve had to answer five questions on subjects that have been part of that day’s activities. And the winner is….Table 8. It’s us. We’ve won! Blimey. We have cheated so much. Our much loved waiter, Manuel, has given us most of the answers. But we’ll keep quiet about that. All eight of us simultaneously give the loudest cheer. It’s as though we’ve won the world cup. So funny. Our prize. An Australis Cape Horn pin badge. Will give treasured memories for years to come.
The Cape Horn navigation chart with our route plotted and signed by the Captain. Up for auction. I fancy it. But. Not. At. Any. Cost. USD100 is my absolute maximum.
They start the bidding at USD100. What?!? It’s a piece of paper! The money is going to the crew’s tip jar. Hmmm.
Oh well.
Soon up to USD250. Miss Dutch bids USD300. Whoa. Where did that come from?! She’s outbid immediately by an American woman. You can see it in her face. She wants this map. No one is getting it apart from her. The look of determination.
- 400. 450. 500. 550. 600.
American woman is immediately bidding another USD50. Every. Single. Time.
There’s a pause as bidders have fallen by the way side.
It’s with the American woman at USD600.
The auctioneer is holding off bringing down the hammer, hoping for a bigger tip jar.
No one else is bidding now.
It’s hers.
She’s looking smug.
I’ve never bid at an auction before.
There’s a first time for everything.
“650 dollars!”, I shout.
Surprisingly, this gets a round of applause. Table 8’s reaction is, “What are you doing?!”
American woman immediately bids USD700.
Phew. I just knew she would.
Someone else is now bidding.
- 800. 850.
American woman immediately counters with USD900.
That’s it. No more offers.
Going.
Going.
Gone.
She gets the chart for USD900. And a plastic tube to put it in.
Think I’ll go and buy one from Amazon and plot my own route.
Too much excitement for one night.
Dock in Ushuaia at 0045hrs. Plenty of banging, clanging and thrusting of engines as we tie up. So no sleep until then.
