Cape Horn 2004

by Baird Tewksbury, Pacific Northwest Station

In December 2004, I received a telephone call from Boston Station member Vernon Gray inquiring if I could be in Chile in three weeks. He and wife, Ellen, had just been offered berths aboard a fully crewed Swan 76 for a sail in southern Patagonia, with a chance of sailing around the Cape depending on the weather. The previous year, I had sailed a chartered Farr 42 with Vern and Ellen in the Stockholm Archipelago (see Voyages 2003).

In early January, I arrived in Punta Arenas and ambled down the commercial pier to see a pair of spreaders (the hull was 20 feet below the waterline — can you say “big tides”?). I yelled, “On board Gloriana!” A voice from within the dark companionway responded, “Oh no, not Tewksbury!”

I was still absorbing the bit of shock when my insulter emerged: To my great surprise, it was the captain, John Kenyon. The insults were well deserved. John’s previous boat, Cyclos III, a 130 Huisman, had spent many weeks over the previous years in my home port of Vancouver, British Columbia. In that time, I had great fun getting to know his gang and having them crew with me in Dragon Class one-design races. I might have been slightly abusive in the heat of rounding a mark or hoisting the spinnaker, but nothing serious. Now, I was to be a part of John-boy’s crew. What a great start.

Vernon and Ellen arrived shortly after, and once their gear was stowed, we motored towards a very flat Straits of Magellan.

I can no better describe these cruising grounds than with this account of Drake’s passage from Hakluyt’s Voyages:

The 21sT day (of aug.) we enTered The sTreighT, which we found to have many turnings, and as it were shuttings up, as if there were no passage at all, by meanes whereof we had the winds often against us, so that some of the fleet recovering a Cape or point of land, others should be forced to turn back again, and to come to an anchor where they could.

In this streight there be many fair harbors, with store of fresh water, but yet they lacked their best commaditie : for the water is there of such depth that no man shall find ground to anchor in, except it bee in some narrow river or corner or between some rocks, so that if any extreme blasts or contrary winds do come (whereunto the place is much subject) it carieth with it no small danger.

The land on both sides is very huge and mountainous, the lower mountains whereof, although they be monstrous and wonderfull to looke upon for their height, yet there are others which in height exceede them in a strange maner, reaching above their fellowes so high that betweene them did appeare three regions of cloudes.

These mountains are covered with snow : at both the Southerly and Easterly partes of the straight there are Islands, among which the sea has his indraught into the streights, even as it hath in the main entrance of the freat.

This streight is extreme cold, with frost and snow continually ; the trees seeme to stoope with the burden of the weather and yet are greene continually, and many good and sweete herbes doe very plentifully grow and increase under them.

Hours later, we anchored in a bay, which at that time had not been named. I knew from past CCA member Tony Gooch’s cruising guide that the few protected harbors were either too small or too deep for Gloriana; she would require moorage in less-protected areas. Captain John, having had several seasons in these waters, was well aware of the restrictions.

I had always thought that moorage was a simple matter of tying off to a few trees at appropriate distances and angles. I was quite quickly disabused of that notion on my first trip ashore. The vegetation was so thin and fragile as to be useless. Over the years, Captain John had found that the ideal moorage involved using the moraine silt from a disgorging creek as a holding ground for both anchors and tying off the stern to boulders ashore. The proof of the pudding was disclosed our first morning. The overnight katabatic wind williwaws had been no greater than 30 knots, but when I went ashore to retrieve the lines, I found we had moved the half-ton rocks five or more feet. We traversed old Joshua Slocum’s Milky Way in rain and 20-knot winds and had several uneventful anchorages.

Before entering the Beagle Channel, we encountered our first big blow. With both bow anchors out and tons of chain, we stood half-hour watches in full foul-weather mufti, including ski goggles. To avoid the williwaws spinning the boat and wrapping the chains, we occasionally engaged the always-running engine as a counterforce, which was quite tiring — hence the 30-minute watch rotation.

Crew defends Gloriana’s Awlgrip from ice chunks near Seno Garibaldi glacier. Masthead photo of Swan 76 Gloriana in ice.

After the overnight squall (top winds registered at 60 knots), we were delighted to enter the Beagle Channel with a mere 30 knots pushing us along. In this breeze, the boat made hull speed with just a small triangle of unfurled staysail (“the bikini bottom”). We took photos in the stretch of water known as Avenida de Los Glaciares (“avenue of the glaciers”), until we reached the biggie, Seno Garibaldi glacier. The weather being quite stable and sunny, we ventured a bit too close to the face and were taken by surprise when a wind shift blew the calving ice bits inward and threatened a stranding. Fortunately we caught on early enough to fend our way out using the dinghy and boat poles. We barely saved the Awlgrip paint job. Exiting the fjord, we encountered Cape Horn-sized sea lions — halfton beasts that were quite nasty as they guarded their harem. All photos were from the deck of the mothership — the dinghy

Author Baird Tewksbury sailing in Sweden 2004. would have been an hors d’oeuvre for these giants. Adding to the excitement were our first condor sightings. The sunshine break closed and off we went down the Beagle at hull speed under a handkerchief of sail.

Regular radio check-ins with the authorities are required while navigating these waters. In addition, we were approached regularly by patrol vessels — the Chilean–Argentina not-socold-war was ever-present, and our Chile-registered vessel would have been a tempting prize, so we made a point of staying in communication with the Chilean Navy and were very careful to navigate on the Chilean side of the channel. As you might guess, navigation is radar-based; GPS is useless because the chart is based on late-1800 surveys.

Upon arriving in Puerto Williams, we anchored out, having too much draft for the Micalvi moorage. There we had our second run-in with winds over 60 knots, requiring the ski goggles/mufti/engine routine. Since we still had use of the boat for another five days, it was a matter of waiting and hoping for a long enough break between storms to try a passage out and around the Horn. Luck was with us, and on day two, with the wind down to 25–30 knots, we made a west-to-east daylight passage. The wind then eased further, allowing the crew to dinghy us ashore to visit the fabulous Cape Horn monument, lighthouse, and related buildings (including a chapel). Tea with the lightkeeper’s family and a crude wooden passport stamp sent us on our way.

Back at anchor in Puerto Williams, we experienced one last storm and a delightful shoreside lamb assado. The departure

About the Author

This is Baird Tewksbury’s seventh article for Voyages (and its predecessor, Cruising Club News). Past topics have included Cuba (2002), Sweden (2004), Queen Charlotte Islands (2005), Prince William Sound (2007), Galapagos (2008), Change of Course (2010), and British Columbia (2011).

Baird began sailing in the 1950s on dinghies and Thistles on Lake Erie and collegiate dinghies at Yale. In the 1960s, he sailed in races on Long Island Sound, the Bermuda Race, Annapolis to Newport, Buenos Aires-to-Rio, the St. Francis Big Boat Series, and the Newport to Ensenada and other Mexican coast competitions. From 1964 to 1965, he was a deck officer and navigator aboard the USCGC Eagle.

Since the 1970s, he’s focused on local and offshore cruising, with trips to the Caribbean, Med, Round the Horn on a Swan 80, Phuket-Andaman Sea, Maine and Nova Scotia, the Great Lakes (Trent-Severn Canal, Georgian Bay, North Channel), Florida, Bahamas, South Pacific (Tuamotus and the Society Islands). He’s also raced his classic Dragon for 20 years.

from the airstrip at the naval base was an adventure as well. Our aircraft was a Bombardier short-takeoff twin engine, but because of the 25-plus knots flowing directly down the strip, all the pilot had to do was rev the engines and the takeoff was near vertical. ✧ In all, the best sailing adventure of my life.

The Cape Horn Monument was solemnly inaugurated Dec. 5, 1992. The Chilean chapter of the Chilean Association of Cape Horners erected it in memory of the seamen from every nation who perished in the battle against the inclemency of nature in the seas around the legendary Cape Horn.

Chilean sculptor José Balcells Eyquem created the 7-meter-high monument, which consists of two independent pieces, each made of five steel plates 6 mm thick, and is designed to withstand gusting winds of up to 125 mph. The Chilean Navy constructed the monument between October and November 1992. The monument was paid for with contributions from maritime companies and public and private entities related to the sea from Chile and many other countries. Many of the donors were direct relatives of Cape Horners as well as shipowners who had made the voyage.

The structure failed on Nov. 29, 2014. I have been unable to find details about the storm force that took it down or the subsequent reconstruction.

At the base of the hill upon which the monument rests are two tablets, one with the details about the memorial and the other with this beautiful poem (see below) by Sara Vial, a writer from Valpariso.

Cape Horn Monument 2004. I am the albatross that awaits you at the end of the earth.

I am the forgotten soul of the dead sailors who sailed around Cape Horn from all the seas of the world. But they did not die in the furious waves.

Today they fly on my wings toward eternity in the last crevice of the Antarctic winds.