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January 18, 2005 | 11:20
Cape Horn
Dear Journal,
Three blasts of the Andrea’s bell signaled our exit from the Drake Passage. Cape Horn, Chile—civilization—was straight ahead, the mountains in the mist a welcomed sight after a full day of navigating the open, angry Southern Ocean; on our port side was the Pacific Ocean, to our starboard, the Atlantic. The Andrea, twelve miles from shore, turned eastward, heading for the Beagle Channel, Argentina, avoiding Chilean waters—safety reasons. A poem, remembering the sailors who lost their lives to the waters surrounding Cape Horn, was read over the ship’s intercom:
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 on my wings to eternity in the last trough of the Antarctic winds.
Poem at Cape Horn
Thomas Alves '07
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