Mauling of the Australis
(The Anarchic Summer of 2010)
She plunged down by the
head, and all the mass of the Drake waters surged forward. The Captain knew it
was coming, crammed the ninety of us guests into what was called the meeting
room (sometimes
called the after-room, really) on the third deck of the ship (the ship being perhaps
20% empty of full capacity, for guests).
The waves were hitting above the third deck
windows, spouting skyward, all of thirty feet I'd say. The water impacting
against the four sides of the ship, and I really didn't see the crew, or
shipmen. And all this to the bulk of several monsters waves swept the ship,
rolled it, and dipped her decks rail to rail into the cold Drake waters. The
Captain had at that point advanced back to the bridge, hoping us guests would
not realize the mauling the ship was undergoing. Ere, the captain did his best
to make us unaware of any anxiety we might receive should we open up those same
curtains he had so diligently, and calmly had his midshipman close. But I had
noticed the matter had been building up, not only from my cabin window, save
that the ship tilted, but when I had ventured earlier onto her stern deck,
being the back of the ship, where the poop is, and where the structure of the
ship can break waves, having left Cape Horn, seeing beyond the Cape, the dark
stormy skies fermenting; but had I not been able to see the dark gray skies
forming, being a Minnesotan, my body acted like a barometer, in that it could
detect an atmospheric change in pressure, or that being fluctuations in the
weather long before they hit you directly. And even a two degree difference was
a hint for weather change. And ten minutes later when I reached the zodiac,
there was a call from the ship to the mate walking beside me, of a rising
breeze that appeared and awoke over the ship's bow, and therefore, the good old
sea was shifting moods quickly, so to hurry it up. One must if anything, have a
growing respect for Cape Horn, and take serious the weather conditions in the
Drake. The wind coming out of the southwest, and by the time we reached the
ship, the sky over us had turned into a grayish-darkness. And this was the
start of the seas burst, and the outpouring that would soon take place.
The young prodigious, yet incredible
captain, then appeared who knew the teeth of the storm evidently, and its
danger, could feel aft with him, the working of the ship's motors against the
heavy mauling of the waves, thus, he was no weakling of the sea, he knew it,
and we were entering the center of the back of the storm I do believe; he
painted no dark-pigmented scenes.
I sat in a chair, as if I was made of iron, as I looked onto the other faces, those in peril, —lest I join them, I lightly smiled to my wife feeling safer that way; my wife was to my side, arm tight against mine, as a thousand tons of Drake water surged across the bow; that being the front of the ship. Looking straight ahead, at the heavy iron door now locked tight, on the port side of the ship, or larboard side, the ship's left side, knowing right outside that door, the nearness of the Drake Passage was 19,000-feet deep; in essence, miles deep. The starboard side, or right side, had life-lines rigged, I would imagined for the sailors that may have to deal with what is considered the gustiest headland, or cape in the world; a better phrase might be: the inhospitable tip of the continent. This being the end of the Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire; an ancient name for back thousands of years, the natives of this region had once sought sight of it from a distance, would have seen campfires everywhere dotted throughout the terrain of the mountains areas, and so the name stuck).
I sat in a chair, as if I was made of iron, as I looked onto the other faces, those in peril, —lest I join them, I lightly smiled to my wife feeling safer that way; my wife was to my side, arm tight against mine, as a thousand tons of Drake water surged across the bow; that being the front of the ship. Looking straight ahead, at the heavy iron door now locked tight, on the port side of the ship, or larboard side, the ship's left side, knowing right outside that door, the nearness of the Drake Passage was 19,000-feet deep; in essence, miles deep. The starboard side, or right side, had life-lines rigged, I would imagined for the sailors that may have to deal with what is considered the gustiest headland, or cape in the world; a better phrase might be: the inhospitable tip of the continent. This being the end of the Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire; an ancient name for back thousands of years, the natives of this region had once sought sight of it from a distance, would have seen campfires everywhere dotted throughout the terrain of the mountains areas, and so the name stuck).
I was no Midshipmen, but I knew enough, not to tread outside the inner part of the ship, that being the open aired decks, I would have gotten a prime soaking. Although I did venture to the bow of the ship, on other occasions when the sea was rough, but not too rough, to feel the force of the wind and waves, but not this time. I suppose for the crew it was merely a day's work, as it was for the ship. Actually now that I think of it, I never really know where the crew were housed, there didn't seem to be any forecastle, on the upper deck, towards the bow where it usually would be. So I never got to see them coming or going, fore or aft of me, for the most part. Or perhaps I missed it; the ship was rather new and what is customary today on ships, perhaps is quite different from the old but huge clippers and windjammers, and galleys of yesteryear, and this was my second cruise, my first being on still waters in the Galapagos, in which an Olympic swimming pool had coarser waters: this was some eight-years prior, on a similar ship of this type: a small cruise ship that is, with a rather flat bottom.
I was in a way, praying for more weather like this, I knew if I said what I was thinking someone would wring my neck. But now four years later I got the gumption to say it. Just the same, the sea settled down, and I went to get a bite to eat. And my wife, well, that's another story, she was nearly seasick the whole voyage, and when not in bed, she was with me with a woozy head, and this did not help, except for when she went to some remote island with a few crew members, and investigated the beaver environment, that day I took a five hour siesta, and she had commented, "What a relief getting off that ship, to get my head back in balance, and my body into a more stable equilibrium."
It seemed to me, when we left the Drake
Passage, and could no longer see Cape Horn, now into the Pacific Ocean, or that
side of the ocean, we had lift behind, what might be referred to as 'the hill
of the earth,' figuratively speaking, and so as, Jack London referred to the
end of the Terra del Fuego, lest I'm misrepresenting his figure of speech, for
between Cape Horn, there is only Elephant Island, and then the Shetland
Islands, and King George Island of any significance, until you get to
Antarctica itself, and to my understanding it would be the highest peak what
Jules Vern referred to as: the 'End of the World'; if indeed that is what London was refereeing
to as the 'Hill'. For Cape Horn is not liken to the Himalayas, in comparison
it would be a hill, it seemed to me we were in tranquil seas the rest of our
voyage, there beyond, right up to disembarking at Punta Arenas, Chile.
I can still remember the damp cold on
top of Cape Horn, with its brisk wind that penetrated my clothing right into my
the pores of my skin, per near to a freezing point, now part of my wind swept
past. And for this region of the earth, it was summer, in South America, and
winter in the North America, the best time to travel this part of the world. I
couldn't imagine come winter, surely it would be savage, forsaken and bleak at
best. But the main point being, we had made it through the graveyard of ships;
for over 800-ships lay at the bottom of Cape Horn, and within its vicinity, as well
as 10,000-sailors.
Written 10-14-through
10-15-2014 (No: 1026) Reedited: 9-2016
Note: drawing by the
author, does not resemble the Australis.
Note: When it is winter
in North America, it is summer in South America; as well as for the Antarctic
waters.
