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Written by Earl of Portsmouth Lord
Portsmouth has made two passages around Cape Horn. THE GATHERING Despite this severe disruption to their plans and with the strong likelihood of cancellation hanging over the tour, the Chilean Brotherhood of Cape Horners quickly devised a ‘Plan B’ and reissued their invitation. In the spirit of Cape Horn some 70 of us, along with many fellow travellers, made the decision not to let down our Chilean comrades in the wake of the terrible disaster suffered by their country. So it was that Cape Horners and supporters from all corners of the world – Europe through to Australia – assembled for a reception in Santiago de Chile on the evening of Wednesday, 14th April. It would have to be said, though, that the definition of the term ‘Cape Horner’ was stretched to its limits and beyond. Yes, there were a goodly number of the ‘long cours’ variety, of which I am pleased to say the British Section was entirely comprised. However there were also those who had either ‘day-sailed’ around the Horn or who had not even rounded on a sailing ship. The latter group all lost their luggage on the flight out, never to regain it throughout the tour; perhaps it was a case of divine punishment. It would seem that even the Cape Horners attracts its share of ‘wannabees’. I arrived at the International Airport to a sobering sight: the earthquake had brought the ceiling down inside the terminal building and it had yet to be restored. This made me apprehensive as to what the country outside might look like. In fact, until I visited parts of the wine country after the Encuentro was over, it was the worst earthquake damage I saw. The roads and bridges had all been repaired and in Santiago, apart from a few cracks in the plaster in our hotel, you would not know that anything had happened. The reception, arranged and headed by our hospitable and courteous host, Admiral Roberto Benavente, was well under way when I reached the hotel. It was formal and rather stiff – probably because most of us didn’t know each other – and there were speeches of mind-numbing dullness. However, on the plus side, we had our first introduction to Chile’s national tipple: Pisco Sour, a delicious blend of lemon, sugar and grape-based alcohol. It is deceptively mild but it creeps up on you. The imbiber can suddenly find himself befuddled and suffering a loss of steering. Day two found us on buses and heading for Chile’s principal port and second city, Valparaiso. There we took part first of all in a flag raising ceremony, at which all the national flags of the Cape Horners present were represented. It was all very military; bands played and important-looking Chilean naval officers bustled about, all sporting the generous helpings of ‘scrambled egg’ of which South American armed forces are so enamoured. An ecumenical service followed at the Naval Museum, then a tour. This is an excellent museum featuring many fascinating exhibits, largely documenting the history of the Chilean Navy from its beginnings under Admiral (Lord) Cochrane, a man whose exploits put Horatio Hornblower in the shade. Of principal interest to us of course was the Cape Horn room, with its display of pictures, photographs and memorabilia dating from the earliest passages through to the windjammers and the solo sailors and yacht races of more recent times. After our tour we were driven through Valparaiso for lunch at the Naval Club, giving us a chance to admire the city’s varied and extraordinary architecture. The afternoon was given over to a drive up the coast north of Valparaiso through the resort town of Vina del Mar to a viewpoint known as the Michael Jackson Rocks, so called because at certain times of year the droppings of seabirds turn the normally black, volcanic rocks a shade of white; for some reason the Chileans love Michael Jackson jokes. From here we had a splendid view of the coastline down to Valparaiso and beyond. Valparaiso was an important destination for manufactures from Europe and the port features large in Cape Horn lore. It was not hard to stand there and imagine the windjammers inward bound, with their rust-streaked topsides and towering pyramids of sail. At the end of what had been a very full day, the Presidents, vice-Presidents and ‘team leaders’ of the various national groups were invited to the home of the delightful Admiral Benavente. It was here that I had my first ‘run in’ with Pisco Sour. I returned to the hotel I suspect making less than good sense but well set up for a good night’s sleep. Day three commenced with a visit to the Chilean Navy’s sail training ship, the Esmeralda. Clearly the pride and joy of the navy, I think I am right in saying that every Chilean Navy officer and rating has to serve on this ship as part of their naval career. She has the lines, the rig and is fitted out in the mould of a gentleman’s yacht of yesteryear; it is quite easy to forget when looking at her that she has probably been round Cape Horn more than any other sailing vessel afloat today. Coinciding with our visit to the Esmeralda was a regatta of sail training ships from all the South American navies. The Spanish Navy’s sail training ship was also there, representing no doubt that country’s historic link to so much of the continent. We were fortunate indeed to see so many lovely - and clearly greatly loved – sailing ships all gathered in one place. On our way back to Santiago we stopped for a late lunch/early dinner at the Estancia El Cuadro, a combination of farm and winery. Here we enjoyed a feast that was a meat lover’s heaven; it seemed as though almost the entire farmyard was represented in one form or another. This was followed by a tour of the winery and a wine tasting. In the process we were introduced to a kind of grape, the name of which I forget, that is black but can be used to make white wine as well as red. The locals call it – you’ve guessed it – the Michael Jackson grape. Our visit here culminated in a display of local horsemanship and stock herding. It was all a long way in every sense from Cape Horn but it was fun and interesting nonetheless; another of the many ways in which our imaginative hosts made up for the loss of our main objective. Day four entailed an early start for Punta Arenas and our visit to the far south. One tends to forget that whilst Chile averages something like 250 miles in width, it is around 5,000 miles long; unsurprisingly, our flight time from Santiago was about four hours. A resourceful member of the German contingent quickly discovered that the plane carried an ample supply of very good local beer, which made the somewhat cramped conditions in the cabin rather more agreeable. Our visit coincided with the Chilean autumn and the chill reminded us of that as we disembarked onto the tarmac at Puenta Arenas. We were then bussed to an hotel where Shackleton had stayed once in his efforts to rescue the crew of his doomed Endurance Expedition, who were stranded on Elephant Island. We were then treated to a very good lunch before boarding coaches to take us to our next stop, Puerto Natales, on the way to the Torres del Paine National Park. On the journey we stopped at what must surely be one of the world’s most isolated and lonely roadside cafes. Darkness had fallen when we disembarked there; the Southern Cross was high in the sky and an icy wind blew from Antarctica to the south. Far as we were from the open ocean, the still familiar sight of this iconic constellation and the bitter cold reminded me of those Southern Ocean night watches on Great Britain II all those years ago. Day four could scarcely have been more true of that old saying, “It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good”, for if the Cape Horn trip had gone according to the original plan, we would never have visited the magnificent Torres del Paine National Park. Straddling both Chile and Argentina to the east, it has scenery and vistas of a grandeur to rival anything in the likes of America’s Yellowstone or Yosemite Parks. We were too extremely lucky to be there at that time of year; the first snows had come down on the peaks, extending almost to the tree line of the enormous forests of nothofagus, otherwise known as the Chilean Beech, all in the full blaze of their autumn colours. The afternoon was largely taken up with a visit to the Grey Glacier, for which we had to undertake a freezing boat journey across Lake (or Lago) Grey. The lake was indeed that shade but the glacier itself was the colour of a Southern Ocean iceberg - an extraordinary blue that proved impossible to capture on camera. Day five was spent largely on our busses heading back to Punta Arenas, via an estancia (or ranch) lunch stop on Isla Riesco. On the way we were able to admire some of the wildlife, including llamas, guanacos and an emu-like flightless bird called a neandu. We saw condors soaring against the backdrop of the Andes and many different birds, including the magnificent Black-breasted Buzzard Eagle. It was an uninhabited and very bleak landscape, made more so by the oncoming winter; many of the lakes and ponds we passed had already frozen over. High mountains and huge glaciers tumbled down to a stormy sea. It was truly a scene that one would expect to find at the bottom of the world. The stop at the estancia was another winner. This was an old establishment – the name of it escapes me – one of the first in that part of the world. All the machinery and equipment that had ever been brought there either to farm it or to live on it were still in situ. If it was not still working, it remained exactly where it had ‘died’. The whole place was a giant time capsule, much enjoyed by people like me who are fascinated by such things. More importantly, the owners had laid on a delicious, traditional Patagonian-style lunch. The centrepiece of such a feast is a marinated whole lamb carcass tied spread-eagled over a metal frame. The frame is itself fixed to a long stake, which is then driven into the ground if outside (or otherwise secured if indoors) to hold the meat against an open log fire. Patagonia’s wealth largely derives from shepherding and its lamb is rightly famous. Suffice to say, lunch was mouth-watering and the barbeque, along with the wine, seemed to be in limitless supply. One of the Spanish contingent spotted a guitar on the wall of the dining room and was soon accompanying his compatriots in rousing song. All in all it was great fun and it was with some reluctance that we re-boarded our busses. The final stop on the return journey to Punta Arenas was a visit to a cave complex inhabited in prehistoric times by enormous cave bears called Milodons. Having little interest in the Milodon and replete as I was with food and drink I stayed on the bus for most of this particular visit, so I am not able to review it. However, judging by the reaction of others it was probably a bit of an anti-climax. Day six was the last full day of the tour and in many ways an extension of day five, because we barely had time to close our eyes at the hotel in Punta Arenas before heading for the airport to board a plane for Santiago, departing at 04:45. Fortunately, though, we had time to take a leisurely lunch and to get some sleep before the Farewell Dinner scheduled for that night. However, Team Britain were perturbed by rumours that the French had been practising sea shanties with a view to putting on a show after the dinner. Not to be outdone, English sea shanties were hurriedly downloaded from the Internet and printed and the British contingent: myself, Mark Setrem, Gerald Cordingley, Trixie Gadd and Peter Frommelt (Peter is in fact German but for some reason had decided to join the British Section) got down to rehearsals in a spare room. The dinner took place in what had been General Pinochet’s Presidential Palace and everyone was there in their best bib and tucker. Sure enough, as soon as Jacques Rey, who headed up Team France, had made his ‘thank you and farewell’ speech the French were on their feet and singing; the atmosphere that had prevailed at the reception on our first night had completely transformed for this occasion. Team Britain did me the honour of asking me to make a speech on behalf of the British Section and to present a British Section burgee to our host, Admiral Benavente, after which we launched into a very spirited rendition of ‘Blow The Man Down’. Unfortunately, due to the conviviality of the occasion and a faulty memory, I can’t remember what the other shanty was. However, I do remember that ‘Blow The Man Down’ was well received by the assembled company and more than a few sang along with us as they picked up the chorus. More shanties followed, ending with ‘Rolling Home’, led by the estimable Roberto Benavente. After exchanging many addresses (and in my case a tie with Jacques Rey; almost the first thing my wife asked when I returned home was, “Where on earth did you get that awful tie?”) we boarded our busses together for the last time. That, though, was not the end of the singing, which continued to the moment the bus pulled up outside our hotel. Looking back on it, I can say without reservation that it was a most successful and hugely enjoyable excursion, over which many friendships were made and the bonds between Cape Horners cemented. Our thanks go to our hosts and the organisers on the ground. I have already paid tribute to Admiral Benavente and I would like to conclude by recording our appreciation too of the efforts of the travel agent, Denise Baron. Denise oversaw all the detail from beginning to end and ensured the smooth running of what was a tricky logistical operation. We were fortunate to be in their hands, because they found themselves faced at very short notice with a difficult, perhaps seemingly impossible problem. It is no exaggeration to say that they snatched a triumph from the jaws of disaster. The story of the rescue of the Chilean miners is now the stuff of legend. Watching those scenes unfold on television and knowing what I do about Chile and the Chileans, I was not in the least surprised that they pulled it off. |