Thursday, 15th February 2007:
With some trepidation, the passengers embark on the 600-mile, two-day North-bound crossing of the Drake Passage. This time, I have no discomfort at any stage and settle into a routine of meals, lectures and sleeping soundly. I make fairly frequent visits to the bridge.
Friday, 16th February 2007:
I rise early and spend some time on the bridge. The sea is much livelier this morning, whipped by a North wind of up to 40 knots. Our speed has dropped to around 9 knots, although the ship is still 'Full Ahead'. I enjoy a quick breakfast and return to the bridge. Just before 8.00 am, the infamous Cape Horn appears out of the rain, a few miles ahead. The Captain continues until we're about two miles off, to give passengers a chance to see this icon, then we turn due East to run parallel to the coast of Chile, eventually turning Northwards again to reach the Beagle Channel. As the day progresses, conditions improve and the sun appears.
By the afternoon, we enter the Beagle Channel, with the Panamanian flag fluttering at the stern (although operated by a Chilean company, the vessel is registered in Panama). The day is punctuated by a lecture from Eduardo about the early explorers of the Southern Seas followed by another excellent lunch. Then, with four others, I go on a tour of the engine room. The guide and the other four are predominantly Spanish speakers, giving me the opportunity to try to work things out for myself. Needless to say, I was fascinated. At some stage, I may write some words to go with my many photographs but, for now, suffice to say that devotional pictures attached to various control panels helped to ensure the success of our journey. The engine room was extremely clean but very noisy - the ear defenders offered to the visitors were readily accepted!
We take a pilot for the rest of the navigation. First, the little pilot launch is spotted approaching us from the direction of Ushuaia on our port side. The launch has three playful dolphins in convoy. Then the launch slips around our stern to come alongside on our starboard side. Next, our crew put out a rope ladder (the sort where each step is a flat wooden board with a hole each end to accept the ropes).Finally, the pilot climbs from the flat aft deck of his launch up the sheer side of our massive hull onto our deck. All this, of course, whilst our ship continues towards Ushuaia. The dolphins decide to accompany us for a while and the three lithe bodies repeatedly arc out of the water, in perfect synchronism with one another.
The passengers gather in the dining room for the final de-briefing.There are short speeches and rounds of applause for each of the people who have helped to make this particular cruise so memorable. The mellow mood is assisted by the Captain's Farewell Cocktail and copious supplies of wine with the meal. Somehow, John Villegas, the hotel manager, manages to exceed the success of his previous meals in this Farewell Dinner.
By the time the meal is finished, it's 9.30 pm and getting dark. Although we're sleeping on the ship tonight, now we've docked it's possible to go into the town, so I decide on a constitutional. A 'pass-out' issued by the crew at our gangway will get me out of the port and back in again. We're moored right at the end of the long, straight jetty, so it's a ten-minute walk in light rain to the port entrance. Ahead, Ushuaia straggles up the hill, a patchwork quilt of lights of every colour. The 'pass-out' works well and, emerging into the town, I briefly walk around. There's a crowded restaurant on every street corner but the shops are shut. I find an Internet Café open until 2.00 am and, at last, make contact with the outside world. Then it's back to the ship, slightly damp but well-pleased with my perambulation.
