Sailing to the end of the earth

How does it feel to sail to the end of the Earth? I sailed through Patagonia and around Cape Horn to find out and invite you to share in some magical experiences.

Sailing in the beautiful Patagonian wilderness


Ushuaia, the end of the world. For as long as I can remember whenever I have read either of these names I have felt a little frisson inside. Conjuring up images of explorers travelling into the unknown, the tantalising thought of what lies beyond the edge of the map, mixed with a fear of weather their boats will fall of the edge of the world or be consumed by sea monsters. In this age of satellite mapping and Google Earth, the surface of the world can feel familiar to us all. With a couple of clicks we can see in high resolution what lies over the horizon. However what technology can not bring us is the experience of what it is like to be there. How does it feel to actually sail past the end of the Earth and look back at the last piece of land fading into the distance? What will it sound like, what emotions will it conjure up and what experiences will I have on the way there? Join me on this journey in which Google Earth or not I will feel like a pioneer and there will be magnificent monsters of the deep.

A slight trepidation accompanies me as I board my third and final flight to the bottom of the world. It is not just the fact that this is the second time I am boarding this flight. The first time we boarded we were asked to disembark again as the plane was broken and not able to fly. Mostly my trepidation comes from a geographical form of the saying ‘don’t meet your heroes’. Based on the assumption that after you have built them up in your mind then the reality is likely to be a let down. The mythical Ushuaia has been a hero of mine for many years, and I am about to meet her.



Like a nervous young lady arriving for a first date I peer out of the window of the plane searching for a first glimpse of Ushuaia. What will she look like? Will she be as I imagined? Safe behind my plexiglas window I feel as though I can size her up before she has a chance to see me. What a first glimpse it is. Like that timid girl sighting a Brad Pitt look-a-like holding a bunch of flowers and pacing up and down looking anxiously at this watch, it was certainly not a disappointment. Towering peaks of snow capped mountains reared up to either side of the plane. The white capped maelstrom of the Beagle channel slashing like a knife wound between the peaks. This is fittingly elementally raw scenery. This is the end of the world and it isn’t going out with a whimper.

However well that first date goes there is always far more to find out about someone; their history, their culture, their interesting contradictions and how they blow away your misplaced preconceptions. Ushuaia was no different. It is a frontier town, a staging post clinging to the end of the world. Signs painted for the visiting cruise liner tourists proudly proclaim it’s status as “Fin del Mondo” the End of the World and “Gateway to Antarctica” which is only 1000km away. I am told that incongruously Ushuaia is the busiest cruise terminal in the world, largely thanks to the rapidly expanding Antarctic cruise industry.

The main road illustrates more of Ushuaia's double life. A large casino paints the sky with it’s neon lights, just a short distance from where the St Christopher sits firmly aground. The St Christopher was a rescue vessel which worked this area and saved many lives in the waters around Cape Horn. She rests high and dry in front of the town as a memorial to the ships and lives that were lost. One of our crew appears quite touched looking at the St Christopher and tells me that his grandfather was onboard the first boat that she rescued.

Turn around from the St Christopher and you are greeted by a large petrol station forecourt, pumping fuel into four wheel drives. But cross the fore court and look for the ‘Panderia and Pastellerie’. Look carefully and you will see a small sign with ‘museum’ written on it. Inside is a fabulous working bakery, tea shop and purveyor of local handcrafted Beagle beer jammed packed with old artefacts arranged along the walls. Well worth a visit to have tea inside a piece of local history. I was very happy that the last thing we did before casting off on our adventure was to call in here and leave with a pleasingly bulging bag of last minute provisions.



Our vessel for this expedition was the Ksar, a steel sloop of the same type as the Joshua that Bernard Moitessier sailed in the Golden Globe race. The first single-handed race around the world. A reassuring pedigree for the adventure that we were about to undertake. An air of expectation hung over the Afasyn yacht club where expedition boats from all over the world were moored. This collection of boats represented some serious sea mileage. Similar to the expectancy of a race fleet waiting for their start. All of the yachts here were destined for big adventures.

Straining at their lines. Either the ever present gale force winds or the yachts are keen to set off on adventures. The good ship Ksar is the white yacht moored furthest out.



Whilst Ushuaia, the most southerly town in the world is in Argentina, Cape Horn, the last bit of land and the surrounding waters belong to Chile. In order to sail from Ushuaia along the Beagle Channel and out past Cape Horn, yachts have to sign out of customs in Argentina and then make a stop in Porto Williams around twenty miles away to clear in through immigration ‘perfecturia’ and customs ‘aduana’ in Chile. It is the same on returning. Fortunately none of these caused us any problems and provided an amount of stamps in my passport that any adventurer could be proud off. However as both are insistent that all members of the crew present themselves at three different buildings spread across the town during the limited office opening hours it can be quite a lengthy process. It is worth considering timing your passage to coincide with these times otherwise you could be waiting a full day for the office to re-open before you can carry on your way.



Inside the Micavli

Finally the moment had arrived and we slipped our lines and sailed out into the Beagle Channel. It was an exhilarating sail with the wind whipped Beagle Channel surrounded by mountains. Named Tierra del Fuego, Land of Fire, by the early explorers who saw smoke from the indigenous people's fires making it look as though the land was burning. We had our own land of fire effect created by low lying mist hugging the valleys. With the southern limit of the mainland of South America having finished at Ushuaia, all that was between us and the end of the world now were islands. With the large Island of Isla Navarino making up the southern side of the Beagle Channel. Our first stop would be at the town of Porto Williams on Isla Navarino to allow us to clear in to Chile. Porto Williams has a great yacht club. Nestled in a river mouth with snow capped mountains in that distance, you tie up alongside the yacht club, an old ship called the Micalvi, which provides the double function of club house and berthing facilities. The bar is like a giant visitors book of adventurers. It is covered floor to ceiling, and all across the ceiling, in flags, burgees and t-shirts from visiting yachts. All leaving their token as a sign that ‘we were here’.



Porto Williams, population 2000, is dominated by corrugated iron buildings. Some are arranged along the town's only gravel roads and some are scattered seemingly at random on patches of glass. Neat rows of buildings denote those belonging to the military. Horses and dogs roam freely around the town, as do the children. There was a party going on in the village square as we made our way to the Prefecturia with many of the children in fancy dress. Mickey and Minny Mouse strolling hand in hand along a dirt road was not what I had expected to find at the end of the world. You wouldn’t know that from Google Earth. Provisioning in Porto Williams is is not as easy as in Ushuaia. The supplies for the town arrive once a week by boat from Punto Arenas a 3 day sea journey away. As such, it made me feel too guilty to reduce the local supply by buying fresh provisions here. However I did see that along with the daily necessities, you could by Peppa Pig toys. I could have felt sad that this TV based globalisation had reached even this far corner of the world. However Peppa Pig is a favourite of my nephew and instead I found it heartwarming to think of the children here sharing the same enjoyment of this toy. A shared experience between children across the world that they are not even aware of. It reminded me that so often when I travel it is not the differences in the people that I meet but the similarities which all of share that is by far the most noticeable. It was reinforced when we visited Porto Williams again on the return leg of the journey. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon when we arrived. As we drew closer we sailed first past a fleet of J24s and assorted cruising boats enjoying some spirited Sunday afternoon racing. Then as we got closer we passed a fleet of children sailing on Optimist dinghies. If you are a sailor reading this, whether you live in the UK, Europe or America, there is a fair chance that you learnt to sail in one of these boats. It could have been a scene from my home sailing club. Right down to the kids being more interested in wrestling each other in the grass after racing than they were in putting their boats away.

Gusty winds blowing down the valleys into the Beagle Channel


I think it is impossible to watch a penguin walking without smiling!

This day will always be etched in my mind as penguin day. Sailing from Porto Williams to Porto Torro we passed ‘Penguin Island’ home to a large colony of Magellan Penguins. There was no way we were going to pass up the chance to pay them a visit. I love penguins, what more can I say, even thinking about them now as I type this I can feel ‘penguin excitement’ bubbling up inside me to escape in a great big smile. It is fantastic that an animal can have such am effect on use just by being happy to let us watch as they go about their business. The beach on Penguin Island was covered in Magellan Penguins with their distinctive pink patch around their eye. They were happily preening and popping in and out of the water. A Gentoo Penguin, Bright orange beak, white stripe above the eye, rested by the side of the group, waiting to be joined by it’s partner who appeared, walking all of the way around the island in true comical penguin style, always looking like he was rushing forwards to catch his balance. On the top of the beach a solitary King Penguin, think wildlife documentary style penguin. He was a little far from his usual home in Antarctica but seemed happy enough preening his black, white and yellow plumage. The smooth blending of the colours made it look more like the penguin was made out of porcelain than feathers. The King Penguin does sometimes visit land outside of Antarctica, unlike the bigger Emperor Penguin who remains on the frozen continent when he isn’t swimming. Camera memory card full and big grin firmly planted in place we tore ourselves away from the penguins and continued eastwards past Picton Island. The wreck of the Evangelical Library ship which has remained where it went aground in the 1980’s serving as a reminder to take care with navigation. I’m not sure how an insurance company would feel about ‘distracted by penguin’ as a reason for a claim. This amazing bay was to have one more treat in store. A lone Black Browed Albatross appeared, circling and fishing jus of our port bow. If penguins generate an upwelling feeling of happiness for me, then the albatross generates spontaneous awe. Seeing any bird demonstrating effortless mastery of flight is a treat but watching the albatross circling, skimming the water with barely a flap of it’s wings, was a really special spectacle.

A pair of Gentoos



Our stop for the night was the small fishing village and Navy outpost of Porto Torro. It was king crab season and the small dock was a hive of activity as the fishermen unloaded their catch. No surprises that fresh crab was on the menu that night. The rocking of the boat and the drop in temperature that sent the crew scurrying for extra sleeping bags heralded the arrival of the predicted strong winds that would keep us in port for the day. A day stormbound is a good excuse for exploring. Scrambling around the shoreline we came across some foxholes from the Argentinian / Chilean conflict in the 1970’s. Further along the coast was the opportunity to indulge in one of my favourite childhood pastimes, rockpooling. The wealth of marine life more than made up for the lack of bucket and spade. Each rock i lifted seemed to reveal a prehistoric world with giant Chitons, like huge underwater woodlice. My most prized find was a Anasterias Antarctica. The first animal that I have seen in the wild with ‘Antarctica’ in it’s name, I just wasn’t expecting it to be a starfish.


The storm abated and we said goodbye to Porto Torro and headed across the Bay of Nassau. The Bay of Nassau has a reputation of often producing some choppy conditions, however calm waters greeted us. With the compass pointing tantalisingly due south we slide through the water. A pod of Peate’s dolphins rushed over to join us. I rushed to the bowsprit and once again had a great big grin plastered to my face as the dolphins played under my feet. As we headed further south we saw more albatross gracing us with their presence. Snow capped mountains in the distance turned our minds to thoughts of unclimbed peaks and how to access them. That would have to wait for another day though. Slipping through the narrow passage between Isla Herschel and Isla Deceit we anchored at Calita Martiel. Tucked into this well sheltered anchorage we deployed the dinghy and went ashore. There are countless times, some admittedly when I should have been listening to more important things at school, that my mind has landed on a truly wild and deserted island for a Swallows and Amazons style adventure. And here we were, landing on a really properly wild, deserted island. The dinghy scrunched onto the beach. On the other side of the beach there was nothing but wilderness. No car park, no