Writes Melville, an ancient mariner and Horn rounder in his own right. Cape Horn, or "Cape Stiff" so named by the sailors who dared round during the days of sail, is the southern most tip of South America which lies in the Southern Ocean below about fifty degrees south latitude. The southern dividing line between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Home to the worst weather and seas in the world. In the old days, your chances of surviving a rounding of the Horn were slim at best. Yet, for many reasons, men continued to risk everything. Commerce, trade, war, and colonization drove men around and left many lost, frozen, and drowned never to be heard from again. There are bones of ships and men scattered around the Horn like a warning to all who might try.
The Horn remains an archetype of the ancient struggle between man and the sea. Both his desire and ambition and his nightmare and nemesis played out for hundreds of years. It makes me wonder, perhaps somewhat rhetorically, what drives men towards such peril. It also makes me wonder about a life lived purely for safety, security, and predictability. While such things are certainly nice to count on, I think they have a tendency to hollow a man's soul. I also think no matter how cautious one is, life will eventually deal you a blow that will test your mettle, leave you scapmering up the ratlines and clinging to the spar for dear life as your ship absorbes rogue waves that threaten to bring her down.
I think perhaps I rounded my own Horn this year. All things considered, a very fast passage and I dare say even in today's age, I came out far better than I would have if I was a sailor in the 19th or even early 20th Century. But I'm really still rounding. Perhaps I've crossed the line, but like a sailor in the Southern Ocean, I'm prepared to be driven back again by the squalls of life.
I'm just waiting for the "all hands lay aloft" call.
