Grand tours: A ship at the bottom of the world

Adventures in literature: Derek Lundy encounters a square-rigger on a voyage round Cape Horn

Maritime misadventure has great appeal for Derek Lundy. The Canadian author's last book, 'Godforsaken Sea', told the story of the 1996 Vendée Globe round-the-world yacht race, which made headlines when Tony Bullimore capsized. In his new book, 'The Way of a Ship', Lundy, himself an experienced sailor, follows the route of his great-great uncle Benjamin, who in the late 19th century rounded Cape Horn on a square-rigger: "beautiful, widow-making, deep-sea" ships.

One hundred and sixteen years after the start of Benjamin's voyage, I sailed round Cape Horn for the first time in my life, and afterwards, just as I stepped ashore, I saw the square-rigger. The coincidence or commingling of the two events was remarkable, in a way fateful.

We docked Baltazar in Ushuaia, in the Argentine portion of Tierra del Fuego. This southernmost city in the world is the base for the handful of charter boats – a few French and one American – that operate in these remote and precarious waters. It's only eighty miles north-northwest of the Horn as the brown-headed albatross flies. On this late austral summer day, the snow line on the surrounding mountains began 650 feet above the sea. In Baltazar's unprotected cockpit, I wore every layer of clothing I had and still froze in the thirty- to forty-knot winds sweeping down the Beagle Channel. We had explored the icy fjords of the nearby Darwin Cordillera and, above all, we had sailed past the Horn, the mythic cape of my forefathers and of all the other vanished sea-men. After that, the last thing I expected to see at the end of the world was a square-rigged wind ship.

I had gone to the Horn expressly to find out more about square-riggers by looking at the place they had feared the most. I expected to see the landscape of dread and death, but in a historical mode – old Cape Stiff, the nemesis of ships and sailors long gone. My own status confirmed this: I was a tourist (although the tour was a strenuous one and required some skill and knowledge on my part) on a voluntary outing, sampling danger for a few days with all the paraphernalia of contemporary technology to keep me comfortable and relatively unafraid. Cape Horn means something to me as a modern sailor because it is still a hazardous place to hang around in small boats. But to experience it as a nineteenth-century sailor did, as my ancestor Benjamin had done – as a place of most dire threat, the largest natural mass graveyard marker in the world – was impossible. I could come close only through a constant effort of historical imagination. The cape is still there, but the ships have disappeared for ever.

Some square-riggers still operate. They fall into two categories: sail training vessels for the future naval and merchant-marine officers of various countries and ships for tourists, whether sailing versions of full-fledged cruise ships, with buffets and drinks by the pool, or the more spartan "training" vessels in which passengers may or may not help out with sail handling and maintenance, as they prefer. But both categories of these vessels keep mainly to the warm seas and palmy islands of the tropics, or follow the artificial tourist agendas of "tall ships" events.

After we had secured Baltazar at Ushuaia's Club Nautico, I walked down the waterfront Avenida Maipu to the commercial dock to look at the anachronistic wind ship. It was the Europa, a Dutch barque square-rigged on the forward two masts, fore-and-aft-rigged on the after mast. At about 150 feet on deck (180 feet counting the bowsprit), it was about half the size of the average iron or steel four-master of the 1880s and 1890s. Its great value for me was that it was rigged in close imitation of those old vessels. It was a revelation. I had studied many photographs, drawings and diagrams of the old wind ships. From these, I had tried to visualise the intricacies of their layout and gear: how the yards were attached; the run of braces and sheets; details of footropes, stirrups, shrouds; the universal organisation of the lines and their dedicated belaying-pins. I had read accounts of how things worked – the sequence of line-handling during tacking or wearing ship, hoisting sails, the order in which they were set and taken in. But it was, at best, difficult to wrap the mind around the actual procedures. What had to be done first? What could be done simultaneously? How differently were things done on various points of sail? In heavy weather? When ships were short-handed? The details were fuzzy, hieroglyphic. The square-rigger in Ushuaia was a personal Rosetta stone, the word and picture made flesh.

'The Way of a Ship' by Derek Lundy is published by Jonathan Cape (£18.99). Readers of 'The Independent on Sunday' can order a copy for £16.99 (including p&p within the UK). To order a copy, call 01206 255800.

Follow in the footsteps

World's end

Located at the southern tip of South America and known as the End of the World, Cape Horn is notorious for its 100 knot winds, overpowering currents, towering waves and frequent storms. The challenge of making a voyage in this hostile environment has lured sailors for hundreds of years. But nowadays you don't need the navigational skills of Ellen MacArthur to visit the Cape.

Getting there

Adventurous types can sail round Cape Horn aboard the charter yacht Pelagic, on a two-week cruise. Contact John Pearson (01962 862361; www.pelagic.co.uk). If your sea legs aren't quite sturdy enough, South American Experience (020-7976 5511, www.southamerican experience.co.uk) offers tailor-made cruises from £2,795 per person.

Louise Boyle