Around Cape Horn

And this is the tale of the

Watchman

Awake in the dead of night

Tells of the fourteen sleepers

Whose snoring gives him the blight.

(Lieut Ernest Shackleton, Aurora Australis, 1908)

SLEEP is not something that springs to mind, rounding Cape Horn - the south most tip of the Americas. The very mention of it is enough to send shivers down any steely spine. Here, Atlantic meets Pacific, in a confluence that can breed violent and unpredictable storms.

In the days of sail, we wouldn't have been standing on deck as we were earlier this week. Back then, rounding the Horn was a life threatening event. Sea conditions could shift dramatically as ships moved from one ocean system to another. Often never to return again.

The swell that we encountered was relatively benign, as our vessel steamed east west and back again in a ceremonial salute to the Chilean naval station perched on the craggy outcrop. Under seductive southern sun and a light westerly breeze, one could forget that this had been a maritime graveyard. Our last wandering albatross departed, having flown from Antarctic latitudes.

Only hours before, the Russian ship had crossed the Antarctic Convergence, where colder southern seas meet the warmer waters of the north. It was on a northerly bearing back to port after a 1,994 nautical mile round trip. And just eight days before, the Russian crew had yelled "Kak Dyeia" ("how's it goin'?") to the members of the South Aris Irish Antarctic Adventure, as they took delivery of their 23 foot wooden lifeboat, Tom Crean.

An Australian mountaineer with an Antarctic pedigree was the unlikely link between the Murmansk vessel and the Irish expedition, when logistical help was required with recreation of the Shackleton polar rescue of 1916. The Kilkenny built lifeboat, which is a replica of the original James Caird used by Shackleton between Elephant and South Georgia island, had to be transported to the ice edge from Argentina.

So did the expedition's seventh member, Jamie Young, and this reporter. Enter Greg Mortimer, with an offer to take all - along with a Sydney University group that he was leading - on the ship he had chartered: the former meteorological research vessel, Professor Molchanov.

It is nine years since Mortimer broke his own polar teeth on a harrowing sea voyage from Sydney harbour to the Antarctic's frozen Ross Sea. The six foot something geologist had already climbed Everest's Grand Couloir without oxygen, and K2, the world's second highest mountain. In 1988, the plan involved a rough, cough sea voyage in a 65 foot schooner and a trek some 100 miles overland. The aim was to reach the summit of the unclimbed Mount Minto, the highest peak in the Admiralty range.

The Australian expedition wanted to prove that small informal groups of dedicated people represented the best way to explore the white continent, without leaving too many footprints on its fragile "soil".

The venture was a success, but not without nightmares. Their vessel became stuck in the ice pack; they lost the skidoo used for transporting climbing gear. And as the Antarctic winter closed in on them, weather delayed their summit attempt.

So Mortimer's sympathies were with the Irish expedition as it set out with the Tom Crean, and its 54 foot rescue yacht, Pelagic, on the first leg of its journey north east. The rendezvous with the Molchanov had to be King George Island in the South Shetland group, due to the exposed nature of Elephant Island itself.

Also instrumental in the delivery were Irish maritime historian, Dr John de Courcy Ireland, and his Argentinian contact - notably the Navy, which makes much of its Mayo founder, William Brown; and local Beagle Channel sailor Danilo Clement.

Clement who is attached to the maritime museum in the Tierra del Fuego town of Ushuaia, was fairly sanguine about the prospects as the expedition departed. The crew would have to learn to live with constant bad forecasts, intense lows and northerly winds, in his view. But prevailing westerlies and the circumpolar current, which is a thousand times faster than the Amazon, would help to speed the Tom Crean on.

Delayed by one of those very constant low pressure systems that sweep through these latitudes, the expedition set a course for Elephant from King George on January 17th. They had already had a taste of the Southern Ocean's fury during the advance trip on their rescue yacht, when they hit a rollicking 36 hour gale in the notorious Drake Passage. After a brief landfall on Elephant's Point Wild on January 18th, where Shackleton's crew set up their meagre camp on a penguin rookery, the Tom Crean set off again that night.

EXPERIENCED Arctic and trans Atlantic Galway hooker skipper, Paddy Barry, was anxious to put this particular sail behind him. None of the other experienced crew was under any illusions either - particularly Jamie Young of Killary Lodge, Co Galway, who paddled round Cape Horn 10 years ago; Mike Barry, Kerry sailor and Everest climber; and boat builder, Jarlath Cunnane of Mayo.

Dubliner Frank Nugent, joint skipper and deputy leader of the 1993 Everest expedition, could afford to be infectiously enthusiastic. He has comparatively little sea time under his belt.

Shadowed by the Pelagic, there would be ice to contend with - though Greg Mortimer assured them that this was a "good ice year". Their other main advantage, apart from 20th century navigational equipment and goretex, would be the constant light. In the Antarctic summer, an insomniac syndrome known ash "big eye" can develop when the sun appears to stay awake for 20 hours a day.

Since last week, the Molchanov has been charting their progress with The Irish Times Mortimer and group, and South Aris supporter Kevin Cronin from Dublin on board. The ship's officers, who are among the world's most experienced ice navigators, have given us the run of the bridge and radio room.

The diminutive skipper, Captain Repin (58), said he wouldn't have minded being on the Crean complement.

Inevitably, the Molchanov has had its own course to follow. To the envy of the Irish expedition, we have travelled further south. While the Sydney University group made further studies of penguin colonies on the western Antarctic peninsula, this reporter took to a kayak at the ship's southern most anchorage - latitude 65 degrees six minutes (S).

We visited research stations, where life tends to be tough, frozen bearded and very male. Weaving a cautious course through berg scattered channels, the ship was followed by killer, humpback and minke whales. When it steamed into a bay created by an erupting volcano on Deception island, the opportunity could not be missed. In solidarity with the misery on board the Tom Crean, this reporter went for an alternately icy, but then lava heated, Antarctic sea swim.

This close contact with the expedition is over now. Given the lack of spare berths on the rescue yacht, it was the only way to capture the harsh environment, and to monitor the course. Further progress will be recorded by satellite link through the expedition's Esat Digifone system. In the meantime, The Irish Times has had its arm twisted to subscribe to the Tom Crean's "book".

The bet: how long to reach South Georgia. With all that wet gear in an aromatic cupboardsize cabin, they won't daily. Barring mishaps, they'll have to sight land again in... less than two weeks?