The Flying Longhorns Travel to the End of the World
If you’ve never traveled to South America—and most of our group had not—it’s nearly impossible to understand the vertical expanse of Chile. For Americans, a helpful perspective might be that it’s more than three and a half times the length of California. We began our journey in the north in Santiago and then progressed by air, land, and sea to the southernmost tip of the Tiera del Fuego archipelago, just 400 miles north of Antarctica.
With the Pacific Ocean to the west, the Andes Mountains to the east, and much of our itinerary consisting of fjords, glaciers, and channels—the weather was unpredictable almost up to the hour of the day. This made our clear-skied excursions to jaw-droppingly beautiful places such as Torres del Paine National Park and, quite miraculously, the treacherous and desolate Cape Horn, feel like stolen experiences.
The ever-changing weather also helpfully clarified the difference between the “waterproof” and “water-resistant” claims of our clothing—and brought out the rainbows. As we gasped and pointed at the sky, our guide was a tad bemused. “Oh yes, we get so many rainbows in Chile,” she said. “You can take a picture.”
On one of the final nights of the trip, aboard our expedition ship, we raised our glasses and toasted to having a sense of adventure. Not everyone gets a brochure asking them to go to the end of the world and thinks, “Sure, OK,” I told the group. But we did. And boy, were we rewarded for it. —Dorothy Guerrero
Photographs by Mike Guerrero
A clear-ish view of the famous Torres del Paine, which translates to the "blue towers." The stunning peaks were once the logo of the national park but were later removed to manage tourists' expectations because the mountains are usually obscured by clouds.
Herds of guanacos, a member of the llama family, are plentiful throughout the region and are prey for pumas.
More scenic views in South America's most treasured national park, Torres del Paine.
A view of the mouth of Mildon Cave, near Puerto Natales, where a German explorer discovered the remains of a prehistoric sloth that is thought to be at least 10,000 years old.
A paddleboarder navigates the sea along the town of Puerto Natales, which grew up around the sheep and coal industries in the 20th century.
A Longhorn disembarks a zodiac boat, which ferries passengers to and from the glaciers.
A view from the ship as we sail through the famous Glacier Alley.
Passengers gather around a map of Wulaia Bay before setting off on a hike. Charles Darwin arrived here in 1833 aboard the HMS Beagle.
Rachel Clay (left) and Ruth Berg, BM ’73, enjoy a lookout over Wulaia Bay, which was one of the largest settlements of the Yámana, an indigenous tribe that lived in the extreme south of Chile but was almost entirely wiped out by European settlers.
An intrepid journalist and editor of this magazine flashes a hook ’em after reaching the albatross monument at Cape Horn, which pays tribute to the sailors who died in these waters. Many passenger ships are not able to approach Cape Horn due to the weather. Our group was very lucky and even received a certificate from the captain commemorating the achievement.
