Around the World Submerged: The Voyage of the Triton

While waiting for further word from the Macon, Machinist’s Mate Bob Carter is busy with a hacksaw, taking off the loose bridge guardrail we had noticed. In a few minutes the welcome word comes from our Communications Officer, Lt. Bob Brodie, in Radio: “Bridge, Radio—from the Macon—Poole safely on board.”

Among the papers Poole has with him are personal letters of appreciation to Admiral Stephan and Captain Reuben Whitaker. More than our thanks for their help, there is little information we can give them about our trip. They must be bursting with curiosity. We send a final message of thanks and then, with topside clear and hatch shut, I order Dick Harris, Diving Officer of the Watch, to return to periscope depth. The air bubble in our tanks is released, and gently Triton eases her sail into the warm sea. The total time with the bridge above water has been less than an hour. With a deep feeling of gratitude for the way the Navy has come through, we shape our course at maximum speed southward.

Now that we have successfully solved the difficult problem about Poole, the atmosphere in our ship lightens considerably. With everything wide open, Triton is again heading for Cape Horn. This time we will save time by passing to the west of the Falkland Islands and head for Estrecho de le Maire, a small strait between Staten Island [familiar name] and the main part of Tierra del Fuego.

We calculate that we will have gone 2,000 miles out of our way on this mercy mission, and it has cost several days. The distance is almost equal to an Atlantic transit.

10

Sunday, March sixth, was a day of rest, well deserved by all hands, and it was noteworthy for a special reason. Our growing concern over our fathometer had caused us to keep a closer-than-usual watch over it and over our regular search-sonar equipment, too. Searching out ahead, to our great pleasure, the latter at 1610 detected something that looked like a fifty-foot peak, or boulder, on the bottom. A moment later, as Triton herself passed over the spot, the fathometer registered the accuracy of the information. It was a comforting thought to know that our search sonar, designed to detect other ships and submarines, might be depended on to give us adequate warning of the approach of shoal water.

For two days, Triton roared toward Cape Horn, driving to make up lost time. On Monday, the seventh of March, we reached the storied Land’s End of the western hemisphere.

I had been giving some thought to how we should make proper observance of our passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific and finally hit upon a simple idea. In the Triton Eagle, I occasionally wrote a column called “The Skipper’s Corner,” to say things which it seemed might best be handled informally. On the seventh of March, therefore, the following entry appeared in “The Skipper’s Corner”:

As for Cape Horn, Triton will make a photographic reconnaissance on it, and then Mr. Roberts will make a National Geographic reconnaissance. Following this, as we cruise by for the 3rd or 4th time, I intend to require every man on the ship to come to the conning tower for a look. It is not a usual thing for a sailor to round the Horn these days. Many spend a lifetime and never do. By far the majority of US Navy sailors have never done it. Quite obviously, if you ever brag about having been around the Horn, the next question will either be, “Did you see it?” or “What does it look like?”

We intend to take a picture and I think it will be possible to make enough copies for all hands. But more than this, I want every man aboard to be able to say he’s seen it. Note: there will be no muster taken. If you don’t want to see the Horn, no one will force you. But you’ll wish you did later, because you’ll probably never get the chance again.

And then, that morning, I let it be known that in the old days, when a sailor went around the Horn, he hoped not to see the fabled Cape. If anyone aboard an old sailing ship, bucking wind and tide to double the Cape, sighted the forbidding promontory looming through the haze, it was considered that bad luck would follow very soon in the form of shipwreck on one of the most inhospitable coasts in the world.