The gale broke on my ten-to-midnight watch， and the moon， almost full， showed through the rag clouds as they tore apart： a slow film flicker. After my watch I was below， again making tea， and Dan called， “Dad， I think I e The Horn，” and I on deck at eje speed and there it was.
“How did you e it， Dan?”
“One wave didn’t go down.”
I’d never en it but of cour it was The Horn； its form must have been in my gehe great rock sphinx， the croug lion at the bottom of the world. The a and the sky and the faintly outlined huge rock were all the same color—indigo， graded like the first three pulls of the same ink on a Japans woodblock print. We embraced， then stood entranced.
I went belooured a finger of Kahlua for each of us ( I oddly remembered a guest saying， “No， Leonora， the finger is held sideways， not straight down”). We toasted. I was about to say， “To the men who died here，” when Dan said， “To the people died here.” It was the only possible thing to say. There was the rock， after 2，500 miles of o， our first sighting， the rock itlf.
“You said 0100， Dan， and here we are.”
“Yes， but I was aiming for ten miles off.”
“You ’t be less tha...” I was staggered by that. Two hundred and thirty miles in thirty-six hours without sky fhts， only our eyes on the pass and on our wake to judge speed， in full gale， in strong current， and with a cour ge in the middle， and his error was two miles. The Horn bore north and I stepped behind him. Few had rouhe Horn in a boat this small， and he was ahead of me.
The gale broke on my ten-to-midnight watch， and the moon， almost full， showed through the rag clouds as they tore apart： a slow film flicker. After my watch I was below， again making tea， and Dan called， “Dad， I think I e The Horn，” and I on deck at eje speed and there it was.
“How did you e it， Dan?”
“One wave didn’t go down.”
I’d never en it but of cour it was The Horn； its form must have been in my gehe great rock sphinx， the croug lion at the bottom of the world. The a and the sky and the faintly outlined huge rock were all the same color—indigo， graded like the first three pulls of the same ink on a Japans woodblock print. We embraced， then stood entranced.
I went belooured a finger of Kahlua for each of us ( I oddly remembered a guest saying， “No， Leonora， the finger is held sideways， not straight down”). We toasted. I was about to say， “To the men who died here，” when Dan said， “To the people died here.” It was the only possible thing to say. There was the rock， after 2，500 miles of o， our first sighting， the rock itlf.
“You said 0100， Dan， and here we are.”
“Yes， but I was aiming for ten miles off.”
“You ’t be less tha...” I was staggered by that. Two hundred and thirty miles in thirty-six hours without sky fhts， only our eyes on the pass and on our wake to judge speed， in full gale， in strong current， and with a cour ge in the middle， and his error was two miles. The Horn bore north and I stepped behind him. Few had rouhe Horn in a boat this small， and he was ahead of me.