imagine yourself seeing it from the eyes of a convict, or immigrant, on a wind driven ship caught between the wind and the shore. Not only would you have to survive the pounding surf, you would then have to climb the cliffs and then find help in a sparsely populated area with minimal water or food.
In the 1800s, over 100 major wrecks occurred on this coast. The original convict ships (about 1790) sailed to South America (usually Rio), provisioned, then sailed to Cape horn (again to take on supplies), and then on to Australia. A trip of 3 or 4 months duration.
With the advent of the clipper ships, the Great Circle route became the preferred route. Dip down into the Southern Ocean near Antartica and catch the strong westerlies. The problems included icebergs as well as hitting the "Eye of the Needle", the 55 mile window between Cape Otway and King Island and then into Melbourne harbor. But with only primitive instruments and no land sighting for 7000 miles, many missed the mark by the few miles that meant disaster. The payoff was that success meant a trip of about 70 days.
I
think this poem captures the feeling as well as anything else I've read.
Interesting factoids
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