Extreme Points of Land (2024)

Extreme Points of Land At the end of the last posting, I said I was eager to continue the narrative into Miami Beach. But when telling about some fun things in Key West, I had purposely only passed over quickly what I call the populist fraud that is the so-called "Southernmost Point". To complete that earlier thought, I wanted to first talk about what I'll call Extreme Points of Land around the world. As it turns out, I had more fun getting deep into that topic, and it was enough for a posting on its own. Thus, we'll continue with Miami Beach in the next posting.

Now the concept of extreme points can be wildly overdone, since every island, every country, every continent, has an easternmost point, a westernmost, and so on, which are of absolutely no interest. So I'm looking at it this way. We are the Water Planet, tho we call ourselves Earth. Still, wherever land meets water is always interesting, and sometimes spectacular. I want to talk about a number of places I've been to that have greatly impressed me. Sometimes they are the X-most in some direction, and sometimes they're just close to being an extreme. But they're all worthwhile, geographically and historically, and this is the time to summarize the best of them, since I've described them all over the years, but never compiled a list such as this.

Of course there are plenty of such places I've NOT been to, such as Cape York at the top of the Cape York Peninsula in northeastern Australia (Photo by Summerdrought). It's the northernmost point on the Australian mainland (Photo by Gonzo Gooner), which I'm sure would be a great HIC LOCUS EST / This is the Place visit. But from past experience, I'm sure there'd be lots more to see there, where a point of land meets water.
As I recently described in 2024/2, I have been to Cairns and its area to visit the Great Barrier Reef, but never got any serious distance further north. (In compensation, I have visited Cape Leeuwin diagonally across Australia—more below.)
Let me also add that there are a lot of local fun extreme points I'm not going into: I've been to the tip of Cape Cod where the so-called Pilgrims landed; to Montauk Point at the end of Long Island; to Victorian Cape May in New Jersey; to Cape Hatteras in North Carolina; and came very close to Cape Sable, the southernmost point on the Florida (and US) mainland. I enjoyed them all, and they're all worth visiting. But let's look at some fun ones, many international, that are of particular interest, all geographically, and some historically.

NORDKAPP Located at the top of Europe among the Norwegian fjords, Nordkapp / North Cape (Map by Markus Bernet & demis.nl) is on the northern coast of the island of Magerøya. The E69 motorway has its northern terminus there, which makes it the northernmost point in Europe that can be accessed by car, and makes the E69 the northernmost public road in Europe. The cape, a popular attraction, includes a 307 m (1,007 ft) cliff with a large flat plateau on top, where visitors, weather permitting, can view the Barents Sea to the north. The steep cliff is located 2,102.3 km (1,306.3 mi) from the North Pole. Nordkapp is often inaccurately referred to as the northernmost point of Europe. However, the neighboring cape Knivskjellodden actually extends 1,450 m (4,760 ft) further north. I personally think the name Nordkapp only means it's the northern cape of the island, but in the popular mind, it's projected as being somehow the northern cape of Europe.
In addition, both of these points are situated on an island (Magerøya), albeit one connected by road to the mainland. Actually, the northernmost point of mainland Europe is at Cape Nordkinn (Kinnarodden) 5.7 km (3.5 mi) further south and about 70 km (43 mi) to the east. All these points are on our map.
Honningsvåg is the northernmost city in mainland Norway and is a port of call for both the Hurtigruten Coastal Express and cruise ships. Beverly and I were there with Hurtigruten on the Håkon Jarl in 1973 and stopped in Honnigsvåg. We were taken by bus to Nordkapp—and saw absolutely nothing because of the dense coastal fog. However, in 2006, the Deutschland stopped here on the way to Spitsbergen. The travel diary says that the group "walked around Honnigsvåg, then sailed around Magerøya to sail past Nordkapp in the sun". I would assume we went up to Nordkapp as well, but I don't remember that second visit, but I do clearly remember looking UP from the ship to the cliff.

This is Nordkapp, looking northwest toward Knivskjellodden (Photo by Leonhard Lenz). Click to see the railing around the plateau on the cliff. This is the reverse view of North Cape as seen looking southeast from Knivskjelvika (Photo by Frankemann). Note that fog rolling in. Finally, this is an (overly) dramatic antique view c1970 of the Gripsholm at Nordkapp (Photo by National Maritime Museum of Greenwich UK). I include it because it shows the relationship of a ship looking up to the cliff, which is how I remember it best (tho in bright sunlight).

MOFFEN In 2006, right from Nordkapp, we headed north to the Svalbard archipelago, which includes the large island of Spitsbergen. This map shows everything above the Arctic Circle at a mere 66° 34' N, which we'd passed coming up along the Norwegian coast. We made several stops in Spitsbergen, one of which was to see the small, low Moffen Island barely visible on this map on the north coast. It was just two days after being at Nordkapp. Moffen lies just north of 80° and being so far north (the Geographic North Pole is at 90°N), it has become a popular target for vessels touring the archipelago, tho setting foot on the island is prohibited, since it would disturb the wildlife, notably the walruses (!!). It's the only time I ever saw walrus in the wild, and 80°N, here on the water, is the furthest north I've ever been on the Earth's surface (I once flew the Polar route). Moffen was on June 17. Five months later that same year, on November 27, I reached the furthest south I've ever been on Earth, 65°S, again on the water, in Lemaire Channel in Antarctica. See below.
This is a rather dark view from a ship, similar to how I saw it, of Moffen with its walruses (Photo by Sphinx). However, I recall a snowflake or two, in June. Click to see their white tusks.

SKAGEN The northernmost town in Denmark is Skagen (Map by Attilios), on the east coast of the sandy Skagen Odde peninsula in the far north of Jutland. Skagen Odde stretches some 30 km (19 mi) northeast of the town. It's reported to be one of the largest spit systems in Europe, created by a continuous process of marine sand and gravel deposition, moved in a northeast direction by longshore currents. The width of the spit varies from 3 to 7 km (2 to 4 mi). Contrary to common belief, the northernmost point of Jutland and Denmark proper is located on the spit's northern beach (Nordstrand) and not on the sandbar of Grenen at the northeastern tip of the spit. On this aerial view looking north, click to find the town by its port area, then judge the location of both the point of Grenen and the northern beach (Photo by Parrot of Doom). In 1973, Beverly and I walked out to Grenen.

The strait to the north is the Skagerrak, which is actually named after Skagen, illustrating the historic importance of the town. In Dutch, (rak means "straight [waterway]"), so the Skagerrak could be translated as the "Skagen Straightaway".
All the waters east of the Jutland peninsula form the Kattegat. An imaginary line on the above map that would connect the two red symbols, one in Sweden, delineates the official border between the two waterways. The Kattegat, which gets quite narrow at points, also derives from Dutch, going back to Hanseatic League ship captains sailing thru all these waters. Kattegat is based on the Dutch word for "cat", kat (surprise!), plural katten, plus gat "gate, opening, passage", implying a passage so tight that even a cat would have difficulty squeezing its way thru. Consider the Kattegat to be the "Cat's Passage". I've sailed thru both straits.

LAND'S END Just as Americans delineate the width of the contiguous part of the US (east/west) by using the expression "from coast to coast", people on the island of Great Britain delineate its (south/north) length via the term "from Land's End to John o' Groats" (Map by Kicior99).
John o' Groats is the traditional extreme northern point of mainland Scotland (Photo by Davidcarroll). As is often the case, the actual northernmost point is Dunnet Head about 3 km (2 mi) further north. The point that is farthest by road from Land's End is Duncansby Head, about 3 km (2 mi) east of John o' Groats. Duncansby Head is also the most northeasterly point of the British mainland.
The small settlement takes its name from Jan de Groot (literally "John the Great"), a 15C Dutchman who once plied a ferry from here to the nearby Orkney Islands. He may have charged a groat, an old coin, for the ferry trip, which might have become blended with his Dutch name. The furthest north I've been in Scotland is to the Inverness area at the western end of that indentation, but never as far north as John o' Groats.
On the other hand, in the southwest I greatly enjoyed the Land's End headland in Cornwall when we drove out there in 2001. It's popularly considered incorrectly as mainland Great Britain's most southwesterly point, but that's actually Gwennap Head, quite a bit further south. Confirm that by clicking on this map (Map by the Director General of the Ordnance Survey, UK, 1960). Land's End is at Peal Point on the map. It's also popularly considered the westernmost point of mainland England, but that is actually Dr Syntax's Head, a few hundred meters/yards to the northwest, also on the map.
This is an aerial view of the Land's End complex just before the cliffs (Photo Land's End: aerial, 1999 by Chris), and here are some of the cliffs along the coast (Photo by Keven Law). Of course there's the usual distance sign (Photo by Keith Allen). I particularly enjoyed seeing New York mentioned, mainly envisioning the years of emigrants sailing along England's south coast, such as from Plymouth. While Land's End is a land reference, it also could refer to the thoughts of the last bit of England those emigrants from the south coast (Plymouth) would see before crossing the Atlantic. I remember looking westward out to sea (Photo by Guenter Wieschendahl).

CABO DE SÃO VICENTE The southwesternmost corner of Portugal (Map by Rowanwindwhistler) is also the southwesternmost corner of Europe, at Cabo de São Vicente Cape Saint Vincent /. The actual westernmost and southernmost points are elsewhere on the Iberian peninsula.
The local area narrows down into a narrow peninsula (Map by Ddtuga), with the Cape located on a promontory on the west side, and Sagres Point appearing on a promontory on the east side. As clicking on this aerial view shows (Photo by Alchemist-hp), Sagres Point is named for the village of Sagres adjacent to it.
Sagres (SAH.gresh) is historically connected to the early Portuguese Age of Discovery, when navigators circled the world. Its name derives from sagrado / sacred. The Latin name Sacrum Promontorium referred to a sacred promontory in this area, possibly on Cape Saint Vincent. This cape was the westernmost tip of the then known world and was considered magical. Common people believed the sun sank here hissing into the ocean, marking the edge of their world.
This view looks south down Sagres Point, including the old fortress (Photo by Pedro PVZ). In 1987, Beverly wrote "we entered the Fortaleza and made a circle walk of the headland." This view looks west out onto Cabo de São Vicente (Photo by Luc T). The path out from the lighthouse (click) yields wonderful views out to sea.

CAPE SPEAR Cape Spear is a headland on the Avalon Peninsula of Newfoundland southeast of St John's, and within its municipal boundaries.

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The first link shows the region; the second is a detail showing the road out there; the third shows the closest detail of the National Historic Site.
Cape Spear (Photo by Tango7174) is the easternmost point of Canada and of all of North America, excluding Greenland. The Portuguese named it Cabo da Esperança / Cape of Hope (compare this with the Portuguese also naming the Cape of Good Hope, below). This Portuguese name became Cap d'Espoir in French, which is reasonable. But when English speakers got hold of the French name, thru folk etymology, they twisted it into Cape Spear, tho there are no spears in sight.
In 1984 we were driving around Newfoundland. I remember it was a Sunday morning, and a holiday, Canada Day (July 1) to boot, when we decided to drive out to Cape Spear, so things couldn't be more deserted. My clearest memory of that experience is coming across a huge moose in the road en route. That memory overwhelms me to the extent that I don't really remember seeing the cape itself. But Beverly wrote in the diary: We drove out to Cape Spear . . . and came across two moose standing by the highway. We toured the lighthouse, which was restored to its mid 1800s state. So OK, it was two moose, and we did tour the lighthouse. That's the value of travel diaries.
The moose (the word used in North America) or elk (the word used in Eurasia) is the world's tallest, largest, and heaviest extant species of deer (Photo by Paxson Woelber). It is also the tallest, and the second-largest, land animal in North America, being surpassed only by the American bison ("buffalo") in body mass.
In addition, I've already talked about seeing the smallest North American deer, the tiny Key Deer in the Florida Keys. However, I'm not planning on soon meeting a bison/buffalo on the highway.

POINT PELÉE This location is unusual in that it is not in the ocean, but in one of the Great Lakes. I haven't been able to find in our diaries the year we did this but I do remember we were driving in southern Ontario along the north shore of Lake Erie and stopped at Point Pelée, a National Park not far from Detroit/Windsor and across from Cleveland OH (Map by NormanEinstein). The park is a sandspit that extends 15 km (9.3 mi) into Lake Erie and is up to 70 m (230 ft) wide. It's Canada's smallest national park.
The English name is based on French peler "to peel"; the French name, Pointe Pelée, literally "Peeled Point", is actually "Barren Point". The above map shows two islands with it, but the peninsula on the mainland that tapers to a sharp point has the added quirk of being the southernmost mainland point in Canada. While I do remember driving in the park marshlands, you can't drive all the way to the very tip of the point, but can see it in the distance.
This view looks south to Point Pelée. Apparently hikers can go to the very tip. And here's a view looking north at that very tip from just barely offshore (Both Photos by Flibirigit), so it seems you can not only walk, but also bike to the very tip of this very narrow point. This is one Point that literally does come to a point!

NORTHWEST ANGLE While we're talking about inland destinations, we can include the Northwest Angle of Minnesota, which I visited in late 2015. It's fully described in 2016/9, and why it exists is explained in that posting. Below are two maps I used then.

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The first map shows the larger region, as far as Winnipeg. These are two parts of Minnesota, but to get there by land you have to legally enter Canada and cross a corner of Manitoba (see 2016/9). The map includes the village of Angle Inlet, near where I stayed. The second map specifically points out the remote Northwest Point. Well in advance, I'd arranged by email for a woman with a boat named Deb Butler to pick me up at the resort and sail west to bring me to the (watery) extreme spot. I wrote in that posting: As we went along, Ontario was on our right, and it wasn't too long until we were close to the Northwest Point. Manitoba was straight ahead, where MN and ON came together to just touch it. She stopped the boat when she said she didn't want to risk scraping bottom, but asked if I wanted to go any further. I saw the white buoy up ahead, and was satisfied.

KA LAE Literally "The Point", Ka Lae (ka.LA.é) is the Hawaiian name for South Point, which, at 18°55"N, is the southernmost point of the Big Island of Hawaii, of the state of Hawaii, and of the 50 United States.
[You have to word that as shown, since the southernmost point of all the US, totally inclusive, is Rose Atoll in American Samoa at 14°34'11"S—yes, that's South. I've been to both Apia and to Pago Pago (say PANG.go PANG.go), but never to Rose Atoll.]

For orientation, the first link below shows all of the Hawaiian islands, the second, just the "big island" of Hawaii, and the third, local detail at Ka Lae.

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We'd been to Hawaii before, but on my 2008 solo trip, I stayed in the Kona area, officially Kailua-Kona, at a coffee plantation with a hotel, located above Kona in Holualoa. On one of the days there, I decided to drive counterclockwise around the island on the Hawaii Belt Road, mostly Highway 11 (see middle map). One of my goals was to take South Point Road, the 19 km (12 mi) paved, narrow side road to Ka Lae. In 2008/25, I noted: The first half of the road was through lush countryside, then you entered US government property, and the road deteriorated considerably to bumps and potholes. . . . A few other couples had walked there that I chatted with, but without adequate signage, most people didn’t know, and weren’t curious enough, to walk the extra distance to get the best view. . . . This was the first landfall in the Hawaiian Islands by Polynesians in about 700 CE. No sign pointed that out, although some stone carvings had some minimal signage. The view down the slope to the point was impressive, especially as you watched waves coming from the southeast to the east side of the point clash with waves coming from the southwest to the west side of the point. You got an end-of-the-earth feeling, considering that Tahiti was way down there to the southeast, and Samoa and Fiji were way down there to the southwest.
I've since confirmed that Ka Lae (Photo by Reweaver33) is the site of one of the earliest Hawaiian settlements, and that it's generally thought that this IS where the Polynesians first landed because the Big Island is the closest of the Hawaiian Islands to Tahiti, and Ka Lae would be the point of first landfall. It's on the National Register of Historic Places. I've also found this depiction of how Austronesians dispersed across the Pacific (Map by Pavljenko). It illustrates how it's believed that all these people started by leaving Madagascar (!) c500 CE. The Polynesians then did a three-way separation at Samoa, Bora Bora, and Tahiti c700 CE. Some went north and reached Hawaii first, c900 CE (not 700 as I'd heard); some went east and reached Rapa Nui (Easter Island) c1000-1200 CE, and some went southwest to New Zealand, arriving C1200 CE. And those arriving in Hawaii probably did so at Ka Lae.

CAPE LEEUWIN Jumping to Australia on the other side of the world, we come Cape Leeuwin (LU.win), mentioned earlier as being diagonally across from the York Peninsula.

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The first link shows the south coast of Australia, the western part of which obviously does not go as far south as the eastern part. Note that Cape Leeuwin in the west is on the lower part of a small peninsula.
The second link shows that small peninsula, as well as its distance from Perth, where in 2010, I rented a car and drove to the area on a day trip to see Cape Leeuwin and several other sights. It's located just south of Augusta and is the most southwesterly mainland point of the Australian continent. But it's not the most southerly point on the western half of the continent; that would West Cape Howe, the first cape (not named) just west of Albany. Note also the (here unnamed) cape west of Busselton.

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This detailed map (click) shows that to be Cape Naturaliste. Cape Leeuwin is often grouped with this next headland north to identify the geography and ecology of the peninsula, such as in the name of Leeuwin-Naturaliste National Park, which is highly fragmented into 28 separate reserves between the two capes.
The English navigator Matthew Flinders named Cape Leeuwin after the first known ship to have visited the area, the Leeuwin ("Lioness"), a Dutch vessel that charted some of the nearby coastlines in 1622.
Most countries and official bodies consider that the so-called Southern Ocean exists only south of 60°S and merely hugs Antarctica (Map by Connormah). Note the considerable distance to Australia on the lower right. But in Australia, it's conveniently considered that the Southern Ocean extends way up to its southern coastline, and that Cape Leeuwin, at a mere 34°S, is the dividing point between it and the Indian Ocean.

This is a view south to Cape Leeuwin and its lighthouse (Photo by JarrahTree...commons.wikimedia.org) and this is the view from the Cape out to sea (Photo by Calistemon). In 2010/23 I wrote that you drive across the narrow isthmus and see the lighthouse up ahead. And it’s just that narrow isthmus that Flinders discovered, proving that the cape was not on an island, but attached to the mainland. I didn’t climb the lighthouse, as I'd already climbed so many, but wrote that the views from around the base were spectacular. I particularly enjoyed, on a distance marker, the fact that it’s 5,435 km (3,377 mi) due south to Antarctica. You can descend closer to the water just south of the lighthouse to a boardwalk and viewing area, but many people, including moi, slipped through the wooden fence around the boardwalk and walked out onto the rock area. Unlike other seacliff areas, which have many, chaotic boulders that are difficult to maneuver, this was a rather flat, single outcropping of rock, and we were able to get quite close to the breakers, to the point where you could smell the salt spray in the air. And once again, I recalled the admonition posted at Peggy’s Cove in Nova Scotia, which I often like to quote: Savour the Sea . . .
I also noted in that posting that I'd found out that Cape Leeuwin is very close to being the antipodes of NYC and I'd said that there’s no place on earth further distant that a traveler can go to than the antipodes of where he lives. I just found on Google Maps that my decimalized latitude of where I am in Lower Manhattan is 40.7 (40.7° N). Subtracting 90° gives me -49.3 (49.3°S). My longitude is -74.0 (74.0°W). Subtracting 180° yields 106.0 (106.0°E). Those two figures show that my antipode falls in the Indian Ocean at a point 1,678 km (1,043 mi) roughly SSW of Cape Leeuwin.
I then found this map that shows all the antipodes of the Earth (Map by Citynoise). Click on upside-down North America in yellow at the bottom. Florida will be at the top, and Newfoundland at the bottom. You can estimate between them where NYC would be, and its antipodal distance to Cape Leeuwin.

ANTARCTIC PENINSULA The Antarctic Peninsula is the northernmost part of mainland Antarctica (Map by Heraldry). It's that "finger" that reaches toward Tierra del Fuego, the southernmost tip of South America, about 1,000 km (620 mi) away across the Drake Passage. On the upper right here is Africa, on the lower right is Australia.
I went there both by plane and by ship. After Beverly and I had overflown it in 2004, I sailed there solo in 2006.
2004 was a momentous year. Beverly and I took two major trips. In February we spent our longest time ever on a ship, seven weeks on the Caronia out of Florida around South America, then in June/July on the Queen Mary 2 to Central Europe and the Benelux, after which she went directly into a nursing home and died in October. In December, I did my first solo trip ever, on the Deutschland to the Caribbean.
When the Caronia reached the Strait of Magellan (Estrecho de Magallanes in Spanish on the map), we stopped at Punta Arenas (Sandy Point), Chile (Map by Createaccount). The ship offered us all a pricey side trip, called Antarctic Flightseeing. It's the sort of thing we normally wouldn't do as a side trip in the middle of another trip, but seeing Antarctica was incredibly intriguing. If I'd known I'd be sailing to Antarctica two years later, I'd never have done it. On the other hand, maybe this flight is what got me interested in doing the later trip, solo. I don't know.
But enough passengers did sign up, and so we were brought to the airport and only partially filled a LAN Chile plane, a big Boeing 747-200 similar to this (Photo by AlfvanBeem).

The weather was overcast, and I'm sure we were all dubious as to whether this would work. I doubt if the flight across the Drake Passage lasted an hour, and approaching on arrival the absolutely northernmost bit of the Antarctic Peninsula from the northwest, there was little to see of the mainland thru the dense clouds. But the pilot knew to fly a bit further to the east side of the Peninsula.
On this map, #1 indicates the tippy-tip of the top of the Peninsula. While there are some islands to the north, we managed to see three islands to the east, in the Weddell Sea. (The later trip concentrated on west-side areas further south.) We saw from the air #2, the large James Ross Island, #6, Snow Hill Island, almost completely snowcapped, hence the name; but we concentrated on #8, Seymour Island, which includes (B) Marambio Station.
This is a geologic map of Seymour Island (Map by Crame et al., 2014, PLoS ONE), which is relatively snow-free and has been described online as being "of remarkable appearance". This map doesn't show the Station at the north end, but this is a panoramic view of Marambio Station at dawn (Photo by Florchiz.vm). Marambio Station is a permanent, all year-round Argentine Antarctica station. At the time of its construction it was the first airfield in Antarctica and is still one of the most frequently used ones due to its suitability for wheeled landing. Scientific research at Marambio is planned and executed by specialized departments.
I wrote in our travel diary (by then, Beverly was no longer able to maintain it) that we were told that the station was doing two experiments, of the study of noise on wildlife and the effect of residue from engines. Rather amusing was when we overflew a penguin colony. The area was pink, due to the penguin poop, which was pink due to the krill in their diet.

2006 Then in 2006, my Antarctica trip, (by way of Easter Island and Santiago, Chile) included a two-stop flight from Santiago (one stop was in Punta Arenas) to Ushuaia, Argentina (It's us.hua.ia [us.WA.ya], and is usually mispronounced by English speakers). Ushuaia is on the beautiful Beagle Channel / Canal Beagle (click).
We sailed from there in a loop and only now do I fully understand that we were encircling what is called the Scotia Sea (Map by Gi), by far the best place to spot wildlife. On the way to the Falklands (second visit, since the Caronia had stopped there two years earlier), we spotted a royal albatross, the largest kind, and our first iceberg. We were on our way to South Georgia, the most fabulous place on the entire trip for wildlife (fur seals, huge elephant seals, and all kinds of penguins, including the large King penguins). Offshore we saw a humpback whale with her calf.

We then swung back to the South Shetlands, where we saw fin whales spouting just before we came to Elephant Island (Photo by Aqqa Rosing-Asvid). We then visited the area of the Antarctic Peninsula (you can see the three islands from the flight). Afterward, we finished the loop along the south side of the Drake Passage.
Because the Peninsula is the most northerly area of Antarctica, it has the mildest climate within the continent. It's 80% ice-covered and is dotted with numerous research stations. It's also very mountainous, its highest peaks rising to about 2,800 m (9,200 ft). These mountains are considered to be a continuation of the Andes of South America, with a underwater ridge under the Drake Passage connecting the two. Then of course, the Andes continue north thru all the Americas under varying names, including the Rockies.

Take a look at this map of the Peninsula (Map by Gi). I hate it because it's so illegible, but that's because it IS very inclusive. Click on it for now, just for orientation. All the red writing shows how many research stations there are here, all concentrated in the warmer north. Note how many nations are present, some unexpected. Find the Weddell Sea islands: James Ross, Snow Hill, Seymour. Now find these South Shetland Islands: Elephant, King George (with the Polish Arctowski Research Station), Deception Island. For final orientation, find our area of concentration down the west coast, the Danco Coast, opposite the large Anvers Island.
Now, if you're oriented, let's move instead to this much clearer and easier-to-read map of the Peninsula (Map by Giovanni Fattori). The Danco Coast is in red—note (click) that it's a little further south than our three Weddell islands, is on the opposite (west) coast, and that the 65°S latitude comes tantalizingly close. Will we make it?
We certainly won't make it to the Antarctic Circle beyond, which is at roughly 66°33'50" (Map by Thesevenseas).
Arriving from the Scotia Sea, we first visited the South Shetland Islands (Map by Topbanana), separated from the Peninsula by the Bransfield Strait. We passed by Elephant Island, but stopped on King George Island to see the Polish Arctowski Research Station (Photo by Acaro). This picture shows the lighthouse there, with some Gentoo penguins and a huge elephant seal (click), but my travel diary says our group saw instead some Adélie penguins, the most common variety (Photo by Andrew Shiva / Wikipedia / CC BY-SA 4.0).
On the Shetland map, note the flyspeck called Penguin Island. We stopped there and saw an entire rookery (breeding colony) of chinstrap penguins (Photo by Andrew Shiva / Wikipedia / CC BY-SA 4.0). It's my favorite kind, since it's SO identifiable, by that narrow black band under its head that makes it look like it's wearing a black helmet.

That last photo was actually taken on nearby Deception Island, which was our next stop. It's small enough not to appear on every map, but is on the Shetland map. Deception Island has a large horseshoe-shaped natural harbor with a maximum diameter of around 15 km (9.3 mi). The harbor is the caldera of an underlying active volcano. Its odd shape is what gave it its name, since it appears from the outside to be a natural island until the narrow entrance to the harbor reveals it rather to be an almost complete ring around a flooded caldera.
Deception Island, with over 15,000 visitors a year, has become a popular tourist stop in Antarctica because of its several colonies of chinstrap penguins, as well as the possibility of taking a warm bath in some geothermal springs.
This is a map of Deception Island (Map by Treehill & Fitzgabbro). We stopped at Whalers' Bay and then sailed into the caldera, this view showing Telefon Bay (Photo by Andrew Shiva / Wikipedia / CC BY-SA 4.0). We stopped in Pendulum Cove, where there were geothermal springs which those of the group who'd brought the suggested bathing suits, wallowed in. I did not. This touristy view (one bozo is wearing a Viking helmet) might be there, or elsewhere in the caldera (Photo by Lyubomir Ivanov). It was, however, fun to experience dipping one's hand in rather warm water with snow visible in the distance.
On the outside of the island, find Baily Head. That's where this picture of a rookery of chinstrap penguins was taken, the signature bird of the island (Photo by mike). Vast as this colony might seem, it's small compared to the colonies with thousands and thousands of penguins we saw on South Georgia Island, which should not be missed along with a visit to Antarctica.

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We then went further south to the Anvers (Antwerp) Island area and made a number of stops, including in the Neumayer Channel and at Port Lockroy, an old British base with a museum. But the three most memorable stops on the entire trip were seeing (1) all the fauna on South Georgia Island, (2) the Lemaire channel, and (3) Paradise Bay.

The Lemaire Channel was to us just another fun stop, but I've since learned that it's a popular destination for tourist cruise ships that visit Antarctica. As the above map shows, it's a strait between an offshore island and a small peninsula of the mainland (which I didn't realize at the time).

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I have to admit that this picture is much prettier than what we saw, which I'll explain. There are steep cliffs on both sides, and there are icebergs in the scenic passage, which is 11 km (6.8 mi) long and just 600 m (2,000 ft) wide at its narrowest point. The protected waters are usually as still as a lake. I read only now that the north-south traverse delivers vessels close to Petermann Island (see map) for landings, and that the principal difficulty is that icebergs may fill the channel, forcing a ship to backtrack and go around the outside of Booth Island to reach Petermann. Well, on our adventure, none of that happened.

The captain and his staff had the most liberal policy I've ever experienced as to access to the bridge. We were told that, anytime the door to the bridge was open, we were welcome to step in and see them working, and get the best view forward of the ship available.
For some reason, however, we were scheduled to visit the Lemaire Channel overnight, and we were specifically informed that, if we wanted to watch our passage, we should get dressed in the middle of the night and come to the bridge at roughly 3 AM. About a dozen or so of us were completely game to do so, and this is how events turned out.
Antarctic nights were not that dark where we were, and it was sort of twilight—contrary to the above picture—when we entered the channel, moving very slowly. The cliffs were visible, but shadowy. I don't know if reaching Peterman was in the cards at all (we didn't) but after some time of enjoying the passage, the captain said we'd have to stop soon and turn around because of the icebergs. I'd been looking at the dial that showed our position, and it read something in the very high 64° range—let's guess it read something like 64.9°-- and I asked the captain if we could wait to turn around until we hit 65°S, and he agreed. In a few moments, at 3:30 AM, we reached 65° 04' and that was it. I'd gotten us to reach the number I wanted! We were only partially thru the Channel, but we did see it, and I was delighted with the numbers. Let me quote again the statement from earlier: Moffen [Island, the furthest north I'd ever been] was on June 17. Five months later that same year, on November 27, I reached the furthest south I've ever been on Earth, 65°S, again on the water, in Lemaire Channel in Antarctica.

We were northbound from then on. On the last map, find our next stop, Paradise Harbour. Now find it on this relief map, which shows how hilly the area really is:

https://www.antarctic-monument.org/userfiles/image/New%20Place%20names/jpg-600-APC(17)15-Danco-Coast---MAP.jpg

We were told we were in Paradise Bay, not Harbour, my third most memorable stop, for two reasons (Photo by Liam Quinn). Move down the bay till you hit land, and this is where we docked. The moment I walked off the pier, I knew I'd finally made a continental landing, and thought to myself "Number 7". I'd now set foot on the mainland of all seven continents. Some passengers went frolicking in the snow.

After a few moments, we were broken down into small groups of maybe 8-10 and each boarded a zodiac from the ship, one of those (usually) red rubber boats. We rode just a few minutes to the right and into a smaller cove filled with glaciers. We were not given its name, but on the relief map I suspect it might have been Leith Cove. It was enchanting--all white glacial ice around us as we motored around, under a blue sky. Then our naturalist guide wanted to show us something, which is probably the thing I remember best from this trip. She turned off the outboard motor (I immediately hoped she'd be able to turn it on again!) and told us to listen, to hear the Sound of Silence. And we heard . . . absolutely nothing, which was the whole point. It was the quietest experience I've ever had.
Let me modify that. We did hear a faint throbbing. She then told us, since there was no external sound amid the glaciers, out ears were hearing our own pulse!
We later made our way up the Errera Channel (see map) and continued north, back to South America.

CABO DE HORNOS Of all locations mentioned, many of them capes, I learned about only two capes in elementary school geography—maybe you did, too, Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope. The first is located in Chile, Cabo de Hornos / Cape Horn, at the bottom of South America, and its importance particularly impressed me at the time, since it directly affected US history.

As Columbus eventually found out to his consternation, the Americas, or the so-called New World, form a north-south blockage to travel to the west (Map by TUBS). While people in South America wanting to sail east-west, say Brazil to Peru, could go south around Cape Horn, people in North America did not have a similar option to go north around the Northwest Passage. These travelers—I think of Americans on the east coast wanting to go by water to the west coast for the California gold rush of 1849--had two alternates. One was to sail to Panama, ride across it by stagecoach, with the real possibility of catching yellow fever, and then taking another ship to complete the trip—the short Panama Railroad (I've ridden it) wasn't completed until 1855, and the Panama Canal (I've crossed it twice) until 1914. The alternative was to sail, say from New York, all around South America at Cape Horn, thru the treacherous waters of the Drake Passage to reach, say, San Francisco, near the gold rush.

I need to clarify—even in my own mind!—my two times in the area. It was on the second trip, solo, in 2006, that I experienced the Drake Passage (Map by Giovanni Fattori). Follow the route via the South Shetland Islands back to Ushuaia to fly home. No particular note of Cape Horn was made. The red line shown is the extended border between Chile and Argentina. (Note for later the Diego Ramírez Islands.)
The Drake Passage is considered one of the most treacherous voyages for ships to make. Currents meet no resistance from any landmass, and waves top 12 m (40 ft). The 800 km (500 mi)-wide Drake Passage opened when Antarctica separated from South America because of continental drift and shifting tectonic plates, anywhere from 49 to 17 million years ago.
The diary entry that year for 28-29 November just says "rough seas" both times. I vaguely remember drawers sliding open and chairs shifting around in the cabin. It also says we were told that the "sea state" was 7 out of 9, so I just looked that up. Category 7 involves a wave height of 6-9 m (20-30 ft). On the scale, sea characteristics start with "calm" at 0 thru moderate at 4, "very rough" by 6. The last three, 7-8-9, are "high; very high; phenomenal".

Writing this review, it's now clear in my mind that it was on the trip circumnavigating South America two years earlier in 2004 that we actually experienced Cape Horn. The Caronia was docked in Ushuaia during our Flightseeing, and left the next day, on 14 February, to continue the trip. I really don't recall that we were told in advance where the next step would take place. My gut feeling is that the captain decided to do this once he saw the seas were calm.

Look again at the local map. Follow our route out of Ushuaia to Cape Horn, and you'll probably be as surprised as we were when we were told that the fabled Cape Horn that everyone had to pass around is actually the south side of a small island, Isla Hornos / Horn Island (see map). Our first view was pretty much like this, of its south side which is the actual cape (Photo by Pietbarber). Note the choppy water—but we had calm seas, I'd guess characteristic 0. It was such a thrill, to make the connection back to sixth grade. I remember it was just before dinnertime, and the captain announced we had time to do the following: the Caronia circled Cape Horn Island--that's how small it is—before continuing on. I remember we did it clockwise.

Cape Horn was identified and first rounded in 1616 by two Dutch mariners, who named it Kaap Hoorn after the city of Hoorn in the Netherlands, northeast of Amsterdam. Dutch seems to be the only language that continues to spell it that way, not Horn. Cape Horn marks where the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans meet, which is another thrill to experience.
But, tho commonly thought of as the "bottom of South America", there's a little quirk there. It's true that Cape Horn is the southernmost headland of the Tierra del Fuego archipelago of southern Chile. But Technically, it isn't the southernmost point of South America—nor of Chile. For that, we have to move down to those Diego Ramírez Islands (Map by Gi) that are on both the last maps, on the Pacific side. On this map, click on the southern end to find Islote Águila / Eagle Islet. THIS is technically the southernmost point in Chile—and of all of South America.

CAPE OF GOOD HOPE The other cape I remember from the sixth grade as being of major importance is the oddly named Cape of Good Hope. I accepted its importance, but didn't fully realize the import. But I do now—major world history passed by here.
We'll start with a map of Africa, showing its relationship with Europe and western Asia. Note Portugal for now, as well as Cape Town. Now we move to a map of southwestern South Africa (Map by Nortonius). Note again Cape Town, and how the Cape Peninsula runs south of it down to the Cape of Good Hope. Finally note, next to the town of Struisbaai, Cape Agulhas.

The next view, taken from the International Space Station, shows Cape Town at the top—where it gets its name is obvious--and the Cape Peninsula at the bottom, jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean for 52 km (32 mi). At the southern end of the peninsula (click) are two rocky headlands, Cape Point (very obvious), and the Cape of Good Hope (less so) on the southeast corner about 2.3 km (1.4 mi) west and a little south of Cape Point.

https://www.worldeasyguides.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Map-of-Cape-of-Good-Hope.jpg

This detail map shows both capes at the bottom of the Peninsula. The lighthouse is on Cape Point, rather than on the Cape of Good Hope to the west. The map also shows the lower station of the Cape Point funicular, that runs southeast out to the lighthouse (see below).
The Cape of Good Hope is the legendary home of the Flying Dutchman / De Vliegende Hollander, allegedly never able to make port, but doomed to sail the sea forever, trying to pass thru the adjacent waters without ever managing to round the Cape of Good Hope. The story is likely to have originated from the 17C Golden Age of the Dutch East India Company.
In 2008, I traveled from southern to eastern Africa. When I was in Cape Town early on, I took a commercial tour to the Cape Peninsula. I enjoyed the experience, but my memory of the day is lopsided. Just as at Cape Spear, where I remember the moose more than the cape, here I remember the penguins more than the cape!
It may not be common knowledge that Antarctica is not the only place where penguins are found. All along the southwestern coast of Africa is the habitat of the small African penguin, also called the Cape penguin, but very frequently called the jackass penguin (Photo by Bl1zz4rd-editor). Much about it as one would expect, except for the loud, violent calls it makes as it looks skyward, wings outspread, which sound like a jackass braying. Here's a video (0:40) of an African penguin braying. And in case you can't believe what you're hearing, listen to another one (0:10), viewed in profile, and here we'll use the alternate name, a jackass penguin.

The tour out of Cape Town stopped to see a colony of penguins—possibly at Boulder Beach, halfway down on the east side--and when you've heard a bunch of these guys braying all at once, you don't quickly forget it. But the travel diary says I also took the Cape Point funicular up to the lighthouse on Cape Point, which I do not remember, especially odd, because I don't usually forget a rail experience.

I now see that the Cape Point Funicular is also called the Flying Dutchman Funicular to reflect the local legend (Photo by Mike Peel/www.mikepeel.net). It's a single-track line with a passing loop and runs from a lower station at the Cape Point car park, up an incline to the lighthouse. It opened in 1996, replacing a winding bus route, and was the first commercial funicular of its kind in Africa. The track is 585 m (1,919 ft) long, and rises 87 m (285 ft) from the lower station at 127 m (417 ft) above sea level to the upper station at 214 m (702 ft) above sea level, with a maximum gradient of 16%.

This is Cape Point jutting out in the left foreground, with the Cape of Good Hope in the distance, some 2.3 km (1.4 mi) away (Photo by Ernmuhl at lb.wikipedia [Luxembourg]) . And here's a closer view of the actual Cape of Good Hope looking west from the coastal cliffs above Cape Point (Photo by Martinvl). And that area in between is the appropriately named Dias beach.

A common misconception is that the Cape of Good Hope is the southern tip of Africa, based on the erroneous belief that the Cape was the dividing point between the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. In fact, the southernmost point of Africa is Cape Agulhas about a half-degree of latitude and 55 km (34 mi) further down the coast. Cape Agulhas is, in addition, also considered the dividing point between the oceans. It was most commonly known in English—quite oddly--as Cape L'Agulhas until the 20th century, and the nearby town is still called L'Agulhas. Let's talk about this cape first.

Back to the Cape of Good Hope which is, as it turns out also an extreme point! It's the southwesternmost point of Africa.

The importance of the Cape of Good Hope is that, when a ship travels south along the western side of the African coastline, the Cape of Good Hope, at 34°S, 18°E, marks the point where it begins to travel more eastward than southward.
Four years before Columbus crossed the Atlantic in 1492, Portuguese navigator Bartolomeu Dias in 1488 sailed south along the African coast to find out how far south the continent lay. Picture that—no one knew where Africa ended! After he ascertained Africa's southern limit, it was on his return voyage to Portugal that he first sighted the Cape of Good Hope. He named it the Cabo das Tormentas / Cape of Storms, which says a lot about the navigating conditions in the area.

Dias's accomplishment must have elated King John II of Portugal, who saw the discovery of the cape as a good omen that engendered great optimism that India and the East could be reached by sea from Europe. To give sailors hope of reaching India by sea, he changed the negatively named Cabo das Tormentas to the very positive Cabo da Boa Esperança / Cape of Good Hope. I finally understand the significance of the name and see how the cape and its new name changed history.

Nine years after Dias's voyage in 1488, Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama in 1497 also recorded a sighting of the Cape of Good Hope—but he continued on to India, before returning to Portugal.

http://networkedmediterranean.weebly.com/uploads/7/9/9/6/79965752/5622260.gif?441

We readily think of Columbus crossing the Atlantic and opening up the Americas, but perhaps pay less attention to Vasco da Gama swinging around the Cape of Good Hope and opening up the Indian Ocean to South Asia, and eventually Australia.

The Indian Ocean is the third-largest of the world's major oceans, following the Pacific, then the Atlantic. It covers about 20% of the water on Earth's surface. Unlike the Pacific and Atlantic, the Indian Ocean (Map by Uwe Dedering) is bordered by landmasses on three sides, making it more like an embayed ocean centered on the Indian Peninsula, which protrudes into it.
After that Greek name mentioned earlier, it was very logically called the Eastern Ocean, as opposed to the Western Ocean or Atlantic. The Pacific was still unknown. It's been called the Indian Ocean since at least 1515, when the Latin name Oceanus Orientalis Indicus(Indian Eastern Ocean) was first attested.

I want to speculate a bit about the name of the ocean. We saw above that the Greco-Roman route to India was coastal and had little to do with the ocean. Vasco da Gama went from the Cape to India in 1497. Just eighteen years later, in 1515 (if not sooner), the first reference to calling it the Indian Ocean was attested to. I'm going to speculate that the route around the Cape of Good Hope to India, which necessitated crossing the Ocean, gave strong impetus to renaming the Eastern Ocean as the Indian Ocean.

There was more development based on the new route around Africa. This is a Portuguese map showing the extended Cape Route in the eastern Indian Ocean into Asia (Map by Tokle & Uxbona). It shows the exploitation, first contacts, and Portuguese conquests in the Age of Discovery, from the claim to the Canary Islands (Canárias) of 1336 CE (which didn't last) to the arrival in Japan (Japão) in 1542 CE. The territories claimed are in green including Angola on the west coast of Africa (not named) to Mozambique (Moçambique) on the east coast. This route shows clearly how access to these two larger African colonies—and others—is all based on the Cape Route.
But we need to look at the eastern Indian Ocean, starting with the Indies, called the East Indies from the late 1500s thru the European colonial era (see below). The Dutch, English and others followed this route as well to found colonies here. "Indies/East Indies" is a name used starting with the Age of Discovery in 1497 (to the 1600s). The term broadly refers to lands found beyond the Indian Ocean by Portuguese explorers soon after the Cape Route was discovered, particularly the Malay Archipelago lying between mainland Southeast Asia and Australia.
I always wondered why this area was called the Indies. It has nothing to do with India, not ethnically, not linguistically, not particularly historically, and the inhabitants of the East Indies were never called East Indians.
Here's further speculation: the Portuguese and others (Dutch, British), coming around the Cape of Good Hope, stopping in India (see Goa, the ex-Portuguese colony) en route to points farther east (see Timor, the ex-Portuguese colony), simply associated India with these Islands and used India to identify the location of these "Indies". I continue to trace these names back to the influence of the Cape of Good Hope.

https://cdn.britannica.com/59/241259-004-A2624060/Locator-map-Malay-Archipelago.jpg

What was the Indies is now referred to as the Malay Archipelago. Situated between the Indian and Pacific oceans, the archipelago is the largest archipelago by area in the world. It includes at its center (1) Indonesia, which has a land border with all of its neighbors except (2) the Philippines. Ex-Portuguese Timor is now (3) tiny East Timor, sharing the island with Indonesia. (4) Papua New Guinea shares New Guinea with Indonesia. Sharing Borneo with Indonesia are both (5) tiny Brunei and (6) the insular East Malaysia, whose other part is on the Malay Peninsula, along with Singapore.
The name "Indonesia" breaks down into indo+nes+ia (= indies + islands + country). Indonesia is in the heart of the Malay Archipelago, and I suspect many people picture all these Islands as being vaguely "Indonesia".
On the map, look at the adjacent gray area on the Asian mainland. Here's a more precise map of Mainland Southeast Asia, traditionally called Indochina. It lies east of India and south of China, hence the name. It also lies between the Indian and Pacific Oceans, and includes Myanmar (Burma) Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Peninsular Malaysia, and Singapore. Thus the spreading of the influence of India reaches here as well, in the prefixed form Indo-.

The third region in the East Indian Ocean is Australia. We fully discussed the Western discovery of the continent in 2010/10 (scroll down to headings with Janszoon and Hartog), but to summarize for now: the Indies had become a Dutch colony--the name Dutch Indies is recorded in the documents of the Dutch East India Company in the early 1620s. Tho we always associate Australia's settlement by the British, it was the Dutch who first set foot on the continent, and more than once.
In 1606, Willem Janszoon sailed south of Java to see what lay to the south and to the east. He came across and charted the Cape York peninsula we mentioned earlier. Again, it's that sharp northernmost point in the northeast (Map by Ssolbergj & Roke). This landfall is credited as being the Western discovery of Australia, altho nothing developed from it.
A decade later, in 1616, another Dutchman, Dirk Hartog, is credited with making the second European landfall on the Australian continent, by accident. He had left the Netherlands and sailed around the Cape of Good Hope (!!) headed for the Indies. Crossing the Indian ocean--trace his southern route--Hartog found he made better time following a more southerly route than usual. In addition, he may have been blown a bit more to the south than he planned. On 25 October 1616 he sighted land, and he and his crew landed on what is now called Dirk Hartog Island off Shark Bay on the central west coast of Australia. He spent three days there, did some more charting of the coastline, and then departed for Java.
And of course, another Dutchman, Abel Tasman also surveyed the coastline; Tasmania and the Tasman Sea are named after him.
But the point continues that, pre-Suez Canal, the Cape of Good Hope had serious influence on the east side of the Indian Ocean, in both Asia and Australia.

Summary To summarize this list of extreme points we've just compiled we can say this. Wanderlust give us many reasons for travel. We want to experience ethnicity, art, architecture, gastronomy, history, geography, and more. Part of that geography is experiencing extreme points, no, not all, just the interesting ones. Of course, we can also do that as armchair travelers.
That brings us back to Key West and to what I call its populist fraud, the so-called "Southernmost Point". Due to the irregular shape of North America (Map by Bosonic dressing), it's hard to find fun extreme points, like Cape Spear (East) in Canada or Cape Leeuwin (Southwest) in Australia. But North America is lopsided—the western half continues down thru Mexico, while the eastern half comes to an abrupt halt at the Caribbean. Perhaps in the populist mind, there's an urge to find just where that eastern half ends.
Florida is in the southeast of North America. One would think that finding the southeasternmost point of North America, which would fall in the US, could be of interest. However, the claim I find online is that that point, excluding islands, is on the Florida mainland at the northern end of the causeway for the Card Sound Bridge leading to Key Largo. But who cares? That one of the many boring extreme points that we disregard.
Most people get to Key West by car along the Keys. The route, tho curved, is roughly southwest, but by eye is easily west-southwest. But look at it carefully. It clearly brings one much more west than south. Yet somehow, many populist drivers become fixated with the "southern-ness" of Key West as opposed to its "western-ness". This is the only foundation I can think of for the following problem.

https://fla-keys.com/img/maps/KeyWestOldLg.jpg

Sadly, one of the most popular attractions on the island of Key West is at the southern end of Whitehead Street at South Street, which we noted earlier on the above map. It's an anchored concrete replica of a buoy (why a buoy?) that claims to be the southernmost point in the continental United States (Photo by User: [WT-shared] Bz3rk at wts wikivoyage). Even this last city map shows land further south on the left. The point was originally marked with a basic sign, then the city of Key West erected the current monument in 1983. This "monument" is not only one of the most visited and photographed attractions in Key West, it's the most often photographed tourist site in the Florida Keys (emphasis on "tourist", and you know what I think of that word). Apparently the city wants to attract more tourists by this fraud, and make more money, despite the lack of accuracy or real significance. Mammon prevails.

Let's see what the monument says. It mentions the Conch Republic and calls Key West the "Home of the Sunset". Both are reasonable statements directed at tourists.
It declares the mantra "90 miles to Cuba" (145 km). Let's analyze that. The proximity of Cuba had always been a positive matter, back in the years when tourists and celebrities flocked there, perhaps on Flagler's ferry, perhaps to visit Sloppy Joe's. With the Cuban revolution and the coming of Fidel Castro to power, it became a negative matter in the US, where the word "only" was often negatively attached to the phrase as a rallying cry about the emergence of a leftist state not that far from the US. In reality, Cuba's closest point is 95 miles (153 km) from Key West, a number obviously rounded off to make it a rallying cry. But on the basis of what the phrase became politically and historically, it is reasonable to put it on some sort of a monument.
So let's see what the main issue is. It says "Southernmost Point / Continental USA". Could an issue be made that they've left out "of the" so that the two phrases are not really attached? But let's assume they ARE attached in meaning, which is what gullible tourists are being led to believe.

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This aerial view shows the monument at the end of Whitehead Street on the left (Duval is one further east). That's South Street on the right. You see the land has been extended to accommodate the monument. There is no decent view to speak of. (I've heard that some underinformed tourists actually ask if you can see Cuba from the monument.) You see the usual line of tourists has formed to religiously visit this "shrine", and a tourist vehicle has made its way to this intersection as well. The green-roofed building on the right is billed as the "southernmost house", which is probably an accurate claim.
Let's look at some numbers, remembering that for the below figures, LOWER is further south.

The latitude of the monument is 24° 32' 47.43" N.
(Since it does say "continental", it is excluding Ka Lae, Hawaii, way down south at 18°55'N.)

Otherwise, all the below numbers fall in the range of about 24°N to 25°N.
Miami, at 25°44'N, is the southernmost major metropolitan city in the 48 contiguous states.
Florida City, at 25°27'N, is the southernmost municipality in the contiguous US.
Cape Sable (East Cape Sable), at 25°7'N, is the southernmost point on the US mainland.
Ballast Key FL, at 24°31'16.28"N, is the southernmost point in the 48 contiguous states that is continuously above water (there are three coral reefs further south affected by tides). More below.

[I checked to see if Texas goes further south. It does not. The southernmost point of Texas, an area just south of South Point TX, is at 25°50'14.54"N.]

So here's the truth. The true southernmost point on Key West island is approximately 270 m (900 ft) further south than the marker. But it has no marker of its own and is not accessible to the public since it is US Navy property and civilian tourists are not allowed. On the above map, it's that bulge in the coastline that's called Whitehead Spit (the name is mislocated on the map). It's at 24°32'39.2"N—the difference seems less impressive than when described as 270 m (900 ft).
But there's another nearby location, at 24°32'42.2"N. This is also further south than the marker, tho less so, only by about 150 m (500 ft). This spot IS accessible to the public, tho is a bit more remote. It's the beach area of Fort Zachary Taylor Historic State Park (see map).
The most that can be said about the so-called Southernmost Point marker is that it's at the southernmost point of Whitehead Street!

Ballast Key So we see that the true southernmost point in Florida (as well as in the continental United States) is actually 16 km (10 mi) away at Ballast Key, an island further southwest of Key West. We looked at this area before in 2024/2, (see THE FAR KEYS "Outlying Islands"), and now we'll repeat two maps.
This is the map we saw that goes out to the Marquesas Keys but between them and Key West are the uninhabited Mule Keys, part of the Key West National Wildlife Refuge. Note Woman Key, and also the three coral reefs in red on the lower right.
Now find Woman Key on this detail map we also saw earlier, and next to it is tiny Ballast Key, at 24° 31' 23.0"N, truly the southernmost point in Florida and the continental US.

It would be normal to brush off Ballast Key as an insignificant flyspeck, but it has a lot more history of celebrities than meets the eye. It was the last privately owned land in the Wildlife Refuge when its owner, real estate developer David Wolkowsky, the man that transformed Key West, donated the island's 26 acres (11 ha) to public organizations.
Over the years Wolkowsky hosted numerous artists, writers, and other celebrities on Ballast Key, including Jimmy Buffett, Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, Judy Blume, John Hersey, British PM Edward Heath, Prince Michael of Greece, the Bee Gees, Gloria Estefan, Lucius Beebe, as well as members of the Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, Mellon, and Duke families.
Both Ballast Key and David Wolkowsky had a cameo appearance in the 1989 Bond movie Licence to Kill (British et al spelling of "license"), as well as the novel. A passage in the book reads: "David, it's James, James Bond...I've broken into your island. I hope you don't mind".
Ballast Key has a main house with four bedrooms and a master suite (Photo by Joeschmitty at English Wikipedia), and a fully equipped three-bedroom guesthouse overlooking a palm tree-lined sand beach (Photo by GregHuntsman). Water is supplied to the buildings by desalination.

Famous for Being Famous There's an oddity of human nature whereby people admire certain celebrities, not for their accomplishments—these seem to have very few--but because they've managed to somehow become famous. The first person I heard the term applied to was Zsa Zsa Gabor. She did make some films, but was notable simply as a celebrity, famous for being famous. I do not follow pop culture, but even I have heard about the Kardashians, who are truly famous for being famous.
Can we apply the concept to places? A quality travel guide like Michelin Florida very wisely makes no reference to the tourist trap of this concrete buoy. It does have an unstarred entry to the southernmost house, and at most, on its city map, deigns to mention the "Southernmost Point" as a directional reference.

https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/b/southernmost-point-visitors-line-to-photograph-popular-july-key-west-32708485.jpg

To that, I'll add that, on my driving day in Key West, I did go down to drive past it—it's famous for being famous! This view confirms that there's no view to speak of and also shows how many people show up to this touristy "folk truth". As I drove by, I saw a line a half-block long of tourists in shorts and flip-flops waiting to take a picture. I'm sure they were happy, having reached this Far End of the World.

Sloppy Joe I'll take this quick opportunity to complete what I mentioned in the last posting, making my first sloppy joe on my own. I did brown a pound of lean chuck, adding three cloves of garlic. In a separate pan, I browned an eye-pleasing amount of diced onion and green pepper, then added it to the meat. I added a can of Manwich Sloppy Joe sauce, and simmered the mixture for about ten minutes. I did not add jalapeños as I'd suggested earlier, but did add Tabasco sauce to taste.
I continue to think that the traditional humble hamburger buns can be improved on, and so I did split a ciabatta roll (tho I'm sure any roll would suffice) and filled it with the mixture. It's still happily sloppy, but less so. Cooking for one, I do find this recipe stretched to several meals, depending on how much the roll is filled.