On the Open Pacific

Chile's Juan Fernández archipelago was, for years, the home of castaway Alexander Selkirk - the real-life Robinson Crusoe.

In the course of a career spent traveling throughout the Americas, I’ve had the opportunity to visit numerous offshore Pacific islands—mostly, though, in South America, where the Juan Fernández archipelago is one of my favorite destinations in this category (I omit Rapa Nui/Easter Island here, due to its 2000 mile/3500 km distance from the mainland). I’ve set foot on many of archipelagic Chile’s islands, starting with the Chiloé group in the south.

The Farallones are about 25 nautical miles west of San Francisco.

North of the Equator, I’ve not had so much experience. One highlight was a trip to Mexico’s Isla Cedros—off the Baja California coast—where I caught a fishing-boat lift to the more distant Islas San Benito (There I saw northern elephant seals and, on the voyage back, the crew treated me to a scallop ceviche). Having spent decades in the San Francisco Bay Area, I’ve often seen the outlines of the forbidding Farallon Islands, and have always yearned to see them up close and personal.

The Farallones' rugged topography helps make them a wildlife reserve (photo, public domain)

That’s not easy, because, though the Farallones belong politically to the City and County of San Francisco, they’re desert islands off limits to the public at large. In the 19th century, collectors gathered hundreds of thousands of seabird eggs for sale on the mainland, and US Navy and Coast Guard long kept a presence, but today the archipelago is under protection of US Fish and Wildlife Service as the Farallon Islands National Wildlife Refuge. Only research biologists have access to the islands themselves, where several buildings remain from their previous incarnations.

Once a naval and coast guard base, the Farallones now host research biologists.

Earlier this month, though, we booked a day tour to the islands with Álvaro’s Adventures, from Pillar Point Harbor at Half Moon Bay, south of San Francisco. Álvaro Jaramillo, whom I’ve known for some years, lives there but also leads birding trips to Argentina and Chile, where I usually work. This, though, was an opportunity to see something new.

Nesting murres and guano cover much of the rugged Farallones terrain.

Many, if not most, of the other passengers were enthusiastic birders who braved the rough seas in hopes of expanding their lifelists—though some were repeat customers. I’m only a casual birder, but the sight of islands covered with birds and guano reminds me of my experiences in the penguin-rich South Atlantic, and the presence of buildings on remote islands reminded me—on a midsummer’s day that was no less chilly than the Strait of Magellan—of structures in Tierra del Fuego. It’s also whale-watching season, though we didn’t nearly as close to the grays and humpbacks here as I have in antipodean destinations like Península Valdés (where it’s now breeding season for right whales) and Isla Carlos III (summer feeding grounds for southern humpbacks). The Farallones are also a place to spot great white sharks, though July’s a little too early for that.

Unfortunately, at the Farallones we never so close to the whales as I was to this southern humpback in the Strait of Magellan.

Later this year and early next year, I should get the chance to revisit some of my South American islands, but there’s one notable omission on my offshore lifelist. I’d really like the chance to visit Chile’s Isla Mocha, off the coast of the Araucanía region. Nearly half of it’s a national reserve and, though it might not complete my insular aspirations, it would be a major step forward.

Chile's Isla Mocha is on my wishlist, even if it won't look the way it did to 16th-century Dutch pirates.

In Patagonia: Sights of the Steppe

Southernmost South America is “Big Sky Country” but there’s a tendency to dismiss spreading steppes with few obvious landmarks. Between the Strait of Magellan and Puerto Natales – a frequent route for anybody who visits the region – oddball sights like the Monumento al Viento, Santiago sculptor Alejandra Ruddoff’s homage to the nearly incessant winds (pictured below), are the rule rather than the objection. Eventually Ruta 9 reaches the iconic Torres del Paine but, when I first drove here nearly 30 years ago, it was a gravel road that required my close attention to avoid spinouts, and rocks that passing trucks rocketed toward my windshield.

At that time, it took about five hours to get to Natales; today it’s only about three on a smoothly paved highway. There were few accommodations along the route but, historically, the vast sheep farms – known here as estancias – would offer passing strangers a bed for the night. Their cascos (“big houses”), Victorian-style pre-fabs that owed their origins to British immigrants who helped pioneer the wool industry, did stand out on the landscape.

At times, even on the main highway, gauchos guide droves of sheep that sometimes stop traffic, but this landscape is easier to appreciate off the beaten track – about an hour north of Punta Arenas, Ruta Y-50 is a slightly longer but nearly parallel gravel route, smooth enough even for small passenger cars. It leads to Estancia Río Verde (pictured at top), a traditional ranch that’s reinvented itself to accommodate guests and, overlooking Skyring Sound, they’ve converted part of the complex into a small hotel – including an interesting tower suite – and a parrilla (grill restaurant) that’s also open to non-guests. This is one place to savor the grilled lamb that’s typical of the region.

I’ve stayed and dined at Río Verde, and would happily do so again, but I’m not sure I’ll have time this coming summer. This style of architecture also exists at Estancia Río Penitente, about halfway to Puerto Natales but back on the main highway, but their own handsome Victorian may be closed at present (something I’ll need to check when I return next month). Still, I’d recommend the detour to anybody looking for deeper insights into my favorite region.

The Whales of the Strait

One major highlight of any Patagonian cruise is the wildlife. From the decks of any vessel, and on land excursions, passengers can enjoy the sight of countless birds – many of them unique to the Southern Hemisphere – and marine mammals such as elephant seals and sea lions. Literally and metaphotically, though, the biggest attraction is the whales.

On Argentina’s Península Valdés, Puerto Pirámides (pictured above) is the continent’s main whale-watching site; from July (mid-winter) to November (late spring), pods of southern right whales arrive to mate and give birth. Most visitors arrive from the town of Puerto Madryn, which has cruise-ship facilities, though Madryn gets many more overland travelers. Most Pirámides vessels are larger catamarans that can seem crowded, though it’s not quite mass tourism – some smaller rigid inflatables get closer to the animals.

For visitors to southern Patagonia, though, there are more intimate options, viewing southern humpbacks (pictured above) in the western Strait of Magellan. In January and February, operating out of Punta Arenas, Cruceros Australis does special whale-watching itineraries that make a detour to Isla Carlos III before returning to their usual Beagle Channel route to Cape Horn and Ushuaia. In rigid inflatables, passengers can get even closer to these gregarious (and enormous) animals.

I’ve never taken that specific itinerary, but I have visited the western Strait on two other occasions. A decade ago, I took one of the earliest trips with Whalesound, which converted a small river vessel from Argentina in a comfortable shuttle for a dozen or so travelers to Isla Carlos III, where it had set up a dome-tent camp (pictured above) connected by boardwalks to its dining room/clubhouse (pictured below). During the day, the ship took us to see the whales, but it was also possible to hike to sea lion and penguin colonies.

More recently, in January, I took a two-night one-day excursion on board the M/V Forrest (pictured above) with Punta Arenas’s Expedición Fitz Roy, which has rehabbed a vessel that formerly hauled wool around the Falkland Islands, where I first saw it in 1982. The accommodations are cozy – cabins with two or four bunks each – but the dining lounge is comfortable and the exterior decks provide plenty of opportunity for cetacean close-ups. The Forrest also makes a side trip to Isla Santa Inés (pictured below), shuttling passengers ashore for close-ups of the glacier there.