20 Feb PATAGONIA Part 3: The Patagonian Fjords
The vast majority of visitors to Patagonia spend their time in Torres del Paine and Los Glaciares – and for good reason. The landscape in these two locations is some of the most spectacular anywhere in the world, access is easy and there is a comfortable tourism infrastructure. But despite the incredible views and grandeur of these places there is always the sense that you are seeing just a small fraction of a much, much bigger picture. It’s impossible to unfold a map, or scroll through Google Earth and not be amazed at the vastness and inaccessibility of the Patagonian wilderness. Outside of these two marquee national parks there are almost no roads or paths beyond what is needed to link the scattered towns and villages or occasional estancia.
It is also hard to look at a map of Patagonia and not be intrigued by the sprawling and labyrinthine network of fjords and channels that characterise the west coast of Patagonia. Stretching for almost 1,500 kilometres from Golfo Corcovado all the way to Cape Horn, there is almost no human habitation in an area the size of the UK or the state of Wyoming – and no roads whatsoever. On my first trip to Patagonia I had spoken to someone who had crewed on a boat for a week, exploring the fjords west of Puerto Natales. His descriptions of towering peaks and tidewater glaciers were powerful and intriguing.
Out of curiosity I had asked our French helicopter pilot Philipe, who had taken us to the Northern Patagonian Icefield, about the possibility of chartering a boat into the fjord. He put us in touch with Fernando Viveros and Elsa Isabel in Puerto Natales who had a powerful catamaran ideal for overnight trips to the fjords. We arrived in Puerto Natales just ahead of a brief weather window for the fjords region. Unfortunately Fernando and Elsa couldn’t do the first day but we took a punt and decided to leave on the second day. We hoped the next weather system would hold off for long to enjoy some good visibility.
We boarded the Yaghan on a beautifully sunny morning and headed southwest across the mirror-calm waters of Seno Ultima Esperanza. Our destination for an overnight trip was the fabled Fiordo de las Montanas (Fjord of the Mountains). Located around fifty kilometres west of Puerto Natales as the crow flies, it runs almost seventy kilometres from north to south and is flanked on one side by the heavily glaciated Cordillera Sarmiento and on the other by the rugged Cordillera Riesco.
Long before Europeans arrived, the lands and waters of these fjords were home to Indigenous peoples such as the Kawésqar (Alacalufe) and the Yaghan (Yámana). Their nomadic canoe cultures navigated the intricate network of fjords, channels, and islands for millennia, relying on deep local knowledge of tides, weather, and marine resources. Sadly, much of their oral history, place names, and cultural narratives were lost or suppressed during the brutal period of European colonization that followed the late 16th century.
The first recorded European encounter with the Cordillera Sarmiento is credited to Juan Ladrillero, a Spanish navigator who explored parts of Patagonia in 1558. His expedition charted these complex channels in a perilous voyage that cost the lives of almost the entire crew. About twenty years later, in the late 1570s, Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa, another Spanish explorer, is widely credited with “discovering” the Cordillera Sarmiento. For about 250 years after Sarmiento de Gamboa’s voyage, little further exploration occurred. In the 1830s, however Robert FitzRoy, commander of HMS Beagle, sailed into the fjord that gives access to the eastern flanks of the Cordillera Sarmiento. The crew called this waterway the Canal of the Mountains — now commonly referred to as the Fiordo de las Montanas (Fjord of the Mountains). Fitzroy wrote of the fjord: “bordered on each side by a steep range of mountains, broken here and there by deep ravines, which were filled with frozen snow, and surmounted by extensive glaciers, whence huge avalanches were continually falling.”
With powerful engines it took the Yaghan about three hours to reach Cabo Grey where we turned north and into the Fjordo de las Montanas. For the last hour we had been treated to spectacular views of the east and south faces of the Grupo la Paz – a cluster of dramatic rock towers that would not look out of place next to Fitzroy or the Torres del Paine. Now the blue skies of the morning were rapidly disappearing as clouds raced in from the Pacific. For a few minutes we were just able to see the rime-encrusted towers and pinnacles of some of the higher summits of the Cordillera Sarmiento. I used my 100-500mm telephoto right out at the 500mm end to try to pull out some details. Later I discovered I had caught an image of the highest peak in the range – Cerro Dama Blanca. Within 20 minutes or so these views were obscured entirely and we never saw them again. I felt lucky to have been given this fleeting opportunity. American mountaineer Jack Miller who pioneered the first climbs in the range during the 1990s wrote of the the Sarmiento: “After we arrived at the mountains, our first task was to see them.” Another author writing in the journal of the American Alpine Club noted: “the range is protected by its own unique microclimate that is bad, even by local Patagonian standards”.
Despite the increasing cloud, the lower summits stayed clear and the unfolding views were absolutely stunning. Thankfully sea conditions were calm and I was able to shoot successfully with a telephoto from the deck of the boat and also to shoot seracs and crevasses on the Zamudio Glacier with my drone. It’s this style of photography that predominates here. There are few good landing places to get ashore, and once on land making any progress on the steep, wet and heavily vegetated slopes is really difficult. This is real wilderness. By the time we reached the Bernal Glacier a heavy rain had started. We boarded small zodiacs to reach the shore and wandered across the moraine to the snout. Even with the poor weather I was still able to make some interesting images with small icebergs as a foreground. I hand held some focus bracketed frames that I would later stack and blend in Photoshop. These were the only successful images I would make from the shore over the two days.
Back on board the Yaghan the rain eased long enough for a quick drone shot of the glacier before we headed north for a kilometre or so and moored in a sheltered bay close to the mouth of the Fiordo Hermann. This side fjord cuts west for more than two kilometres into the heart of the range towards its highest peaks. However it is guarded by a super shallow glacial sill and even in our small zodiacs we couldn’t get through these shallows. Undeterred, we climbed ashore and attempted to walk around into the fjord.
At this point the rain had returned, but our spirits were high and keenly engaged in the adventure. However it proved to be a sobering lesson in how difficult it is to negotiate this landscape on foot. We made perhaps half a kilometre in 20 minutes before steep rock walls barred further reasonable progress. Not all was lost, however. We discovered a small bay where flotsam of glacial ice had accumulated and we collected a few chunks to make our pre-dinner pisco sour cocktails. We returned to the Yaghan in the fading light quite drenched. But the boat was warm and comfortable and we were able to enjoy a convivial evening of hearty food, wine and meandering conversation as the Patagonian rain drummed steadily on the roof.
The rain continued through the night and into the following morning, transforming the mountainsides into a deluge of countless streams and waterfalls. Had the peaks suddenly revealed themselves from the rain clouds it could not have been more dramatic. After breakfast we launched the zodiacs once again for a second attempt on Fiordo Hermann. With a small lift in the tide we scraped over the sill and motored into the deeper waters. As if to punish us for our presumption the rain intensified and a stinging wind swept down from the glaciers and icefields. We were already thoroughly soaked and freezing and I was furiously wiping my lens of rain drops between shots, desperately trying to capture something of the terrible grandeur of the towering rock faces pouring with water. It was a truly exhilarating shoot – very demanding and with a high failure rate – but no less enjoyable for that.
For almost all of our time in Patagonia we had been blessed with benign weather, but this final trip into the fjords gave us a little taste of just how harsh it can be here. As a finale it was magnificent, especially for me as I had harboured ambitions to visit the fjords for several years. I have to say like the rest of Patagonia it did not disappoint. In fact if anything this trip to Patagonia has just whetted my appetite for more trips here. Despite their popularity I’d go back to Fitzroy or Torres del Paine without a second thought – they are just so incredible to shoot. I’d also love to go back to the vast Aysen region and the Northern Patagonian Icecap with more time and resources. But I’m especially keen to return to the fjords – both to the Sarmiento range and also for extended trips to more remote areas where the potential for photo exploration and adventure looks to be endless.
