Bird Photography at the Edge of the World

A few years ago, my parents invited me to Chile to visit them in October because I could not guarantee I'd get enough time off for Christmas. I hadn't seen them in person since before the pandemic, so I got on a plane and made my way to Santiago. But this was not my final destination. I was bound for Pundarinas, a small town at the very tip of South America, the edge of the world. Perhaps the most accurate description of the surrounding region of Magallanes is a phrase I saw in a local tourism office, romantically hostile. A landscape carved by glaciers, battered by wind and tide, and yet teeming with life. I arrived near nightfall. Beyond the road, the vast Patagonian wilderness was obscured by darkness. As we flew into the night, I wondered, what sights and sounds awaited me here at the edge of the world? When I was younger, I read a novel called Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. It's about a young seabird who sees flying not as a means to an end, but as an end in itself. He undergoes intense flight training, flying faster and faster, higher and higher, and through this pursuit of self-perfection through flight, he becomes self-realized. There was a quote in that book that resonated with me throughout the years. He was not bone and feather, but a perfect idea of freedom and flight, limited by nothing at all. Ever since I got into photography, I was always looking for shots that would do this quote justice. I coveted that freedom. If I were to misquote a certain eccentric German filmmaker, there is an inexplicable magic to photography. Seemingly empty moments have a strange, secret beauty. Sometimes images themselves develop their own life, their own mysterious allure. And it was here at the edge of the world where I hoped to get those images. I signed up for a tour to Isla Magdalena, a penguin sanctuary just east of Punta Arenas. At dawn's first light, we took a bus to the water's shelving edge, where we were met by boats with crimson hulls, good trim craft that could ferry us across the waves. Out we went, scutting over the seas brought back, churning the water white with stroke on stroke. East across the channel, a few scattered islands rose up side by side. Isla Marta, Magdalena, Contramaestre too. Among these was a land where feathered and featherless pipettes coexist, the penguin sanctuary. Our first stop was Isla Marta, a breeding ground for sea lions. I expected to see the playful creatures from the aquariums back home, but out on that beach was a legion of horribles, hundreds in number, clad in fur, battle-scarred or dry and slicked, or trailing seaweed like some bedraggled corgan. They howled and gnashed at each other, wild-eyed, clawing, biting, scrambling like lost souls being ferried to the underworld. The slopes around them were stained with crimson streaks, which I later came to learn was the lion's own fecal matter. I couldn't help but think what a miserable existence, clinging to life on a crowded noisy rock, battered by wind and tide, and flanked by trickling rivulets of your own filth. What can one do in the face of such overwhelming misery? We went back inside for cookies and hot chocolate. On we went to Isla Magdalena. Our final destination. We disembarked and were allowed to roam within the fenced-off trails of the sanctuary. The island is a breeding and nesting ground for penguins, and they have right of way. As we climbed higher and closer to the penguins, I couldn't help but see emotions reflected in them. What is it like to be a penguin? What are their hopes and dreams? Some seemed miserable in the cold, crying out for attention. The penguins don't sing, they screech in pain. Others find companionship and lifelong love. We reached the highest point of the island, and I was struck by the barrenness of the land below us. Maybe it's necessary to have a hostile landscape to appreciate the rare moments of beauty. To appreciate the warmth, we must first be cold. And I was very cold. But looking back at my time here, I think I finally found those images I was looking for.