At the End of the World

Why timing changes everything in Patagonia’s penguin colonies 

 

Low season: late September to November

It was January when I arrived in Tierra del Fuego, at the height of the austral summer, without once considering the question of when. It was only afterwards — thinking back on the calls, the boats, the constant movement — that timing began to matter. What January showed me, and what the quieter months of October and November reveal instead, is the subject of this piece. At the end of the world, even wilderness runs on a schedule. I realised this standing among thousands of penguins on Isla Magdalena, near Punta Arenas in southern Chile, and later observing the same species from a catamaran off Isla Martillo in the Beagle Channel. In both places, nature persists largely unchanged: windswept and unforgiving. Yet both islands were overrun by tourists long ago. The paradox is immediate: wildness survives here not despite tourism, but because tourism has made it economically worth protecting.

A group of penguins from Magdalena Island in Patagonia by Wirestock Creators

A Magellanic penguin colony on Magdalena Island by tolobalaguer.com

When I stepped onto Isla Magdalena, the Magellanic penguins had  fully settled, moulting and nesting in burrows they had dug earlier, sharing the space with other seabirds  and making life noticeably crowded. The wind hit first, sweeping across the island with enough force to make me grip my jacket and squint against the gusts. Thousands of penguins bray like donkeys, their  calls echoing along the 1,400-metre trail in overlapping layers that vibrate through the air. I remember a  particular moment when the sound struck me with physical weight: a wave of braying rolled over the  colony so loud and insistent that I stepped back instinctively, a flicker of guilt running through me—how  much of this noise was natural, and how much of a response to our presence? The question stayed with me for weeks. Visitors arrive in guided groups. When we reached the island in mid-morning, it was already  busy, with several groups moving along the trail. Boats landed throughout the day, so the island was rarely still. The colony felt alive, its calls and movements unfolding in ways I had noticed only by being among them.

A few days later, on Isla Martillo in Argentina, the experience felt entirely different. From the catamaran,  we remained offshore, and I shifted my viewpoint: from the penguins’ perspective, the boat must have  seemed immense. Its engines cut through the natural chorus, and I felt the vibration through the deck  beneath my feet. Several penguins approached the shoreline, tilting their heads as if assessing the source  of the sound, watching the boat with focused attention. Others further inland carried on with remarkable  indifference,walking past burrows or calling to mates, seemingly unbothered by the mechanical presence.  From this distance, the encounter was mediated: we see them, they see us, but much of daily life remains shielded. I realised, too, that the calls I had heard on Isla Magdalena were not unique to that colony; they  were shared across this distant island as well.

A boat with tourists sailing to see the penguins at Martillo Island by Jose de Jesus Churion del

Once back home, I found myself questioning what I had seen. Were the constant calls on these islands simply part of penguin life, or were they amplified by our presence? I reached out to Ricardo Edmundo  Cid Paredes, who oversees the Monumento Natural Los Pingüinos on Isla Magdalena. He had spent yearswatching both the colony and its visitors; if anyone could distinguish natural behaviour from altered behaviour, it was him. He explained patiently: “They are sounds generated from their throat outward, very similar to that of a donkey. It occurs frequently when they have been alone for a long time, so it’s not due  to threats or other reasons. Generating stress from visitors, yes, that is possible.” The distinction is crucial: thecalls are authentic penguin language, but their frequency and intensity shift in response to continuous  human activity. In January, during peak season, the colony is almost uninterrupted in its vocal response.

I asked Ricardo what he observed during peak season. “In the months you mention, activity is greater due to the demand for feeding the chicks, and the continuous flow of the public could also be a contributing factor,” he said. Adults cycle between foraging and returning to burrows. This biological pressure layers  with the rhythm of arriving boats and footsteps, producing overlapping cycles of movement and sound.  At one point I counted four separate groups on the trail simultaneously: each moving at its own pace, with  a maximum of around 45 minutes on the island, as set by the tour operators. Some were already heading  towards the lighthouse, others pausing along the path, while some had just arrived and others were already  returning to the boats. The walk to the lighthouse took roughly 15 minutes each way, and every group left  behind a trail of rustling footsteps and hushed voices. Penguins closest to the path tracked our movements  with small, precise turns of their heads, while those further away ignored us. They are pragmatic,  habituated animals, yet the impact of human proximity is undeniable.

The contrast becomes clear in the low season. Ricardo described October and November as a period of lower activity: penguins are focused first on mating, and then on incubating their eggs: a shared duty between partners lasting around 40 days. The urgency that defines January—chicks demanding food, adults  cycling between sea and burrow—is absent. Exceptional opportunities to observe the penguins without  disturbing them, he noted, are rare and difficult to predict.The birds, he added, are very different from other, more predictable species, making each encounter unique and not easily generalisable.

Even practical infrastructure matters. The 1,400-metre trail confines visitors to a defined space, allowing penguins a regulated safety margin. As I watched guides pause our group for a penguin crossing, I  understood how carefully these patterns are managed in practice, not just in principle. The halt lasted only  seconds. In that brief pause—the sudden absence of footsteps, voices lowered to near silence—I felt the  shift. It was enough for the penguin to cross without altering its pace, apparently unperturbed by the  waiting group. During peak season, penguins cross the trail without changing their stride; in the low  season, that calmness becomes something closer to ease. Ricardo adds practical advice: “Don’t approach  the penguin, don’t use flash in photographs, respect the visiting rules posted at the entrance to the trail.  Pay attention to the guide’s instructions.” Years of observing penguins and people have taught him what  works and what disrupts.

Tourism funds protection. Without visitor fees, these colonies would be far more vulnerable, and the  balance between conservation and access would falter. The reality is not untouched wilderness—it is  negotiated wildness, imperfect yet functional, palpable to anyone walking the trail. In practical terms, the  difference between seasons is striking: in low season, the trail is quieter, allowing long stretches of silence  where penguin behaviour unfolds on its own terms. In peak season, organised tours depart throughout the  day, boats crisscross the water, and the colony reacts continuously to overlapping pressures. Both periods  fall within the official visiting window, September to March; outside these months, tours do not operate.

Weeks after leaving, what stayed with me was that first wave of sound — the braying so loud and insistent that I stepped back instinctively. The boats arriving throughout the day. The colony moving, calling, reacting. With or without us.

Interview conducted with Ricardo Edmundo Cid Paredes, Administrator, Monumento Natural Los Pingüinos, Corporación Nacional Forestal, Isla  Magdalena, Punta Arenas, Chile.

CHILE: PUNTA ARENAS & ISLA MAGDALENA

Getting there

All flights from London to Punta Arenas require a stopover in Santiago de Chile. Fly from London (Gatwick, Heathrow,  Stansted) or Manchester to Santiago (14–15 hours if direct), then onward to Punta Arenas (3.5 hours). To reach Isla  Magdalena itself, book a guided boat tour in advance: the weather here is unpredictable, and rough conditions can cause  cancellations. Solo Expediciones runs daily tours (1.5 hours crossing, 4–5 hours total on the island). Check locally for  other operators; most require advance bookings during January and February.

When to go

The colony breeds from September to March. The low season months—October to November—offer fewer visitors and  an entirely different rhythm. Outside the breeding season, no tours operate. Weather remains unpredictable  throughout, so timing your visit for fewer crowds matters more than chasing perfect conditions.

Where to stay and eat

Aska Patagonia, a friendly bed and breakfast in the city centre, offers comfortable single rooms at reasonable rates. For  meals, try Restaurante La Marmita for fresh seafood and Patagonian dishes, or Wake Up – Coffee & Brunch for coffee  and pastries.

Explore more

Visit Mirador Cerro de la Cruz for views of the city, or walk along the Magellan Strait coastline. The nearby Parque  Pingüino Rey reserves are worth visiting if you have time (pinguinorey.com). Magallanes University, the only state  university in the Magallanes Region, and the regional museums offer context on the area’s history.

Catamaran boats in the Ushuaia harbour port. Ushuaia is the capital of Tierra del Fuego province in Argentina by saiko3p

 

ARGENTINA: USHUAIA & ISLA MARTILLO

Getting there and around

All flights from London to Ushuaia require a stopover in Buenos Aires. Fly from London (Gatwick, Heathrow, or  Stansted) or Manchester to Buenos Aires (16–17 hours, including a stopover), then continue to Ushuaia (3.5 hours). To  reach Isla Martillo, take a guided catamaran tour through the Beagle Channel. You’ll see cormorant colonies, sea lions,  and the distinctive Faro Les Éclaireurs lighthouse along the way. Canoero Catamaranes runs daily tours (approximately  4–5 hours total), though multiple operators serve Ushuaia; book ahead if travelling during peak months.

When to go

Ushuaia functions as a year-round destination. Summer (November to March) offers long days for hiking and trekking.  Winter (June to September) is for skiing and dog sledding. The End of the World Train operates year-round. Beagle  Channel boat tours operate seasonally, with limited options available from November to March when penguin viewing  is possible on Martillo Island.

Where to stay and eat

Antarctica Hostel offers comfortable, budget-friendly accommodation. For dining, try Tante Sara Pastelería & Café for  coffee and pastries, or Isla Vegana if you prefer vegetarian and vegan options.

Explore more

Visit the Museo del Fin del Mundo for cultural context (mfm.tierradelfuego.gob.ar). Trek to Laguna Esmeralda for views.  The iconic Cartel de Ushuaia sign—marking the ‘End of the World’—is a pilgrimage point for many travellers.

 

Combining both sites

Plan at least 7 days total: three days at each location, plus travel time. The experiences contrast perfectly: land-based  walks on Magdalena, water-based observation from boats at Martillo. All flights between Punta Arenas and Ushuaia  require a stopover in the capital; there are no direct routes. If you want a direct route, book a coach using BusBud  (approximately 10 hours via Río Gallegos through the Patagonian landscape). You can fly one way and travel overland  the other to break up the journey and see more of the landscape.

EXTRA: What to bring

Windproof jacket (essential). Layers. Waterproof trousers. Good walking shoes. Sun protection (the sun reflects intensely off water and rock). A notebook—you’ll want to capture every observation.