Isla Pinguino

Once we had left behind cute little Gaiman, we faced a 650km drive south to the tiny village of Puerto Deseado. Since we’d managed to coordinate a group for the penguin trip, there wasn’t really time to explore much else and so we opted for the direct route straight down the Ruta 3. We missed out on heading over to the coast in search of elephant seals, which was a bit of a shame, but you can’t do everything.

Instead, we pushed south, breaking up the drive only where we could find shelter from the wind. These were not beautiful spots by any means, but at this point sleep was more important than scenery. One night we tucked ourselves into a small abandoned quarry and another we hid behind a huge deserted building while the Patagonian wind screamed around the corners.

As is generally the theme with the Ruta 3, if you want to do anything remotely interesting it probably isn’t actually on the Ruta 3. There are loads of incredible places dotted along the journey south, but nearly all of them require significant detours off the highway. You have to pick which ones are worth the time, fuel and money. For us, Penguin Island absolutely was. It’s one of the very few places where you can easily see rockhopper penguins without forking out for some wildly expensive expedition cruise.

It’s about an hour and a half from the main road to reach the coast here and while the Ruta 3 itself is busy enough, this side road sees very little traffic. We’d arranged our tour for early the following morning and were also waiting for two girls who planned to join us. They were hitchhiking south from further north and rides in this part of the world are not exactly plentiful. So, the afternoon before, we parked up outside the tiny train station at Jaramillo, right beside the highway, and waited for them to be dropped off by their current lift — a truck driver heading south.

We don’t often pick up hitchhikers. Mostly because Ruby is objectively a terrible vehicle to hitch a ride in. The back is cramped, noisy and uncomfortable. Holding a conversation between front and back is nearly impossible and despite having had the exhaust welded, there was still a fairly noticeable smell of fumes back there. Aimee also doesn’t appreciate sharing her driving throne — namely the entire sofa. Still, in this case we had a vested interest in getting these girls to the tour with us and figured that beggars can’t be choosers. We warned them that it wouldn’t be luxurious, but we’d all get there. Probably.

Luckily the coordination went smoothly and soon enough we were all driving the final stretch down to Puerto Deseado together. We dropped them off at their hostel before heading out towards the coast where our German friends were camped.

Puerto Deseado really lives up to its name — “Deserted Port.” It’s one of those towns that seems to exist solely because of its nearby tourist attraction. Without the island tours this place would basically just be a windswept cliff with the occasional fishing hut scattered across it. Even now, it’s not much more than that. The town itself is all drab concrete and faded buildings. Some walls have been painted a colour somebody once optimistically described as “rose pink,” presumably in an effort to cheer the place up.

You’d think somewhere so popular for tours would have more going on, but there’s barely a shop, let alone bars or restaurants. People come here for the penguins and then immediately leave again, exactly as we intended to do ourselves.

The coastline outside town though was genuinely lovely. Rocky cliffs dropped away beneath us and gulls wheeled overhead while little islands sat scattered across the mouth of the Deseado River. Our friends hadn’t arrived yet, but they promised they were on the way. Since our tour left at 8am the next morning, we knew we were in for a cold early start.

Eventually Ivo arrived and we headed inside Horst and Christine’s very fancy camper to catch up. We hadn’t seen them in a while and Christine immediately began supplying us with generous quantities of gin and tonic. A tiny part of me did briefly wonder what it might be like to travel with that level of comfort. Compared to Ruby, it felt positively luxurious.

The following morning I almost didn’t mind getting up early. We were camped only fifteen minutes from the harbour, so after packing up we drove over and met Sonja and her friend there too. Everyone handed over thick wedges of cash for the tickets — naturally — before we were issued lifejackets and enormous waterproof coats.

It was a cold fresh morning down by the water and we knew it would only get colder once we left the shelter of the bay. The tours here are heavily weather dependent because the sea can become dangerously rough very quickly. This was one of the reasons we’d prioritised getting here when we did. Coordinating travellers is hard enough — coordinating them alongside acceptable Patagonian weather is another challenge entirely. Thankfully today looked promising.

Soon we were climbing down the jetty and onto the boat. Alongside us were a handful of Argentinians, so the main guide spoke Spanish while his son translated into English for the benefit of the rest of us.

The moment we cleared the protection of the headland, the boat began smashing across the waves. We clung on while icy wind whipped at our faces and the hull slammed violently into the crests. I was grateful for every single layer I had put on.

Then suddenly the captain pointed ahead of us.

Three dolphins arced gracefully through the water. They were unlike any dolphins I’d ever seen before — small, black and white and incredibly elegant. These were Commerson’s dolphins and they seemed almost cartoonishly perfect against the dark sea. It was an excellent start to the trip.

After about an hour crossing the rough water, Isla Pingüino finally appeared ahead of us. The shoreline was absolutely covered in sea lions sprawled across the rocks, with one random elephant seal sitting awkwardly among them all. So technically, we did get to see an elephant seal after all, even if it was only a youngster and not one of the ridiculous giant males with the inflatable nose.

We disembarked via a slippery barnacle-covered staircase and climbed up onto the island. The whole tour felt wonderfully relaxed. We wandered slowly inland towards the lighthouse while the guide explained various facts about the penguins currently waddling around our ankles.

These first ones were Magellanic penguins rather than rockhoppers. The males, we learned, can apparently be identified by the shape of their heads and are responsible for guarding the chicks. Most pairs have two babies and if they only had one… well, apparently the other had probably been eaten. Looking at the occasional blood-covered penguin wandering about, this did seem depressingly believable.

Despite the occasional gruesome detail, they were adorable little things. These are the penguins that famously woo their mates for life by presenting them with attractive pebbles. We even spotted one proudly waddling along carrying a particularly nice rock back to his potential bride.

Further inland we passed the abandoned lighthouse and several enormous rusting metal vats. Rather grimly, these were remnants from the days when sea lion blubber was processed here before hunting them became illegal and the animals were protected.

Eventually it was time to head over to the opposite side of the island where the rockhopper colony lives. The two species stay largely separate, though every now and then one slightly confused Magellanic penguin seemed to wander into the wrong neighbourhood.

The rockhoppers were instantly recognisable with their bright red eyes and ridiculous yellow eyebrows. They absolutely lived up to their name too, bouncing energetically across the jagged rocks in tiny hopping lines like children on a school trip. Honestly, they were hilarious.

At one point we stopped for tea and cake provided by the tour company while sitting completely surrounded by penguins. Not a bad place for a snack break.

After several hours on the island it was finally time to brave the boat journey back. Thankfully the return crossing was a little calmer and just before we reached the bay we were lucky enough to spot the dolphins again.

It’s certainly not a cheap experience, but honestly, it was one of the best wildlife trips we’ve done. And where else are you realistically going to see a tiny angry penguin with comedy eyebrows bouncing around cliffs in the freezing Patagonian wind?