Penguins and People – 3 days in Ushuaia, Argentina

Martillo Island, Tierra Del Fuego, Haberton Ranch

This is part 4 of a 4 part series on our experiences in hiking and trekking in various areas of Patagonia, Argentina. For a look at the other parts of the series, please use the term “Patagonia” when using the search function.

The twin, 200 horse Yamaha engines sped our zodiac-like boat across the Beagle Channel toward Isla Martillo. Not until we were only yards away did the pilot cut back on the engines allowing our momentum to beach the boat by gently grinding and grating its metallic bottom against the gravel and shells that made up the shoreline. The instant quiet thereafter was immediately replaced by the squawking and mating calls of the thousands of Magallenic and Gentoo penguins that call this island home.

We had left Ushuaia, the self-described most southerly city in the world, 2-1/2 hours earlier for the van drive to Haberton Estancia where we then boarded the boat for a 15-minute channel crossing to the island. We had reached the southernmost part of our trip, only 1000 kilometers away from Antarctica, and likely the furthest south we will ever travel for the rest of our lives.

As we walked, we were reminded to move about gently, slowly, and without any sudden movements. Our quiet, peaceful presence was necessary if these birds were to continue to come to the island where they have not yet learned to fear humans.

We were often within mere feet of these magnificent birds photographing their tuxedo-like appearance, listening to their mating calls, and watching them crawl into their burrows and nests that were dug in amongst the grasslands and the shell-laden beach.

Many stood in pairs - moms and dads - looking lovingly over their younger ones with their furry, molting coats ready to be replaced with marine feathers. Others would regularly groom themselves or others who were standing near. Back on the mainland, we learned more about these and other sea animals from volunteers that ran the nearby museum and marine laboratory.

A short video of our walk with the penguins is at the following link:

In the days leading up to our visit to the island, we spent our time touring Ushuaia and its outskirts on a schedule that was subject to the whims of the weather. 

When it was raining, we wandered the streets, ducking under awnings and doorways to stay dry, window shopping along the way. Like everywhere else we had been in Argentina, packs of dogs would freely roam the streets. Here in Ushuaia, the pack seemed to have been led by an older dog, looking like he was the wise leader of all town dogs, who moved about with a slight limp like he had arthritis in its hip or a bum leg of some sort.

We shopped at the local grocery store to buy food that we later cooked in our hostel's kitchen.  We found all Argentinian grocery stores that we had been in during our three weeks in the country to be a very crowded and very popular place.

This store in Ushuaia was notable for the way in which its hundreds of customers were orderly and fairly served at the checkout line. While gathering your purchases, you also needed to collect a puck-like device, similar to that which you are given while waiting for your table at a restaurant. Only after it flashed and started to buzz in your hands were you allowed to approach the cashier to pay for your purchases.

In the hostel's kitchen, we shared appliances, counter space, and tables with other residents who also were in for the day cooking their meals.  An older, rail thin black man, a younger, and larger white woman, and two little girls all spoke French while dancing and gyrating to a David Bowie song as they cut their vegetables and prepared their meal.

We met other travelers as we sat down to eat. One young lady asked us for suggestions on where to trek in Ushuaia and then where to travel elsewhere while in South America. Another middle-aged woman wore a t-shirt with an Everest Base Camp emblem on it. We swapped tales with her about our trekking adventures while in Nepal during trips past. A 60-something man sat across from us sharing his stories of adventure deep into remote and dangerous places in the world including getting fleeced of all of his money by shady tour operators, fending off prostitutes and their extorting pimps, and paying bribes to gun toting police officers.

On the one sunny day we had, we set off on a day hike in the forest above town. Breaks in the trees allowed for marvelous views of the Martial Glacier above and the busy port city below, majestically framed by the Beagle Channel and a ring of snow-capped mountains.

We walked the shoreline when we got back down to town. The Argentine navy was conducting military exercises in the harbor. Nearby, rusting ships were hard aground on a shoal.  Cargo ships were unloading their containers while Antarctica cruise ships stood ready for their passengers. 

Along the town's main street, families were out for a leisurely stroll in the 45 degree temperatures. Teenagers roamed about. The boys were roughhousing trying to impress the girls. The girls, with their midriff exposing shirts, were trying to impress the boys. At one point, all of us had to politely give way to a couple of hundred government workers who were on strike, marching down the sidewalks and the middle of the street, banging on drums and carrying banners announcing their grievances. 

Nearby was a war memorial honoring the locals who fought and died in the 1982 Falklands Islands war or, as the Argentinians prefer, the war for the independence of the Malvinas Islands. In the next block was a sign boasting Ushuaia's most southern city status. I took a picture of a couple posing there with their bicycles. They had just finished cycling thousands of kilometers from Cusco, Peru all the way here to the end of the South American continent.

Down the street in a souvenir shop, we ran into the same New Zealand gentlemen we saw a week earlier in Chile while on the "W" trek in Torres del Paine. We chatted about our continued experiences. He was to soon be on his way to Antarctica and then South Georgia Island.

Later In a restaurant, we had a filling meal that included good old American french fries. A stately and refined older couple, he with a beret, her with silver grey neatly coiffed hair, sat next to us and ordered milkshakes and two big pieces of pie.

As we headed back to the hostel to turn in for the evening, we once again saw packs of roaming dogs. They were led by the same limping, broke dick dog we saw earlier. I knew where we were sleeping for the night. But I had no idea where they would.