Tierra del Fuego’s Forgotten Corner: Reflections from Caleta María

At night, the wind howls. During the day, the sea roars. Tread lightly, because at this place the earth feels different — drier, humble, and more robust. Every moss is a survivor. Every animal fights to stay alive. Life is harsh. Life is peaceful. Life is for the courageous few who decide to leave the world as we know it behind.

We’re in Chilean Tierra del Fuego, at the end of the road and the furthest outreaches of society. In front lies a fjord with dark grey mountains majestically reaching for the blue skies above. Snow hides the strongest peaks, softening the transition from the earth to the heavens. King penguins dot the shoreline. The arctic wind bites my face. As much as I want to run back indoors, I stand still, with my eyes fixed on the waves rolling towards me.

All I want is to capture this place — a mental picture, a hidden moment of a place I may never see again. There is an untamed beauty that flutters my soul like none before. I want to run from the cold just as much as I wish to stay here forever. The harsh beauty filters out all the clutter in my mind. I know I could never survive here, yet somewhere deep inside I imagine that this is what home must really feel like. Sometimes, the end of the world can feel more like home than home used to feel.

This place scares me while it lures me in. Fresh fish caught in the river for dinner. Collecting mussels on the beach for lunch. A warm cup of tea served with dreamy thoughts passing through my mind. Time passing by, with the hours of daylight being my only delimiter. Another sip of jasmine tea. Another log on the fire. Another cloud making its way across the mountainside.

It may have been just another day gone by, but for me, it was a day for the history books. Thank you, Caleta María. I will be forever grateful.