Arrival

The Tehuelche people who roamed the land known as Puerto Natales long before such a name existed are gone now, but new inhabitants walk the town: Nordic, Canadian, German or Norte Americanos here for the hiking and wild mountains and sprawling pampas. They all seemed charged with testosterone; heavy beards, sunburned faces, thick hair wrapped up in top knots that you give the vague feeling of samurai. The wind is an ever-changing companion and seldom quiet. Gusts 40 to 50 mph whip out of nowhere. It can be sunny and 66° one minute and the next you’re fighting to stay upright. It’s what happens when surrounded by ocean channels, frigid lakes, and soaring, glacier-scrounged mountains all around.

The town still has a frontier feel, though tourism is changing it. You can see remnants of its early efforts to ensure Puerto Natales was a part of Chile, a place where the British and Germans and Croatians built lives based on cattle and sheep. They’re still here, but more and more the touristas rule.