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Glaciers, point breaks, and blood sucking bugs on the Isthmus of Ofqui.
Introduction & captions by Ixa Llambías | Photos by Pablo Jiménez
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Even within the many unknowns of greater Patagonia—the vast, mostly uncharted expanse that stretches across the lower portion of South America for over half a million square miles from the Atlantic to the Pacific—the Isthmus of Ofqui remains particularly unexplored. Nestled between one of the stormiest sections of coast in the Pacific, the towering Andes Mountains, and the Northern Patagonian Ice Field (one of the largest freshwater reserves on Earth), access to this thin strip of land, which connects the Taitao Peninsula to the Chilean mainland, is, even today, extremely difficult and only possible by boat and by foot.
Despite these geographical limitations, Chilean surfer Cristian Merello has kept a close eye on this region and its untapped possibilities—namely, the potential for surf along the isthmus’ beaches, bays, rivermouths, and amongst the dozens of islands that sit just off the coast. For the last six years, Merello has studied topographical maps, scoured Google Earth, recorded storm patterns, logged weather reports, watched buoy readings, and researched the travel and preparation logistics necessary to just reach the region.
Cristian Merello, deep in discovery on the edge of the Isthmus of Ofqui. This wave was the jewel of the trip. Whereas there are numerous reefs, points, and beach breaks still yet to be discovered in the world, very few places offer the opportunity to surf a wave made by a glacier—and one that barrels, no less. This rivermouth sandbar is formed from a buildup of glacial sediment as it spills out into the ocean. Due to the power of the converging forces of nature, which allows the wave to work, it was nerve-racking for those of us watching from the beach as Cristian jumped into the frigid water of the river and rode the current out into the lineup. Nevertheless, Cristian believes that on its day the setup can rival that of the best beach breaks anywhere. The wave itself is fast and tricky, and the good ones can be hard to choose. With so much water moving around, lineup points on the beach are pretty much useless. It also needs a very powerful offshore wind to stay open. But because of the Andes that sit behind this area, the wind blows offshore most of the year.
In February of 2018, the end of summer in the Southern Hemisphere, conditions began to align. Within a few weeks, Cristian, photographer Pablo Jiménez, and myself were on the move. The decision to go, even after years of patiently waiting, proved to be the easiest part of the journey. There are no shortcuts to the Isthmus of Ofqui.
After a long flight from Santiago, we met our guide, Daniel, in a small lakeside village. From there, it was a nine-hour truck ride through the Andes, another two hours by boat through several lagoons and inlets until, finally, we reached the San Quintín Glacier, which marks the entry point to the isthmus.
Mechanics of a glacial sandbar. The San Quintín glacier, the largest in the Northern Patagonian Ice Field, sits no more than 10 miles from the coast. The brown-black water of the Rio Nevado mixes with the milky blue water that melts and runs off the glacier, giving the river mouth wave its creamy color. The glacier also drops the water temperature way down. The actual temperature of the ocean is similar to northern California, in the low to mid 50s. But because the ice melt runs unimpeded, straight into the river and then into the ocean, the water ends up being near freezing, and chunks of ice float through the lineup.
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While we went to Ofqui to find surf, some of the best parts of the trip were spent exploring the area—one of the few remaining places in the world that hasn’t been taken over by people. We didn’t see another person the entire time we were there—just birds and flies. The area offers a wide variety of topography and climates in relatively close proximity. Along with the glaciers, the river, and the ocean, the Andes spill out into swampy flatlands, which then transitions into sparse brush, and quickly change to trees that stack up against the water—forests so thick you can hardly see into them. Even with all these beautiful places and things to explore, Ofqui isn’t under any real risk of development or overcrowding. The land is part of a national park and, most importantly, moving anywhere is incredibly difficult and very slow. To even travel a short distance down the beach requires a series of hikes and boat rides. Any type of trip into the area would be impossible without guides, who cached our supplies for us several weeks before we arrived.
For the next nine days, time seemed to slow down. We hiked, boated, and camped with only the land, the sea, and each other as company. We trudged over a muddy swamp so thick and deep that each step forward took us two steps downward. We climbed along the edges of, and then under and into, creaking and melting glaciers. We enjoyed sunny summer weather, and we dodged open ocean storms coming up from Antarctica. We had our food and fuel caches stolen, and we were attacked by blood sucking bugs whenever we left our tents.
We also found waves. It’s impossible to say with absolute certainty that we were the first people to surf in and around Ofqui, but it’s extremely likely. Going into a place where the surf is a question mark, it’s important to keep expectations low, enjoy the adventure for its own sake, and take things as they come. The Isthmus of Ofqui provided in all respects.
The right, which we named Punta Cuchillo (Knife Point), sits at the south end of the same beach as the glacial sandbar, but the only way to access it is by boat. It lies in a deep corner of a large bay, and is shielded from the open ocean by an island just off shore. Swell has to wrap in from a concentrated angle to make it work. Because it’s tucked so far in, it’s protected from storm winds. We got it good for three days. We had planned to stay longer, but on the last day we received a call on the radio reporting that a large storm was coming. Storms in Patagonia are so big and powerful they can last for weeks. If we didn’t cross back over in time, who knows how long we would’ve been stuck out there.
