58 Hours at Sea Through the Fjords of Chilean Patagonia
July 01, 2025With its piercing blue glacial lakes, impossibly jagged sharkstooth mountains, and famously unpredictable weather, Chilean Patagonia is undoubtedly one of the most stunning places on our planet. It’s also one of the most heavily protected, and for good reason. For decades, hikers and climbers have been heading to this sparsely populated area for natural beauty, adventure and inspiration.
Most travellers who make the trip this far south will usually end up spending a few nights in the gateway town of Puerto Natales before making their way by bus to Torres del Paine national park for the well-known W-trek or O-circuit, which offer glimpses of the park’s glaciers, valleys, and the stunning granite towers that are on the front of every guidebook and postcard sent from the region.
But fewer will know that the sleepy town is also home to a port from which you can board a boat that will spend days slowly weaving through fjords surrounded by glaciers, greenery, grassland and imposing rock faces that few tourists will ever get to see.
So, on an impromptu trip to Chile with my friend Fran, and after a few days admiring the raw appeal of Torres del Paine, I was intrigued when she suggested a boat trip through the Chilean fjords. In fact, I didn’t even know Chile had fjords.
In a world where every single photogenic mountain and lake has been Instagrammed, TikToked and blogged to an astonishing degree, there was surprisingly little information online about the journey, which would take us from one of the world’s southernmost settlements of Puerto Natales to the tiny waterside commune of Caleta Tortel. This, of course, made it feel even more deliciously adventurous.
Given that Fran didn’t have much more information on the trip, we confirmed with our hostel owner Diego that a) the route existed and b) he had heard from friends that it was "pretty cool." No one we spoke to in Puerto Natales, it seemed, had actually taken the trip themselves.
We spent a few days umming and aahing about whether to take the trip. What if the water was relentlessly choppy, like Drake’s Passage, and we were struck down with seasickness for days on end? What if Fran’s fear of boats revealed itself midway through the journey? What if there was no vegetarian food? What if the bathrooms were awful? Still, we decided to go for it, booking a journey from Puerto Natales to Caleta Tortel with budget ferry operator Tabsa.
So far, so good. All this sounds incredibly idyllic, except for the fact that instead of booking a private cabin to lounge about in and take in the views, anyone aboard the ship instead gets a semi-retractable seat in a cabin of over fifty people. Think, sleeping on the Megabus, but for three nights. Think, sharing your cabin with almost everyone else aboard the boat. Less idyllic, you’ll agree, but a lot cheaper than what private tour operators offer – after all, upmarket tours of Patagonia’s fjords can cost thousands of dollars.
More importantly: this would be an experience we would be unlikely to forget in a hurry.
An unforgettable journey
Although the Cruz Australis boat was scheduled to leave at 5am the following day, we had to arrive before 9pm the night before, and sleep onboard. Arriving at the port as darkness set in, everything suddenly felt very surreal as cars, vans, motorbikes and lorries were loading onto the same small ship that we’d be sleeping on.
All big suitcases and bags were required to be stored and locked away in the hold for the duration of the journey, meaning that we needed to choose the clothing, toiletries and entertainment that would stay in the cabin with us for the next few days.
We shuffled past rows of cars and motorbikes on the deck, through the corridors of the ferry, and took our seats for the night, along with everyone else on the boat, and closed our eyes for the night with a sense of anticipation for what could come next.
We woke up to the boat slowly gliding through the fjords – and then the views hit us. In front of us, behind us and beside us were miles and miles of pristine waterways, surrounded by imposing clusters of snow frosted mountains, spindly trees and low hanging clouds to populate the vast emptiness in every direction.
Views that were incredible from our windows in the cabin became amplified once we ventured out onto the boat’s viewing platform. Wrapped in down jackets and sipping yerba mate or instant coffee, passengers from the cabin milled around the top deck in amazement, braving sea spray and whipping wind for views unlike anything we’d ever seen.
With no wi-fi and no phone signal, there was really no choice other than to slow down and open our eyes to the dramatic scenery around us, and start conversations with others: backpackers, motorbike tourers, groups of friends all searching for close proximity to the one of the earth’s most beautiful places. Time skipped past as we kept our eyes tracked on the water around us. We chatted as we ate dinner together on tiny tables in the downstairs cabin. Eruptions of excitement were audible from all sides of the boat whenever someone spotted a pod of dolphins, a rainbow, or a shipwreck, and murmurs of appreciation circulated at the sight of the stars come nightfall.
Somehow, in what felt like the blink of an eye, hours on the ferry turned to days. Still, the scenery never stopped being as beautiful as it was on that first day.
Arriving at a hidden gem
After 58 hours at sea, and after a quick stop for crab empanadas and apple desserts while some of the boat’s cargo was unloaded at the port of Puerto Eden, we arrived in the dark at Caleta Tortel, an isolated, sleepy commune town of wooden huts that are connected by an intricate wooden boardwalk that sprawls almost 8 kilometres from the waterside up the neighbouring hills.
The ferry, along with any remaining passengers with a car or motorcycle, continued through the early morning sunrise on to Puerto Yungay.
Stumbling off the boat, sleepy and disorientated, we muddled our way through the steep maze of boardwalks until we eventually found our hostel, and collapsed into our first sleep in a real bed in what felt like forever.
Sure, I got some rest on the Cruz Australis, but there’s only so much quality sleep you can achieve when the nighttime is punctuated by the sounds of other people’s snoring, or when your chair doesn’t fully recline. And having your own bathroom to shower in is, of course, very much needed after three nights at sea.
When we woke up, we took in the settlement in the daylight for the first time. We were greeted with a serene sight: there are no roads in the town of Caleta Tortel, and no cars, just higgledy-piggledy wooden walkways to connect the stilt homes belonging to the commune’s some 500 residents.
Nestled between two glacial ice fields, the town takes some planning – and several days – to get to, perhaps accounting for its sleepy, warmly eerie feel, save for a steady trickle of tourists who arrive and leave on weekly boats.
Hummingbirds fed from fuschia bushes lining the walkways, steam billowed out of chimneys and into the damp air, and herding dogs slept by the green water. Boats in various states of construction and disrepair floated on waterlogged canals below the boardwalks, and waves collected at a misty, humid beach.
Just like on the ferry, the next few days were spent quietly, with Fran and I dumbfounded over the scenery and surrounding us. Tortel’s neatly built boardwalks took us to picturesque corners of the sleepy village and to a self-guided hike to Cerro Bandera for views of the Rio Baker.
Time spent in the town was as peaceful as the boat trip that brought us to it. With just a few restaurants with unpredictable opening hours, and a handful of artisanal handicraft stalls, there is no real choice other than to relax. The tiny town also offers an open air museum dedicated to educating visitors about the local ecosystems of the area, and a few operators offer day trips to the Isla de los Muertos or neighbouring glaciers.
After a few days in Caleta Tortel, we took a bus northeast to Cochrane, which sits along the Carretera Austral, a 1,240-kilometre highway running the length of Puerto Montt to Villa O’Higgins. From there, we would continue our slow amble up the country.
When we think of adventure, we often think of fast paced trips: journeys happening at breakneck speed, charging through countries and ticking off sights and bucket list experiences. But floating slowly through the isolated intertwining channels of Chilean Patagonia, not knowing exactly what we would see next, was one of the best adventures of my life so far.