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Kris and Doug Tompkins bought a ranch in Chile simply thinking they’d preserve the land. Now, more than 20 years later, native plants and animals are flourishing and the parcel has been turned into a national park.
Andean condors soar overhead, their shadows gliding across the ochre hills of Patagonia National Park in the Aysen region of Chile. On a nearby ridge, a small herd of guanacos grazes among spring grasses and budding calafate bushes.
It’s a peaceful scene — but in some ways, a radical one. Not long ago, much of this land was a sprawling cattle ranch, its forests cleared, grasslands depleted, and wildlife pushed to the margins. Standing here, camera to my eye, it’s hard to reconcile what I’m seeing. It feels enduring. Yet this landscape has been deliberately rebuilt.
The transformation began in 2004, shortly after the completion of the Carretera Austral, the rough gravel road stitching together northern Patagonia. American conservationists Kris and Doug Tompkins purchased the 70,000-hectare Valle Chacabuco ranch with the goal of protecting it. “At the time, I don’t think Doug nor I had any idea what that even meant,” Kris Tompkins tells me when I meet her a week later. “We didn’t go into it thinking, oh, this could be a national park.”
With no template to follow, they hired local workers to remove livestock, tear out fences, restore habitat, and, eventually, they built trails and infrastructure. Slowly the land began to heal, to rewild, and native species returned: guanacos, condors, pumas, and even the endangered huemul deer, Chile’s national emblem.
Lowering my camera, I hurry along one of those hard-won trails to catch up with my group. Our guide, Russ Sargent, points out lenga and ñirre trees — native species once suppressed by ranching — while guanacos browse nearby. During mating season, he tells us, scenes like this can turn violent. Males competing for females will sometimes bite off their rivals’ testicles. It’s startling, but it underscores a larger truth: Conservation isn’t about a pastoral ideal. It’s about survival.
Rewilding, at its core, is about restoring missing plants and animals while removing those that don’t belong. The specifics vary, but the aim is a self-regulating ecosystem, one that doesn’t depend on human intervention. That balance, however, is deceptively difficult. “We learned early on it’s not just about writing a check and buying land,” Kris explains. To flourish, parks need to earn their keep.
For Tompkins Conservation, that meant proving that large-scale preservation could benefit people, as well as wildlife. “We had to show communities that national parks could create long-term economic opportunities,” she says. But revenue alone wasn’t enough. “People needed to feel connected to these places. They had to fall in love — because that’s what leads to lasting protection.”
By the time our hike ends, drizzle has turned to downpour. Soaked and laughing, we pile into the van and head to Mallín Colorado, a family-run ecolodge on property that straddles a ridge between Lake General Carrera and Lake Bertrand. The lodge accommodations grew alongside the park and the Carretera Austral. “Visitors started showing up at our family cabin asking if we sold food,” co-owner Paula Christensen recalls, describing her family’s accidental start in tourism.
Nearly two decades later, I’m warming by the dining-room fire, sipping a pisco sour as the setting sun turns Patagonia’s northern ice fields a rosy pink. Paula, like Kris, believes tourism works best when its benefits ripple outward. Though Mallín Colorado has developed into a welcoming, all-inclusive lodge, with winding hiking trails and majestic views, staff encourage guests to spend time, and money, in the wider region.
People needed to feel connected to these places. They had to fall in love — because that’s what leads to lasting protection.
– Kris Tompkins
The next day, that philosophy carries us to the banks of the Río Baker, Chile’s largest river. Its vivid turquoise — glacial sediment suspended in fast-moving water — looks almost artificial. Moments later, we’re aboard a raft, drifting downstream as our guide from Baker Patagonia Adventure demonstrates paddle strokes and safety techniques. Soon the river’s murmur becomes a roar, and we’re hurtling through standing waves that rise like crystalline mountains. It’s not until the current (and my shocked laughter) ease that I absorb the beauty.
Our final morning dawns calm and cloudless, ideal conditions for kayaking Lake General Carrera to the Marble Caves with guides from Nunatak. Paddling through the aqua water into the swirling white and blue-streaked stone chambers feels like entering a cathedral shaped by water and time.
In this wondrous place, it’s hard not to think of Doug Tompkins, who lost his life not far from here in December 2015, when his kayak capsized in cold, rough conditions. At the time, the land that would become Patagonia National Park had been assembled and rewilding was under way, but transfer to Chile hadn’t yet occurred. The tragedy could have ended the dream. Instead, Kris and her team carried on through grief and logistical complexity.
In the years since, Tompkins Conservation has helped create or expand 16 national parks and protect over 15 million acres in partnerships with Chile and Argentina. They also spearheaded the Route of Parks: a 1,700-mile scenic and conservation corridor from Puerto Montt to Cape Horn encompassing 28 million acres and 17 national parks.
As the Carretera Austral carries us onward, Russ points out charred tree stumps, remnants of forests burned a century ago to make way for ranching. Rounding a bend, the cloud-piercing mountain spires of Cerro Castillo National Park come into view. At their base, I scan the forest for the elusive huemul deer. When a lone stag appears, we watch in silence as he moves deliberately through the trees before disappearing into the brush.
Later, I describe the rare sighting to Kris, marvelling at nature’s capacity to heal. She doesn’t disagree. But she offers a quiet reminder: In today’s world, protection alone isn’t enough. Parks must be politically resilient, economically viable, and socially valued. They must justify their existence again and again.
5 Key Takeaways
- The creation of Patagonia National Park began when Kris and Doug Tompkins purchased the Valle Chacabuco ranch in Chile, initially for preservation. Their work eventually led to a successful rewilding effort and national park designation.
- Rewilding is centered on restoring the ecosystem to a self-regulating state by removing non-native elements, like livestock and fences, and bringing back native species.
- Tompkins Conservation's work emphasizes that lasting protection requires both conservation and community connection, proving that large-scale preservation can create long-term economic opportunities for local people through ecotourism.
- The efforts of Tompkins Conservation have led to the creation or expansion of 16 national parks, protecting over 15 million acres, and the establishment of the 1,700-mile Route of Parks in Chile and Argentina.
- True conservation, Kris Tompkins states, requires parks to be more than just protected land; they must be “politically resilient, economically viable, and socially valued” to ensure their continued existence.
