The Condor’s Call, A Test of Patience in Patagonia (Part 2)

Silence from us usually means one of two things: utter failure, or the intense focus that precedes a hard-won victory. For the last few days, it was a frustrating mix of both.

Our quest to photograph the Andean Condor in its raw, mountainous realm had become a game of chess. Two blisteringly hot days were spent manoeuvring into position, only to be rewarded with distant specks and the unmistakable, and somewhat mocking, view of condor backsides disappearing over ridges. Patience, as we were learning, is not a passive virtue in Patagonia; it is an active, aching endurance.

A Change of Scene, A Glimmer of Hope

Yesterday, we shifted our base from Fernando's apartment to the Hosteria Confin Patagonico for our final four nights. As we hauled luggage, the Condors offered a tantalizing, ironic tease. High above on the cliffs of Cerro Paredon, two condors rode the thermals in effortless loops. Even from a distance, their body language spoke of a paired bond, a display of splayed feathers and synchronized turns. Kiersten, christened them Cyryl and Cindy. They were close, yet utterly unreachable, soaring figures in a place we couldn’t enter at that moment due to us lugging our luggage around!

The Final Assault

With time running out, we launched our final attempt early next day. Taking the northern approach to Cerro Paredón we battled a wind that sliced through the mix of sun and cloud. A charming distraction came in the form of a family of Spectacled Ducks, playing fearlessly on the wind whipped surface of three small lakes we passed, a brief reminder of life beyond our single-minded pursuit.

By 11 AM, we were in position along the southern cliff edge, a makeshift shelter in the lee of some boulders. We layered on spare clothing against the gusty, bone-chilling wind. And then, we waited.

I’ve said it before: birdwatching is a game of patience. We waited for hours in the lee of that boulder and set arbitrary deadlines to descend, but each was betrayed by a dot on the horizon. Binoculars would fly up, hearts would leap… only to watch the specks veer away toward the distant, barren snow peaks. What could possibly be up there for them? we grumbled. It felt personal, as if Cyryl and Cindy were master tacticians, always one thermal ahead of us.

The Virtue Runs Dry

By 4 PM, our reserves of virtue, and patience, were depleted. A fog of resignation settled in. Maybe it just wasn’t to be. Perhaps some stories are meant to be experienced only in memory, not through a lens. We began the grim discussion of conceding defeat and heading downhill.

And Then, the Miracle.

As if summoned by our very moment of surrender, a dark, broad-winged shape appeared, riding the turbulent river of air directly toward us. Its approach was anything but steady, tossed and jostled by the cliff-face turbulence, it resembled a novice Ryanair pilot caught in a storm over Cape Horn. But this was no novice. This was Cyryl.

With an expert’s grace, he mastered the chaos. He lined up his final approach, adjusted his primary feathers with microscopic precision, and then, folded his wings and dropped like a stone, landing perfectly on a rocky perch just below our vantage point.

The adrenaline was instantaneous. Grabbing our gear, we scrambled down to a lower outcrop, hearts pounding. From here we could see right into his precarious rocky perch. For thirty glorious minutes, we watched the king of the Andes reign over his domain.

Then, as if on cue, Cindy arrived. She traced his wild flight path, landing even closer to us, a majestic silhouette against the vast Patagonian sky. We watched, utterly captivated, as they preened and posed, their aerodynamic ballet a reward for all our days of longing.

We stayed until the cold finally pierced our euphoria. Our hands were cold, but our spirits were soaring. Kiersten’s camera held images that took our breath away, and I had somehow managed to film the impossible landing—a shaky, triumphant testament to the wait.

In the end, Patagonia didn’t gift us this moment. I like to think we earned it. The condors taught us that the most magnificent views often lie just beyond the point where you think you can wait no longer. Our patience, stretched thin over days, had been woven into a memory, and photographs, we will hold forever.

By the way ... Kiersten won't give me the best images. She is keeping them for herself and a future blog post!