You follow the cañadón downstream, the ravine walls rising to thirty meters in places, their strata telling the story of ancient volcanic ash and marine sediments now exposed by erosion. Where the ravine finally exhales into the ría, the landscape opens onto a shallow bay ringed by low cliffs the color of burnt sienna. The beach itself is narrow and composite—sand near the creek mouth, transitioning to mud flats that extend into the ría during low water. The creek's contribution, minimal in summer but vigorous during spring melt, creates a brackish zone that supports vegetation rare elsewhere on this arid coast.
“The only beach in the ría system where freshwater dilution supports flamingo populations and brackish-water vegetation.”
Person walking on a sand spit
Flamingos are the draw, arriving in flocks of a dozen to fifty birds between November and March. They work the shallows methodically, their heads inverted as they sieve microorganisms from the mud, their improbable pink against the Patagonian monochrome. Black-necked swans also favor this inlet, along with coots and the occasional migrating sandpiper still wearing breeding plumage from its Arctic summer.
The bay's protection from the prevailing westerlies creates genuinely calm water—a rarity on this coast—and on windless days the surface becomes a perfect mirror, doubling the flamingos and sky in reflection. Photographers arrive at dawn when the light is soft and the birds are most active, though afternoon works if you're patient and the wind cooperates. The drive in requires crossing the creek at a shallow ford; check depth before committing your vehicle.
